?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

ETA: A master list of the Break Loose Ranch verse can be found here or by following the blr tag on this journal. Broken links have been fixed and nothing is flocked. Thank you for your patience!

Title: busting through them gates, 1/2
Series: break loose ranch; follows: everybody’s got their own definition of just their kind; fills in riding shotgun to everything that’s on my mind.
Characters/Pairing: Jared Padalecki/Jensen Ackles, Chad Michael Murray
Warnings/Rating: NC17
Word Count: 11977
Written for: tittakv who was exceedingly patient and delightful while waiting for the Sweet Charity story that I’ve owed her since the end of July. I’m sorry, darlin, but I hope this fills the bill. Thank you for your generosity. It matters. ♥
Summary: Jared’s a good ‘ol boy, appreciates life’s simple pleasures, but he wants what he wants and he’ll go to some serious lengths to get it. And what he wants right now, is Jensen.



In Jared’s experience, you can tell a lot about a person from what they eat and how. Take Jared, he prefers flapjacks for breakfast, straight up, nothing fancy in them, just a golden brown batter with a hint of nut, real creamery butter with salt for just the right mix of flavors -- and a spill of thick maple syrup worth pushing a stack of pancakes around a plate to catch the last ever-loving drop of. He figures that says a lot about him, like he’s a good ‘ol boy, appreciates life’s simple pleasures, but he wants what he wants and he’ll go to some serious lengths to get it.

Now Jensen, on the other hand, well, Jensen eats about as pretty as he does everything else. Prefers waffles to pancakes, which don’t make no never mind, like his mama always says. Jared’s got batter for both in the fridge and about now, he’d make Jensen chicken cordon bleu if he asked for it. But when Jared sips his cinnamon-laced chicory blend and watches Jensen cut each bite two squares by two squares, bisecting the ribs of the waffle so the syrup won’t run, now that’s something worth noting. He figures it means Jensen’s had plenty of rough times and takes his happiness where he finds it, always expecting it to run out on him. Not like Jared hadn’t figured that out already, but somehow a stack of waffles eaten neat and tidy as you please kinda cements it.

Sunlight streams through the window, kissing Jensen’s fresh-showered chest and biceps like Jared wishes he was. Fact is, Jensen looks good in his kitchen, damned good, like Jared could see every morning for forever and never get bored.

‘Steada thinking on things ain’t yet happened and might not ever, Jared reaches across the rough pine to rub his thumb across Jensen’s knuckles. “Get you anything?”

Jensen casts a covetous glance at Jared’s OJ, but shakes his head. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

Now Jared’s heard people call that passive-aggressive, not saying what you mean and making the person you’re talking to figure out what you’re after. Somehow, though, he’s not seeing that in Jensen’s fragile smile. It feels, from the way he goes wary-colt still under Jared’s thumb, like he’s afraid to believe Jared’ll bring it for him. “How ‘bout I top off your coffee and get you some juice?”

Caught mid-bite, Jensen can’t exactly protest, and by the time he chews and swallows, it’s too late for him to say anything besides, “Don’t go to any trouble,” because Jared’s already pushed back his chair and stood. His voice has a soft edge to it, defensive, that calls to mind how he acts about everything solicitous, from being kissed to being blown.

If it sounded wrong last night, before Jared woke up without Jensen sprawled loose-limbed familiar across him, this morning it’s got Jared fit to be tied.

Cussing to himself, Jared adds one more sin to the list, one more reason to beat the living hell out of the guy who did this to Jensen.

“OJ’s three steps away, coffee’s five, and I’m not rolling out on anything less than three cups myself.”

Horses like to know where you are when they can’t see you, and lots of folks, too, especially when they’re in a new place with new people. So he starts talking when he turns his back to open the fridge, and doesn’t quit until he’s standing next to Jensen. Next to, not behind. Nothing spooks a colt worse than to know you’re there but not be able to see or feel you, and he’d just bet it’s the same with Jensen.

“It’s no kind of trouble, Jen,” he says soft, a caress over his name, while he pours the juice and sets the carafe to hand so Jensen won’t have to ask if he wants more. “Leastways, if it is, it’s the kind I don’t mind one bit, and mama’d box my ears if she ever saw me do different.” There’s a smile in his voice when he gets to the end and he’s topped off Jensen’s coffee. His mama has that affect on him, wildcat temper and all, and he just knows she’s gonna love Jensen.

That thought right there’s the kind of trouble that’s gonna fuck him up down and sideways, but he can’t help it. Not with Jensen’s eyes gone bright and his sin on Sunday mouth shaped around a simple grin.

“Guessing you won’t stand for me doing the dishes, either?” The hint of stubborn pride and best manners drilled down deep feels familiar, but Jared shakes his head all the same. “Didn’t figure.”

Their gazes connect when he takes his seat again, and jesusfuck he’s gotta touch Jensen, gotta ground the current arcing between them. He slides a foot between Jensen’s, forces his breathing quiet and his mouth shut so he doesn’t say something stupid, like Jensen can do the dishes when he moves on in.

For a quiet minute, quiet as a working ranch can be in the morning and with Jared’s pulse roaring in his ears, Jensen sips his coffee, both hands cradling the mug or clinging to it, Jared’s not sure. When it comes, Jensen’s “thanks, Jared,” is honey-sweet and warm, so heartfelt Jared gets the feeling they’re talking about a lot more than breakfast.

Jared lets it set a spell, so Jensen knows he heard, then he rubs the arch of his foot against Jensen’s ankle. “Welcome,” he says, and just because he doesn’t say “baby” doesn’t mean it’s not there in his tone. Jared knows better, though. Plenty of bottoms don’t mind being “baby” with a hole full of dick but call ‘em pet names in the morning and they’ll knock you on your ass. Jensen’s not like that, he’d lay odds on it, but he hasn’t earned the right. Not yet, but he wants to.

Goddamn, he wants to.

Growing up, his mama used to tell him, if you want to have a friend, you gotta be one first. He figures its good advice when it comes to Jensen, even if the only time he ever calls Chad “baby” is when he’s crying in his beer. Doesn’t mean he’s got to go all Sunday school about it, though. Not like he could with his pulse beating double-time in his dick every time Jensen breathes.

That’s no kind of problem, since Jensen’s breath hitches every time they so much as touch too. So Jared stretches back, links his hands behind his head, and just like he hoped, Jensen’s gaze tracks and his eyes darken in appreciation

“S’gonna be a pretty day.” Jared drawls it out, slow and easy, emphasis on the pretty when their eyes meet, and like he’s got nothing much to do and all day to do it in, because he doesn’t. Being the boss has its perks, and one of ‘em is calling in ‘busy’ for the weekend. “What did you wanna to do with it?”

Jensen ducks his head, not quick enough to hide the flush staining his cheeks. It’s a crying shame a man so far beyond beautiful isn’t used to hearing it or doesn’t like to, and Jared’s got the hot, tight feeling he knows how that happened. An apology’s forming on his lips when Jensen smiles at him, sultry, like to crawl across the table into Jared’s lap. “Thought you wanted to fuck until we couldn’t, either of us, remember our names.”

He wants to tell Jensen there’s no chance, no how, never, he’ll be forgetting Jensen’s name. Instead he brings his arms down, looks into hazel eyes gone mellow amber and, without so much as blinking, purrs, “We’ll get to that.”

Teeth raking over his bottom lip, Jensen meets his gaze and nods, wanting so thick Jared can almost hear the groan when Jensen shifts his hips over his chair. But sex never built a proper trust, not even sex that draws a sweat just thinking about it.

Shrugging off the prickly heat, Jared lets his smile slip from want you roped and tied to just a good ‘ol boy don’t mean no harm. “Figured it might be nice to get in some relaxing and hanging out, this being a working vacation for you. That suit?”

It takes a few seconds, Jensen pulling himself back from that place, with an unsteady laugh that minds Jared to give him plenty of come-down time between rounds. “Yeah. Yeah, Jay, that suits.”

Jay again, resting light on Jensen’s tongue like it belongs there, and it feels…like watching a foal’s first wobble-kneed steps. His chest goes tight then champagne light making it hard to keep the sheer joy of it out of his voice when he says, “Then you come to the right place. This here’s Break Loose Ranch, son—” Jared spreads his arms in a showman’s gesture, grandstanding for Jensen’s smile, but no amount of snake oil salesman can hide his genuine pride in his place. “Done built for the very thing.” When a grin splits Jensen’s face, Jared settles back again, his work here done for the time being. “Anything particular catch your fancy?”

Jensen gives him a steady once-over, like first look at a horse at auction, and doesn’t quite nod, but the you is there in the faint wrinkling in the corners of his eyes and the casual curl of his fingers around his juice glass. Frisky ain’t got nothing on the way that makes Jared want to kick up his heels, and it only gets better when Jensen answers. “Heard you might have a few Quarter horses hereabouts. I’ve always been more of a mustang man myself, but it’s been while since I had the pleasure of comparison. Think you might show me around?”

Now it might be true the quickest way to most men’s hearts is through their stomachs, but Jared loves his horses like nobody’s business. The idea of mixing that with Jensen makes him smile so hard his cheeks hurt. “Sure thing. I’ll even take you on a ride.” And with the way Jensen’s tongue flirts over his mouth, Jared’s dick’s not minding one bit either.

#

Jensen’s wearing the faded green Henley from the back of Jared’s closet, sleeves pushed up, unbuttoned at the neck, hanging long at the waist. It looks better than it has any right to, but Jared can’t think about that. He can’t let himself think about Jensen looking comfortable and sexy in his clothes. He’s already riding the frayed edge here, both of them lit up like livewires and him saying no for both of them.

So while he shows Jensen the main barn, he’s not paying attention to the drape of his shirt over Jensen’s shoulders, not even when Jensen finds the sweet spot behind Honey’s ears and the reach shows off the clean lines and well-defined muscle of his back.

Closing his eyes, Jared blows out a breath, tries to clear his mind of images of himself pushing that shirt over Jensen’s head while his lips learn those lines. It works well enough to let him grab the training bucket, a few apples and sugar cubes, and look Jensen’s direction without setting it down again and pushing Jensen against the front of Honey’s stall instead. Which is to say, he gets a grip, white-knuckled, but a grip.

He jerks his chin toward the broodmare paddock. “Mind we spend a few minutes doing some hands-on with my new filly?”

“You kidding? I’d love to.” Like every man who’s ever loved a horse, Jensen’s smile warms at the prospect and Jared’s so thoroughly screwed, nailed and hung. The last time he felt anything close to this it took Chad six months to get him farther out of the house than the trails when it ended.

But this is Jensen not Taylor, and there’s no call to be thinking about endings before he’s convinced Jensen to give him a chance at beginnings. So he smiles and drawls, “C’mon, then,” passing close enough to Jensen to cause a spark the size of ball lightning when their thighs brush on his way past.

Touching Jensen like that, casual, like he’s not aching to have him, Jared’s running ten steps ahead of a storm. Jensen meets his gaze, sharp and electric, and Jared downgrades that to five. It’s no kind of way to prove he likes Jensen more than a weekend fling, but he’s fighting a losing battle, because Jensen’s not even trying.

With luck, the horses will buy him a reprieve, give them a chance to spend some time doing something other than wanting to throw down on the nearest flat surface. So, Jared rolls his shoulders and keeps walking right on up to the paddock fence. Holly, Tessa, and Prin jostle and crowd, their big pregnant bellies hardly more than an inconvenience in the quest for treats. A little ways off, Bella gives a hopeful whinny when she sees him, then tosses her head and turns a protective circle around Jared’s little red Star.

“Hey, pretty girls,” he sings out and pulls a handful of sugar cubes from his pocket. Three velvety noses and three wet tongues compete for the prizes, but he makes sure they’re shared out equally.

When he sidles up beside, resting his forearms on the fence, Jensen whistles and gives a nod that’s half appreciation and half pure pleasure. “Well cry me a river and call me Blue. You ladies might just make a Quarter horse man of me yet.”

As simple as that, Jensen sets him to rights again. Leastways now Jensen’s whole long leg pressed against his feels more like a promise and less like a death sentence. Setting down his bucket, Jared pushes his bangs off his face, then climbs the split rail and gestures for Jensen to follow.

Jensen’s just got one foot over the top when Star neighs shrilly and comes trotting out from behind her mama toward Jared. A grin breaks out on Jensen’s face to match the one pushing up Jared’s cheeks and wrinkling his nose.

“Well, look at you, sweetheart.” It’s Jensen’s singing voice, whisky raw and low, rolling out sweet and Jared just bets Jensen’s got a younger sister or girl cousins cuz the tone wouldn’t be out of place for praising a confirmation dress. “Aren’t you just the prettiest little thing?” He drops light on his feet next to Jared, and if Jared doesn’t kiss him right there, it’s only because he can’t give him his full attention with Star’s baby teeth tugging on the tail of his shirt.

Palm of his hand gentle under her chin, Jared lifts the filly’s head away from his shirt. “C’mon now,” he says when she flickers her ears and paws, indignant at being separated from the sugar cubes in his pocket. “You know I can’t go letting you chew on my clothes. That ain’t right. But I tell you what, you stand like a good girl while I show Jensen here how pretty you are and you’ll get your treats.”

The whole time he’s talking, his hands are moving over her neck and shoulder, smoothing the fluffy baby coat ‘til he’s got his arm looped over her withers and around her chest. “Jen, hand me that halter, will you?”

Jensen digs into the bucket and comes up with the fleece foal halter. Before he hands it over, he straightens it out and unbuckles the headstall. “Good girl, pretty girl,” Jensen croons to her while Jared slips it over her nose. Now’s no time for dwelling on it, but Jensen’s horse sense pleases him down deep. Tay hadn’t had it, and while Chad knows his way around a riding horse, he’s got no particular love for the mares. Jensen, though…

He’s not thinking about it, he’s just not thinking about it. “Now the soft lead,” he says to Jensen quietly, but Star’s used to this. Her heart’s slamming against her ribcage and her feet are braced wide, but she hasn’t tried to move and Bella, the greedy Gussie, ain’t paid them no never mind since she saw they were empty-handed.

Jensen fishes the lead rope out of the bucket and holds it out, clip end first. “You want me to halter Mama while you handle her little girl?”

Most days, he does this by himself, with no trouble at all, but help’s nice and Jensen seems more at home than he has since he got here. Jared’s not taking that away from him, from them, no how. “She ground ties.”

It’s not a test, really it’s not, but that doesn’t mean Jared’s not silently cheering when Jensen hooks the ultra-short lead to Bella’s halter and leaves it to swing free. Or for the fact there’s no “that okay?” when Jensen turns back to him and Star. “Helluva mare, too,” is what he says instead. “The filly’s Rio’s, yeah?”

Jared runs his hand down Star’s left front leg, and finding no burs or abrasions, lifts it, bending her foot and knee under her belly, then forward under her nose. He uses the routine to hide his eyes from Jensen, but nothing can hide the honeyed warmth in his voice when he answers. “His first foal on the ground.” And it’s not just pride in his colt, no, it’s that Jensen remembers his name from last night, and remembers Jared’s hopes for him. That matters. A lot.

The surest way to tell a horseman from a rider is how they look. Horse people look to the legs first, move around to see they’re straight, then the eyes to make sure the animal’s not vision impaired. Pretty really is as pretty does when it comes to horseflesh, least if you want something worth sitting on, and Jensen obviously knows it from the way he circles them while Jared passes in front of Star to finish the circuit of her legs himself.

“You’ve got every right to be proud, Jared. She’s as fine a filly as I’ve ever seen.” Jensen’s tone is quiet and confident, filled with approval for the horses, but also for Jared.

Toppy bastard or no, Jared can’t help liking how that feels, Jensen approving of him and what’s his. He shoots Jensen a simple smile of thanks and gets a blinked nod in return.

“Wanna take Bella for a quick walk so we can practice being on the lead here?”

“You bet,” Jensen answers, but he’s already got his back to Jared, and this time, heart-warm and head-high, Jared gives up resisting the allure of the view. With most of his attention on Star and teaching her to lead, he can’t appreciate it properly, but if there’s anything turns him on more than Jensen, it’s Jensen crooning sweet-nothings to one of Jared’s favorite mares and watching her ears prick and swivel to listen to that sexass voice.

They make a short trip down to the end of the paddock and back, plenty far enough for a 22-day-old foal, then Jared tosses Jensen an apple to give to Bella while he takes the halter off Star. He can’t help but grin when he glances up to see Jensen take a bite out of it before he gives it to the mare, and not just because his mouth tempts like seven different kinds of sin open against the fruit. Jared’s been sharing treats with his horses since his mama caught him picking cracked corn out of the sweet feed when he was twelve.

Jensen distributes pats and praise to the other mares before making his way to the fence where Jared’s winding the foal lead and making no bones about watching Jensen while he does it. It’s all right, though, in this moment. Being out here with the horses under the big sky with the late spring sun just right for jeans, it makes a man breathe easier, no matter what his problems, and when the only problem is two hard dicks and more intimacy than familiarity, it feels like a whole lot of not much at all.

“So,” Jensen drawls, the curve of his mouth begging the kisses Jared’s been trying so damned hard not to think about. “You gonna show me this soon-to-be-famous stud colt of yours?”

Jared’s not vain and he’s never been insecure, but there’s something about the combination of a genuine appreciation for fine horseflesh, a faded green Henley a half-size too large, and sparks of gold in well-pleased eyes that makes Jared feel like mama’s favorite and the High King of Texas besides. He knows from crushes and, standing close enough to Jensen to brush thighs when they breathe, there’s no question: this one’s set up housekeeping.

Between morning breath and breakfast, Jared hasn’t had a chance to test it out yet. He’s hoping, though, that Jensen’s attitude toward kissing’s improved since last night, because his head’s ringing with the babys and beautifuls he won’t let himself speak and if he doesn’t give them an outlet, his dick’s not the only thing gonna burst.

So he gives Jensen a long look, gaze resting on his mouth, to telegraph his intentions. Jensen doesn’t flinch or duck his head. He doesn’t even slide into sex on legs to hide his uncertainty when Jared threads his fingers through his belt loop to keep him close. But it’s there, painfully clear in his face and his wide-legged braced-but-not-bolting stance when Jared’s thumbnail writes relax, pretty baby, I got you in the small of Jensen’s back.

He wants to lick the apple-sweet from Jensen’s mouth, kiss him slow and deep and dirty, then laughing and sloppy up against the cottonwood by Rio’s paddock. He wants to bear down and bruise Jensen’s lips until he’s panting and curling his fingers in Jared’s shirt.

Christjesus, he wants Jensen.

Which is exactly why Jared’s not gonna, he’s just not gonna blow past Jensen’s boundaries like they’re not even there. Leaning over him, he splays his hand against Jensen’s lower back, smiles into a quiet “Ye-ah” and touches his lips to Jensen’s for a sweet and simple kiss instead.

When Jensen’s palms press flat against his abs, not holding on, but not pushing away either, Jared smiles slow inside and out. Eyes wide and up-tilted under a fringe of golden lashes, Jensen blinks, showing his confusion, and that’s all right. Most of the time, people see what they expect to. Just like training young horses, if you want ‘em to see something different, you’ve gotta shake ‘em up a little. And Jensen’s not running, his lips are parted even though Jared’s done kissing, and Jared can almost see him thinking.

So even with fingers of lightning walking his spine, Jared’s breathing easier. “Ready?” he asks, casual as the day is long.

Jensen blinks again, smirks, and brushes his dick against Jared’s as he pulls back. “Like you even need to ask?”

“Just bein’ polite.” He jerks his chin toward Rio’s paddock on the other side of the maintenance road, sweeps up the bucket and strides off, knowing Jensen will follow.

It might’ve been sweet, but there was nothing simple about that kiss.

#

There’s nothing polite in Jensen’s attention to Rio, either. His gaze tracks every movement. This early in the year, the colt’s more blue than roan, coat like a rainy day sky, mane, tale and points storm cloud black. Seeing him new through Jensen’s watchful eyes, Jared’s minded just how striking an effect it is. Especially with his stallion crest growing in over the winter to give that extra arch to his neck when he snorts and sidles.

It’s a big put on, about like Jensen pretending kissing’s for girls. Rio’s tame as a trail horse, but he’ll show off for company nice as you please, and Jensen’s as fine an audience as the colt’s ever had.

Eventually Rio gets bored of playing look at me and goes back to grazing, then Jensen turns toward Jared, slouching hip and shoulder against the split rail. “Damn,” he says, after a low whistle, and the tilt of his head adds something in the way of emphasis.

Jared doesn’t bother hiding his pleasure at that, but it’s six to a half-dozen which makes him grin brighter: the praise for his colt or Jensen’s wide open posture.

His mama’d say he’d been a fine host this morning, and Jared’s proud of that. It’s no hard thing to be a good host when you do it for a living like Jared does, but being hospitable and kind when you’re wanting to show your guest a whole different kind of good time – on his back on the kitchen table, holding on to the fence, in your bed stretched and spread – well, that’s something else again.

Something hard and achy and hot, and -- looking at Jensen now, head tipped back and breathing deep, noon sun setting fire to the gold in his hair and eyes -- something worthwhile, even if this weekend is all he gets.

It’s not gonna be, not if Jared’s got any say in it, and from the invitation in Jensen’s slouch, he’s got plenty. He’s not taking him up on the invite, though, not just yet. His dick’s keyed to Jensen like lightning to a rod, Jensen knows he’s interested, but buck for sex now and he risks Jensen mistaking friendship for foreplay. ‘Course, he’d be justified maybe, but not to Jared’s way of thinking. No need for seducing the willing; this here’s courtship.

So instead of reaching for Jensen, Jared raises the thumb and forefinger to his mouth and whistles, sharp and shrill, for Rio.

At the clip-clop of trotting hooves behind Jared, Jensen’s eyebrow lifts. He makes a show of ducking to look beneath Rio’s belly. “Just checking,” he drawls, wry. A good horseman like Jensen wouldn’t be too shocked at a stallion imprinted on his owner, but most every one he’s ever known would comment on Rio’s big swinging set somehow.

Rio takes that moment to drop his head over Jared’s shoulder. “There’s a good lad,” Jared murmurs, wrapping his arm up around the colt’s throat-latch to rub behind his Arabian-fine black ears.

Jensen shakes his head, genuine surprise painting his features when Jared pulls an apple from his jeans pocket, polishes it on his shirt, and Rio only snorts softly and waits.

“All that and an ice cold brew.” Jensen holds out his palm, flat and Rio nuzzles it, scenting him. “You win, colt. Never did see a mustang with manners like that.”

The undercurrent in Jensen’s voice, low and electric, raises the hair on Jared’s neck. Storm’s catching up with him, and when it opens, no amount of will and wishing’s gonna keep him off of Jensen. He bites into Rio’s apple, mostly to give his mouth something to do that isn’t savage Jensen’s, then drops it into Jensen’s still-outstretched palm.

Rescuing it before the colt can snatch it, Jensen tears off a chunk of his own. Rio lifts his black muzzle, indignant, then Jensen says, “I’ll make it up to you,” and feeds him the rest of the fruit.

If Jensen had licked over Jared’s bite from the apple, sucked noisily and made a big production of seducing him with it, it couldn’t be hotter than him sharing food casual as anything. Jared’s rooted to the spot, fingernails digging into the fence post behind him. He’s praying God’s as merciful as mama always says, because it’s gonna take the entire heavenly host to hold him back now.

Seems like God is, cuz Jensen’s sizing him up sure and steady, eyes gone dark and hungry. “That horse git when he’s told, too?”

In all his life he’s never been so glad of his training methods as right this minute. He pushes Rio in the chest from between the fence rails. “Shoo, colt. Git. Go on with you.”

Rio rubs his face on Jared’s shoulder, whickers, then slow-turns away leaving Jared breathless and waiting on Jensen.

“I appreciate what you’re doing here, Jay, don’t think I don’t.” Jensen’s tongue wets his bottom lip and his teeth rake over it after. “But my dick’s been hard since breakfast, and I’m hoping you want to do something about that.”

Want is putting it mildly by now. His body’s aching head to toe with honest-to-God need to do something about it, but Jensen’s gotta make the move. So he circles his thumb over Jensen’s hipbone to let him know he’s interested in case he somehow missed it, and drawls “Such as?” to nudge him the right direction.

A shadow flickers across Jensen’s face then, a hint of something bitter and hard. As fast as it appeared, it’s gone and Jensen’s stepping up into his space, so close their chests brush when he inhales to speak. “Such as maybe you oughtta finish what you started back there.”

His chest burns like he ran a mile and his fingertips itch for the warmth of Jensen’s skin, but he’s not gonna, he’s just not gonna. He could. He could wrap his hand around Jensen’s neck and come down over him, thunder and lightning and the Day of Judgment but then he’ll never be sure what Jensen wants. More to the point, Jensen’ll never be sure he had the choice.

Shrugging, Jared pushes his hand through his hair. “Wasn’t starting anything, Jen. Just kissing you ‘cuz it felt right.”

Jensen tenses up, rocks back on his heels. His mouth twists, mean and ugly and just plain wrong. “Don’t fuck with me, Jared. Just don’t.”

Jared’s six kinds of confused and a seventh downright mystified, but his hand shoots for Jensen’s hip. He won’t hold him against his will, but he’s not gonna let him up and walk away. Not without trying to figure out what just happened.

“I’m not playing with you, swear. Just making sure we’re both in the same place.” And yeah, his voice sounds like whoa there, colt, easy but his heart’s slamming against his ribs and everything in him wants to wrap around Jensen and promise to make things right, make everything right.

Looking past Jared, Jensen blows out a hissing breath. It takes a long time, feels like forever and a year, before he finally starts up, “Sorry, it’s not…” and then stops, tongue-tied. The hurt in his eyes says he can’t finish it.

It’d make things a damned sight simpler if he would, but Jared gets the gist, someone fucked with his head but good, and the rest’ll keep til Jensen wants to spill it.

“I know.” Jared leaves go of Jensen’s hip, forces his fingers to uncurl and rest gentle -- not holding on, just being there and trying not to do any damned fool thing that’ll send Jensen running. “That’s why.”

Jensen doesn’t shake off his touch, and that’s a good sign. Whatever happened with the sumbitch what did this to Jensen, Jensen’s not scared of Jared. He’s not talking neither, though, and Jared’s about a heartbeat from begging him to say something, anything, when Jensen suddenly gives.

It’s no one thing, not a smile or a sigh or even his shoulders coming down. Truth told, it seems sorta defiant the way he lifts his chin and locks their gazes together. But it’s not sin walking and it’s not prickly, just proud, and Jared’ll take it if it means Jensen’s staying. “Jensen?”

“Wanna kiss you,” Jensen says, quiet, like the eye of a storm or some kind of revelation. “Wanna kiss you so bad, Jared.”

Jared wants to whoop, shout at the sky and pump his fist, but now’s not the time for celebrating. Casual and easy, as if somehow that wasn’t the hottest thing he’s ever heard, Jared splays his hand in the small of Jensen’s back. “So kiss me.”

Then Jensen huffs out a breath, almost a laugh, grabs Jared’s shirt with one hand, the back of his hair with the other. Before he crushes their mouths together, scraping the inside of Jared’s lip on his teeth, Jensen mutters, “Toppy fucking bastard.”

The kiss is almost pure bravado at first, hard and fast and right fucking now, like a green-broke colt jumping a stream. Something Jensen’s got to do to get where he wants to be, instead of what they’re both needing. Doesn’t matter, though, doesn’t fucking matter to Jared. Sky’s done opened up and he’s whirling in the wind and rain.

His lips part around low growl of encouragement. Jensen licks inside, apples and ozone and a world of wanting. Flash flood in a dusty arroyo, and Jared rides it, rushing and tumbling past rocks and scrub and Jensen’s barriers, hand coming up to grip in Jensen’s hair, body spinning and pushing and slamming Jensen into the fence where he can kiss him proper.

It’s not what he imagined, this maelstrom of heat and musk and sticky-sweet. He’d figured on something slow like getting to know you and deep like want you so bad, and that’s in there, underneath it, but Jensen’s giving as good as he’s getting, plastered to Jared and panting. It feels a lot more like I miss you I need you it’s been too long, and jesusfuck Jared’s in over his head and drowning.

If he’s drowning, he’s not alone. Jensen’s biting at his mouth, stealing kisses he could have for free. He can’t stop touching Jensen, can’t stop running his hands over him, holding his face and kissing down deep. His “Jen Jen Jen, god, want you” tangles with Jensen’s “Jesus, Jay, yes, god yes,” and he can’t breathe, can’t think anything but baby.

Jensen’s ring catches in his hair, tugs at his scalp. He shivers, hips bucking wild, blind with wanting, and Jared’s gotta get a grip. It’s no easy thing with Jensen’s fingers clamped to his shoulder and his dick searing a groove in Jared’s hipbone, but Jared murmurs, “Jen,” against wet, willing, sinful lips, then drags his mouth away.

When Jensen protests, a high whine in the back of his throat, Jared gives in, nipping along his unshaven jaw. Jensen tilts his head to the side, giving him access, and Jared grounds himself in the burn of stubble and the warm clean scent of Jensen in his Henley. His dick’s still straining the seam of his jeans, heart still pumping double-time, but it’s better, he’s better, not ten seconds from bending Jensen over right here in front of Rio, God and everyone.

Then Jensen works his fingers between the buttons of Jared’s shirt. They feather-dust across his abs and Jared’s right back in the thick of it. Pulse-beat against the flat of his tongue, Jensen grunting, soft and pleased, until Jared sucks that sweet flesh up and through his teeth and he gives up a long, low moan.

“Jared.” He squeezes Jared’s bicep so hard it numbs his forearm. Jared looks up and Jensen’s panting, staring at him, eyes gone glazed and dark. “Jay.”

The Jay hits like a lightning bolt straight to his cock and leaves him shaking. “Yeah.” He curls his hand around Jensen’s neck, thumbs his jaw, then kisses him quick and sweet. “Yeah, Jen. But not here.”


Part Two

Comments disabled this part.

Profile

smoke-ring halos
smokeringhalos
blowing smoke-ring halos

Tags

Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by chasethestars