Author: fourfreedoms and miss_begonia
word count: 3,965
Summary: Remember Footloose? Boy on boy vis a vis TRACTORS? Well, we got rid of the tractors.
It starts small.
“Dude,” Jensen says very seriously. “You totally just grabbed my ass.”
Jared tries to look innocent. There might even be batting of eyelashes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, pulling a handful of Sour Patch Kids out of a plastic package cupped in his palm. “Dude.”
Jensen narrows his eyes.
The second time it’s completely Kripke’s fault, because, okay, there is subtext and then there is text, and if those brothers are not fucking in the Impala then they should probably stop gazing at each other like they have a deep and abiding need to ask each other to the prom.
“This is ridiculous,” Jensen snorts.
Bobby Singer yells cut. Kripke goes to look for some aspirin.
“I can’t work under these conditions, man,” Jensen whines.
“What are you trying to say, Jensen?” Jared asks. “Does your masculinity feel threatened?”
“More like my heterosexuality, thanks,” Jensen says. “Move over. You’re invading my aura.”
Jared slouches over in the seat, shoulder brushing against Jensen’s.
“Naw, I’m good.”
“I’m getting out of the car now,” Jensen says, then adds, “freak.”
“I resent your implications, sir!” Jared says, sitting up slightly. “It’s just a car.”
Jensen heaves himself out of the driver’s set, leaning back in to mutter under his breath, “And I think you misunderstand the meaning of ‘lube job,’ buddy.”
The third time – surprise, surprise – alcohol is involved.
So is Michael Rosenbaum.
“You call yourself a liberal,” Mike leers, brandishing a glass of homemade sangría. It’s Latin night in La Casa Rosenbaum, and the fiesta is hoppin’. “But would you make out with a man?”
“I don’t call myself a liberal,” Jensen mutters.
“I don’t really call myself anything,” Jared says thoughtfully. “Except Jared.”
Jensen cocks his head to one side. “You call yourself Jared?”
“In my head,” Jared clarifies. “Sometimes.”
“Seriously, Jensen,” Mike says. “You and Jared. You ever make out?”
Jensen wrinkles his nose. ”No.”
“Because I don’t want to?” Jensen says. “Because I’m not attracted to Jared?”
Mike giggles. “You say that with such a straight face.”
“That’s because I am,” Jensen says. “Straight.”
“I don’t believe you. Men who are comfortable with their heterosexuality don’t feel threatened by the idea of being intimate with another man.”
Jared is staring into his empty shot glass with interest, as if waiting for it to refill itself.
“I could make out with you,” Jared says. “I wouldn’t feel threatened.”
“Yes, you would,” Jensen says, pushing the bottle of Cuervo across the table. “Because I would threaten you.”
The fourth time…well. Stuff happens.
“I don’t get you.”
Jared is gazing at Jensen from below hooded lids and long lashes, sleepy eyes following his movements as Jensen bustles about his kitchen, making dinner.
“What don’t you get, exactly?” Jensen asks, tipping some oregano into a pot where a thick sauce is simmering.
“I don’t get…how weird you are about the gay thing.”
Jensen lifts an eyebrow. “The gay thing?”
“Yeah—how freaked you get whenever anyone suggests it’s possible you could be not entirely straight.”
Jensen purses his lips.
“Is there something you want to tell me, Jared?”
Jared sighs. “I’m just saying…methinks you doth protest too much.”
Jensen pretends to be very busy with the salt shaker.
Jared gets up from his chair, unfolding his lanky frame into his full height. He squares his shoulders and moves forward until he’s standing right behind Jensen, their bodies only inches apart.
Jensen takes in a deep breath.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, because this is weird, and Jensen does not like weird.
“Am I freaking you out right now?” Jared asks.
They’re still not touching; he’s just standing there, a tiny bit too close to be friendly, but not close enough to be considered intimate.
“Yes,” Jensen says through clenched teeth. “Yes, you’re freaking me out.”
“Why?” Jared asks. “I’m not touching you.”
Jensen swings around, finding himself face to face with six foot five feet of tense, wild-eyed Padalecki. He swallows.
“You…” Jensen says, and Jared grabs one of his wrists, twisting it between his fingers.
“It doesn’t take much, does it?” Jared asks.
His eyes flicker a dangerous shade of green.
“Take much for what?” Jensen squeaks.
“How far could you go?” Jared prods. “How far could you go before you’d pussy out like a little bitch?”
“How far could I go?” Jensen is incredulous. “What the fuck are you—”
Jared leans down and captures Jensen’s lower lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to pinch. Jensen makes a strangled sound of surprise, pulling back so quickly he nearly incinerates himself on the stove.
Jared’s breathing heavily, wide shoulders rising and falling with each breath. Jensen can feel the heat of the stove and the heat of Jared and oh, this is – oh.
“It’s on now,” Jared mutters, and Jensen’s pulse twitches.
Jensen been condemned to living his life in fear. He doesn’t get it. Why do these things happen to him?
He’s really got no choice.
He has to fight back.
Tuesday afternoon Jared is in the make-up trailer, waiting to get foundation put on. Jensen’s not in the next scene, so he’s got a whole hour to spend in his trailer taking a nap or playing video games or reading scripts.
But no. He’s not doing any of those things, because he’s in the make-up trailer with Jared. With his palms pressed to Jared’s cheeks and his tongue in Jared’s mouth.
He’s got the element of surprise working for him, that’s for sure. When he pushes his tongue past Jared’s lips and cups his chin with one hand, Jared makes a sound that’s somewhere between a moan and a gasp.
Jared wraps his giant hand around the back of Jensen’s neck, sliding his thumb along the nape and growling against his lips.
And that’s when Jensen officially freaks the fuck out.
“No!” he shouts, and shoves Jared so hard that he nearly tips backwards out of his chair.
Jared wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, trying to catch his breath.
“You fucker,” Jared says. “You kissed me.”
Jensen hightails out of there so fast he almost faceplants in the mud.
They go to a club. This is Jensen’s first mistake. It’s a tacky place with three dance floors and an outrageous cover, but Mike insists the food is to die for and the chicks are kinky, so.
“Hell, they’ll let you use them as plates,” Mike nods at the flat abs bared by one girl’s shirt.
Jensen believes that woman has more self-respect than to let Mike eat his buffalo wings off her stomach, but he agrees to go inside just to watch Mike try.
It’s so crowded—pulsing with strobe lights and the shift of the crowd—that nobody gets a good look at their faces. Jensen’s thankful for small favors because Jared leans over right there at the bar, his fingertips sliding over the small of Jensen’s back to hook into his belt loop. Then he bends his head to lick the skin bared by Jensen’s collar.
Jensen doesn’t want to lose or give in to the impulse to hide behind Tom’s bulk, so he lets his head drop to the side to give Jared better access.
Under extreme duress, of course.
The point of Jared’s tongue slides over skin only centimeters away from his pulse, and he’s lucky, because if Jared does find his pulse? Jensen’s absolutely unquestionable straightness is going to collapse into a shuddery mess in Jared’s arms.
Oh, fuck, he does find it. Jensen’s eyes drop open to see Mike blinking at them, holding a Corona out to Jensen, his arm shaking like he’s been holding it up for awhile. Jensen chokes and pushes out of Jared’s grasp to grab the beer.
Behind him Jared laughs.
“Every time,” he crows, “you lose every time.”
Sandy is visiting and they’re having a barbecue at Tom’s house. It’s always weird when their little gang of four is broken up by the presence of women, but this time it fits perfectly with Jensen’s plan of action.
He has to spend the entire afternoon working up the nerve, tripping through conversations and bouncing his leg up and down until Jared presses his palm down over his thigh to get him to stop shaking the floor. Finally, when the pork ribs are almost done and Sandy comes in to hand them slices of watermelon, Jensen gets up and straddles Jared’s lap.
There’s no way Jared’s going to let Jensen do this right in front of his girlfriend. No way, and Jensen will be reigning champion, because a kiss in a make-up trailer or in front of Mike who was probably in the damn bathroom when Larry Craig got caught? Pales in comparison to this. But Jared looks up at him, face carefully blank, and Jesus, why is this never easy?
Jensen breathes out through his nose and initiates a kiss with Jared for the second time. Any moment now Jared will pull away, or Sandy will start lobbing watermelon slices at them so they’ll have to spring apart.
Jared’s just going with this kiss thing because he’s a stubborn bastard, obviously, and when Jensen collapses more of his weight down on his crotch, Jared’s only groaning because he knows he’s going to lose. Any moment now Jared will dump him off his lap and swear up and down that it’s not like that, Sandy. He runs his hand up the back of Jensen’s thigh to cup Jensen’s ass because he’s going to tug him away. Any moment now…
Oh hell, Jensen is going to lose again.
He scrambles off of Jared, kneeing him in the side. Jared’s oof only makes Jensen blush harder. He jerks farther away and barely misses braining himself on the coffee table. Jared laughs at him as he peers up over the top of the table at Sandy who’s munching her watermelon and staring at them, mystified.
“Were you guys practicing for a scene or something?”
Sandy is lovely, okay, but she’s not always the sharpest tool in the shed.
“Brothers,” Jensen mutters. “We play brothers.”
Jared only laughs harder. Jensen buries his head in his hands.
Perhaps to avoid potential injury, Jared launches his revenge attack over the phone.
It’s a Tuesday night – their day off, in fact, and they haven’t spoken off set since The Kisses That Shall Not Be Mentioned. Jensen’s kind of bummed about it, to be honest, but he doesn’t know how to explain himself or what to apologize for, and it’s all very confusing. So instead he drags out a bag of Doritos and a six pack of beer and sprawls across his couch in his underwear, flicks on the TV and watches horrible reality shows until he feels like his ears are bleeding from the stupidity.
It’s 11:00 pm when his phone rings.
“’Lo?” he mumbles into the receiver, mouth full of chips.
Jared’s voice is low and strained, his breathing irregular. Jensen feels the skin on the back of his neck begin to prickle. It suddenly feels very warm in the room, despite the fact that he’s wearing nothing but boxers.
“Yeah?” he says, and swallows a mouthful of cheesy goodness. It makes him queasy.
“What are you doing?”
“Um.” He turns down the volume. “Watching something really stupid on TV. How about you?”
“I’m…jerking off thinking about you.”
Jensen drops the phone.
It takes him several moments to wipe his hands off, take a drink of water and locate the phone under the couch. When he picks it up again Jared’s breathing sounds even more ragged, interspersed with tiny gasps.
“Are you crazy?” Jensen yelps. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m just…I can’t stop thinking…about you. Your…your lips, Jen, I want to…kiss you until you can’t breathe. I want you naked. And hard. Spread out on my bed. I want to fuck you, Jensen.”
Jensen’s breath catches. He can feel his cock responding to the deep timbre of Jared’s voice, to the desire infused in his words. He wills down his arousal but it’s no use. Especially because Jared keeps talking.
“You act like…like you don’t want this but I think you do,” Jared murmurs. “I think you want me to touch you, to run my hands all over your body, to lick you until you scream. You’re such a fucking tease and I—”
“No, shut the fuck up, Jensen. You get on my nerves. You kissed me with intent, man. Those were no pretend kisses, asshole.”
“I thought we were – you asked me how far I could go, and I—”
“Tomorrow, on set,” Jared says, panting. “You and me. In my trailer,” he says, and hangs up.
Jensen decides to pretend that he and Jared never had that phone conversation. He decides it was a dream.
Unfortunately, Jared is not cognizant of this plan. Jared spends the morning while they’re shooting staring at Jensen’s lips and licking his own.
This is so fucked up. They don’t pay Jensen enough for this shit.
Plus, Jensen is totally not gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. He’s just not. But he can’t let Jared get away with this, either. Because that would be like…admitting defeat or something. Jensen can’t do that.
Which is how he finds himself in Jared’s trailer, backed up against the wall with Jared’s hand on his crotch.
Jared has really big hands. Really big hands. It’s pressure everywhere, and his eyes are squeezed tight, and damn it, this was supposed to be the part where Jared backed off, cried heterosexual male surrender and ran home to his mother. It seems Jensen’s entirely underestimated how far Jared is willing to go to win this game.
Every. Single. Time.
“What?” Jared asks, heel of his palm pressing against Jensen’s dick. “Jensen? Are you retarded?”
Jensen’s breathing is ragged. “No, I’m not retarded! I’m straight.”
“Oh, boy,” Jared says, big hand making quick work of Jensen’s zipper. If Jared thinks he’s going to make Jensen back down this time, he’s wrong. Jensen will find a way to top Jared’s hands down his pants. He will – uh – he will – something –
“I—will—win this time!” he informs Jared somewhat brokenly. Jared gives him a strange look, and presses his mouth to Jensen’s.
He settles on this big show that he’s enjoying it. That’ll totally scare Jared off—make him realize that he’s actually bringing a guy off in his trailer.
He moans and arches into the touch, but he doesn’t have to do much performing, because Jared knows his way around a dick and all that time he spent making out with Rory Gilmore has definitely taught him a thing or two. Jensen feels the tension between his shoulders relaxing, and Jared’s wrenching a moan out of him with every stroke. He’s grateful for Jared’s weight pinning him to the wall, because Jensen has lost the ability to hold himself up.
“I’m going to come,” he informs Jared, expecting the other man to suddenly shout and jump away as the weight of what he’s doing crashes down on him, but Jared’s mouth slides across his cheekbone, breath skating over Jensen’s ear, making him shudder.
“Yes, I know,” and Jensen loses it to the sound of that smug bastard’s voice.
Jared makes a face at the spunk on his hand, and Jensen wonders idly if this counts as winning. But then Jared just grabs a tissue, wipes it off, and looks down at his watch.
“Shit, I’m due on set.”
And then he’s racing out of the trailer leaving Jensen slumped against the wall, jeans still undone, his breathing barely slowed back to normal.
He looks at the tissue that Jared chucked haphazardly at the wastebasket. It fell short of the mark, and now it’s lying on the floor, a reminder of what they’d just done.
Fuck, the only way he’s going to be able to top that is to suck Jared’s cock.
He can’t do that! No. He really just. No. Fuck this real men business. He does not want a dick in his mouth. He wouldn’t want his own dick in his mouth. Personally he thinks it’s a labor of love that women will put dicks in their mouths.
Jared seems content in his victory, like he’s not going to try anything else. Because if Jared tried the blow job business before Jensen even got there, he’s not sure what he’d have to do to top that. He wonders which is higher on the scale, fucking Jared or being fucked.
Maybe he can just do something really gay like dye the front of his hair pink or wear leather pants. Honestly, Jensen has no problem with that. He spent much of his formative years in one embarrassing outfit or another. If they want to get right down to it, Jensen can probably outgay him on photo shoots alone.
But it’s not the same. He knows it’s not the same. And Jared is kidding himself if he thinks that Jensen is going to let him sit there with the trophy. Like all great sports movies, Jensen’s got his ass whupped a few times, and now he’s going to come back in the last fifteen seconds and pulverize Jared.
Suck his dick.
Except sometimes? The ends just don’t justify the means.
Jared doesn’t do anything. Everything is completely normal. There is no touching. Well. That’s a lie. Dean’s jumping into Sam’s space in every other scene, practically running his hands through his younger brother’s hair, and when Jensen goes back to wardrobe to change into his own leather jacket and distressed jeans, he finds himself thinking that Dean’s flannel shirt smells like Jared.
He knows what Jared smells like – spicy, fresh, a little like dish detergent – and sense memory is flashing before his mind, reminding him of Jared’s body pressing his to the wall, his forehead pressed to Jared’s shoulder, completely enveloped in that smell. He looks down with a groan. He’s hard enough that his jeans are becoming a health risk.
Just then, because apparently God really wants him to do gay things, Jared walks into the trailer.
“Oh, Jensen, thought you’d left already…” Jared starts and then trails off when his eyes drop to the obvious bulge in Jensen’s jeans.
Jensen snaps, flinging Dean’s flannel at Jared’s face. “This is all your fault!”
Jared blinks for a second before his lips slide into a smile. “Well hey, that’s quite a compliment.”
“You just had to keep pushing, and we Ackles don’t pussy out, okay? I had my good name to uphold,” Jensen plows on, trying to ignore the way Jared sinks his teeth into his lip, “and then you made me come, and now I – I –“
Jensen sighs, and his next words come out as a strangled whine.
“I want to do it again.”
Jared looks at him like he’s crazy. “Uh, that sounds like a fine plan?”
“What?” Jensen wants to grab him and shake him. “What’s wrong with you? Straight men don’t have orgasms when you touch their dick. They flip the fuck out and break beer bottles over your head.”
Jared nods, stepping closer. “Jensen. Think about what you’re saying, man. Put the pieces together and –”
Jensen throws his hands up. “I’M. NOT. GAY.”
“Well, by your own admission—” Jared starts, but he doesn’t get far, because Jensen is on him, pushing him down in the convenient roll top chair, and they go sliding across the floor to slam into the far wall as Jensen intimately reacquaints himself with the sugar and citric acid taste of Jared’s mouth.
Jared moans, shifts underneath him, and their hips meet up just right, and there it is. Jared is hard too, hard and hot, and Jensen can feel him all the way through two layers of denim. It sends this crazy feeling right up the center of him, and he’s arching back and sucking in air while Jared, broad palms splayed across his ass, draws him down even harder.
But Jensen isn’t in imminent danger of pulling away and crying uncle, because that is the last thing in the world he wants right now. God, he wants to fuck Jared – hold his thighs apart and slam home until Jared is begging, sweat rolling down his body, head dropped back like he doesn’t know where in the world he is anymore.
And yeah, okay, that is pretty gay.
Jared tears his mouth away to breathe, but he’s finally unzipping the torture device that is Jensen’s pants and taking him in hand, jerking him off slow and steady while Jensen rocks back against Jared’s dick.
He’s spilling out these little choked groans, mouth shiny and kiss-swollen, and Jensen can barely get air into his lungs. He wants to get off so badly it hurts, and all he can picture is Jared picking him up and tipping back onto the marble slab of his kitchen counter, fucking Jensen open with his mouth fastened to Jensen’s nipple. He can practically feel Jared’s too long hair rasping against his skin.
That is definitely gay.
Jared’s asking him what he’s thinking about, his voice shredded and deep. Jensen shudders.
“You,” he groans, and he’s coming all over Jared’s t-shirt, moaning weakly, hips still working.
Jared’s voice is caught up in a laugh, but Jensen feels his muscles lock up tight as Jared’s thighs turn to rock beneath him. He has to grip Jared’s shoulders tight, fingers digging down into the powerful breadth of them to keep himself from swaying right off. Jared comes, stuttering on the word “good,” his cheeks flushed like he’s been out running in the cold. Jensen’s a far cry from fifteen, but if he were that come face would have him hard all over again.
“You seem to like my lap,” Jared says, when he can finally get enough oxygen to form words.
“Fuck you, you climbing into my lap would look fucking ridiculous.” Jensen glares at him and disentangles himself.
“Next time you can climb into my bed,” Jared says, and God, he’s so lame Jensen wants to smack him, but he’s too distracted by the next time part of that sentence and Jared’s cheeky little grin and the significant portion of Jensen’s brain and body that’s screaming yes please, yes, yes.
A/N: This story started last summer when I mentioned to miss_begonia that a few of my straight male friends like to play “gay chicken,” i.e. a game in which they push each other to do progressively more gay things to see who wimps out first. And she went STORY IDEA! So obviously we had to write it. But then, when we were in the final stages of revising miss_begonia emailed me this:
“I accidentally mentioned “gay chicken” while in the room with my roommate overnighter’s brother, who’s a chef. He immediately perked up and was like, “Gay chicken? I thought we invented that!” Apparently they play it “3-4 times a day” at the fancy restaurant where he works. Yeah. Special, huh? So basically what I’m saying is that this story is TRUFAX. Guys do this. They really, really do.”
And that is the message that we want you to take home with you.