FIC: Chanel N°5 (Jared/Jensen NC-17)
Mar. 17th, 2015 11:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tebtoscaTitle: Chanel N°5
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1936
Warnings: infidelity, age difference (Jared early-20s/Jensen mid-30s), barebacking, toys, toppy!Jared
Summary: Jensen doesn't remember the time before he first sees him out the kitchen window.
Author's Notes: Written for Round Two of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_masquerade for this fantastic prompt
Jensen’s face down in his wife’s goose-down pillow when he first smells it.
“Squeeze me like that, fuck, your ass was made to take my cock.”
Jared’s hand is on the back of Jensen’s neck, holding him down, forcing the arch in his back, the question mark curve of his ass. He’s giving, he’s taking, neither, both, it doesn’t matter much anymore.
He’s suffocating on his wife’s perfume and the vulgar, humid scent of testosterone in the air. Opens his mouth, gets damp cotton sticking to the enamel of his teeth.
“You’d do this every day if I told you to, wouldn’t you? I could put you on your knees and fuck you down onto my cock until you couldn't taste anything else in your fucking throat.”
Jensen’s floating now, lost in the rat-ta-tat of hips thrusts and bed squeaks until stillness comes and wetness seeps down his legs towards sheets bought at Bed, Bath, and Beyond one weekend long ago, before.
Before.
Jared’s pulling him into a kiss that’s too long, too knowing. The keys can turn in the door at any moment, little feet running down the hall. Any moment, Jensen knows, but he opens his mouth and lets Jared take, lets Jared give.
“Tomorrow, yeah,” Jared whispers into the air between then, bringing a thumb up to Jensen’s mouth and cracking the seam of it open with it. The digit smells like Jensen and Jared and Jared and Jensen and not her at all, not even one bit.
Jensen doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t have to.
It wasn’t really a question.
==
Jensen’s pouring himself a bowl of Grape Nuts when he first sees him out the kitchen window.
The Padaleckis next door are nice folks. Normal, quiet, middle-aged. Jensen vaguely remembers glimpsing a scrawny teenager going in and out a few times when they first moved in, but that was years ago and since then it’s just been Mr. Padalecki and his receding hairline in his lounge slippers waving from the mailbox.
One could use a lot of words to describe the kid currently mowing the lawn shirtless, but “scrawny” isn’t one of them.
Jensen chews his Grape Nuts thoughtfully, hips pressing a little too hard to the sink counter.
==
He watches the next time, and the time after that. It’s summer in Texas and even from behind glass and lace curtains, Jensen can see the sweat trailing down the Padalecki boy’s back and dipping into the curve of his spine. The corded muscle of his arms flex as he pushes the mower across fresh green grass.
He probably smells like that, too, like sweat and summer and cut grass and youth.
Jensen licks his lips, but there’s no milk on them this time.
==
Jensen looks and, one time, the kid sees it.
The next time Jensen looks, the kid knocks.
Jensen knows better than to open the door, but his fingers are wrapped around the knob before he can remind himself of why.
==
“I’m Jared. You probably don’t remember me,” is what the kid says moments before he wraps his mouth around Jensen’s dick for the first time. He looks up at Jensen from his place on his knees, eyelashes long and damp, mouth pink like cotton candy as it stretches around the girth in a way that no woman’s ever been able to manage.
But it’s only when Jared slips two of his own fingers in his mouth as he’s sucking, gets them wet with spit and then slides them back, under, around, in, that Jensen really gets that just because Jared’s the one on his knees doesn’t mean he’s not the one with all the power.
Jensen comes so hard that he barely notices Jared pulling his fingers back out and smiling.
==
The next time Jensen opens the door, Jared fucks him right over the kitchen counter, Jensen’s cheek pressed cold against the spot that had held his eldest child’s plate of waffles not forty five minutes prior.
“I knew you’d be good for me,” Jared mumbles, teeth biting down Jensen’s spine in an obscene impersonation of butterfly kisses.
Jensen wants to ask how and when he knew these things, and why Jensen himself isn’t as aware about his own body as some punk college kid, but Jared’s cock is too deep and his hands are too strong to allow much in the way of rational thinking.
After, Jensen knows there is something that he should be saying. Something like no or why or I’m not who you think I am but Jared is pulling Jensen’s pants up for him over his tender ass and pressing a kiss laced with promise against Jensen’s mouth.
Words never come, but Jared always does.
==
Jensen's hands are shaking as he signs his name to the last of the documents stacked neatly on his desk. He tries to steady them, since the last thing he needs is someone thinking his signature looks under duress, but his eyes flicker up to the clock on the wall and the shaking continues.
1:07
Maybe he won’t come. Maybe this is crazy. Maybe Jensen is crazy.
“Mr. Ackles, there is a Mr. Padalecki here to see you.”
The buzzer of the intercom startles him out of his reverie, and he tries to take a few deep breaths before he answers.
“Thank you, Felicia,” he tells his secretary, proud of how calm his voice sounds. “Please send him in.”
Jensen stands up, but stays behind the desk. A makeshift shield.
He drums his fingers on the wood and waits for the door to open.
Jared’s already smiling before he even gets the door open, dimples cratering his face like smug promises of even deeper places yet to be filled.
Jared opens the door, closes behind him, locks it. The blinds are already shut.
“Fancy digs,” Jared says, humming low in his throat as he heads further into the room, running his fingers along the edge of Jensen’s desk as he comes around the back.
Jensen doesn’t respond, figures the live wire tension in his shoulders is answer enough.
Jared’s fingers slide off the desk and right over to Jensen’s side, a quick, electric touch before he slumps unceremoniously into Jensen’s office chair and reaches with both giant hands to pull Jensen into his equally giant lap.
Jensen hisses, biting his lip to stop any further sound from coming out. He adjusts his stance, thighs tight as they widen around Jared’s body but remain caught snug in the chair. Trapped against Jared’s body and the air behind his back.
“Shhh,” Jared says, soft, teasing, hands roaming along Jensen’s sides and around to his back, down to cup his ass through his suit pants. Jared’s thumb dips into the crevice, pushing the material into the crack and rubbing it against the core of him.
Jensen sees the moment when Jared first feels it. Sees the way Jared’s breath catches, the way his pupils change, the tiny tremor in the corner of his mouth pulsating upwards.
“You did it. You got ready for me, baby. Tell me what you were thinking about when you did it,” Jared says, and it’s a cooing noise, a hot, possessive, triumphant sound as he pops the button on Jensen’s slacks and slides both hands into Jensen’s briefs until two knowing thumbs crack open the mound and bump against thick, wet plastic.
Jensen can’t reply, can’t even speak. Definitely can’t tell Jared how he bent over his own desk this morning and broke himself open with three fingers and a travel size bottle of K-Y. How he pulled out the obscene purple butt-plug from his bottom desk drawer, locked with a key that only he has so the cleaning lady won’t find his darkest secrets. How he rocked that plug inside of himself, slowly, carefully, hips humping the wood like a teenager after prom as he thought about the very moment when Jared would walk into his place of business and replace the cold, stiff plastic with warm, hard flesh.
Jared’s lifting him then, needy, tugging at his pants until they are just enough out of the way that the artificial air of the room is cooling down Jensen’s now feverish skin. Jared’s hands are back on his ass almost as fast, fingers toying with the plug, easing it out an inch and then pressing it back in, now two inches, halfway, all the way, before slamming it back in as Jensen gasps as quietly as possible.
Jensen’s whimpering into Jared’s mouth now, he knows it, no dignity left, but his silent begging works as Jared finally pulls the plastic out and slides bare flesh right up into the core of him.
“God, baby, taking it so good, just like this. Fucking you raw so you can feel my come all up inside you all day long, isn’t that right, fuck, baby, you are so fucking hot like this.”
Afterwards, Jared slips the plug back in him, tucking all that slippery white inside so that Jensen won’t be able to forget. Like that would even be possible.
“Thanks for your help, Mr. Ackles,” Jared says brightly from the open doorway, half of Felicia’s bright red hair visible from behind him.
Jensen’s hands shake for the rest of the day.
==
Mr. Padalecki is a master griller, or so he claims. He boasts about this as he places charbroiled hot dogs onto a paper plate and passes them to Jensen’s wife, who smiles her PTA smile and heads off to chat with Ms. Smith from the church, who kindly made vanilla bean cupcakes for the annual fall barbeque they are all gathered at.
Mr. Padalecki’s son has Jensen on his knees behind the storage shed, back pressed against corrugated metal as the cock he’s gotten so good at worshipping presses to the back of his throat.
There is the sound of laughter so close, too close, but it’s just a buzz in Jensen’s ears now. His world narrows down to this, to too much spit down the corners of his broken mouth and the feel of Jared’s palms cupping the side of his head to draw him even closer.
“Your son’s getting big now. Tall like you.”
Jensen closes his eyes, suckles the flesh, tongue working and flexing.
“He looks just like you but your little girl, no, she’s looks like your wife.”
The buzzing is louder as Jared’s hips pound harder, more vicious with every stroke.
“What’s your wife’s name again? I always forget.”
His throat constricts, not enough air getting through.
“Hmm, what was that? Tell me her name again.”
Jensen opens his eyes just as Jared slams in one more time and comes. Jensen swallows around it, trying not to choke, jizz dripping down the sides of his mouth and along the jut of his chin towards the collar of his polo shirt.
“Oh well, guess it doesn’t matter too much, right?”
Jensen wipes a hand across his mouth and looks up, eyes glazed. Jared’s looming over him, unrepentant and beautiful.
“Fuck you,” Jensen manages to reply, voice raw and coated.
Jared laughs, smiling face framed by the sunshine.
“You always get that part backwards, Jensen.”
==
Jensen’s just pulling the clean sheets out of the dryer when he hears the stampede of little feet in the hallway. He holds the material to his nose, almost missing the mixture of Chanel N°5 and jizz that represents his sin.
“Dad! I made two goals today!”
His ass aches, throbbing like a heartbeat.
He’s hugging his kids but thinking about tomorrow.
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1936
Warnings: infidelity, age difference (Jared early-20s/Jensen mid-30s), barebacking, toys, toppy!Jared
Summary: Jensen doesn't remember the time before he first sees him out the kitchen window.
Author's Notes: Written for Round Two of
spn_masquerade for this fantastic promptJensen’s face down in his wife’s goose-down pillow when he first smells it.
“Squeeze me like that, fuck, your ass was made to take my cock.”
Jared’s hand is on the back of Jensen’s neck, holding him down, forcing the arch in his back, the question mark curve of his ass. He’s giving, he’s taking, neither, both, it doesn’t matter much anymore.
He’s suffocating on his wife’s perfume and the vulgar, humid scent of testosterone in the air. Opens his mouth, gets damp cotton sticking to the enamel of his teeth.
“You’d do this every day if I told you to, wouldn’t you? I could put you on your knees and fuck you down onto my cock until you couldn't taste anything else in your fucking throat.”
Jensen’s floating now, lost in the rat-ta-tat of hips thrusts and bed squeaks until stillness comes and wetness seeps down his legs towards sheets bought at Bed, Bath, and Beyond one weekend long ago, before.
Before.
Jared’s pulling him into a kiss that’s too long, too knowing. The keys can turn in the door at any moment, little feet running down the hall. Any moment, Jensen knows, but he opens his mouth and lets Jared take, lets Jared give.
“Tomorrow, yeah,” Jared whispers into the air between then, bringing a thumb up to Jensen’s mouth and cracking the seam of it open with it. The digit smells like Jensen and Jared and Jared and Jensen and not her at all, not even one bit.
Jensen doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t have to.
It wasn’t really a question.
==
Jensen’s pouring himself a bowl of Grape Nuts when he first sees him out the kitchen window.
The Padaleckis next door are nice folks. Normal, quiet, middle-aged. Jensen vaguely remembers glimpsing a scrawny teenager going in and out a few times when they first moved in, but that was years ago and since then it’s just been Mr. Padalecki and his receding hairline in his lounge slippers waving from the mailbox.
One could use a lot of words to describe the kid currently mowing the lawn shirtless, but “scrawny” isn’t one of them.
Jensen chews his Grape Nuts thoughtfully, hips pressing a little too hard to the sink counter.
==
He watches the next time, and the time after that. It’s summer in Texas and even from behind glass and lace curtains, Jensen can see the sweat trailing down the Padalecki boy’s back and dipping into the curve of his spine. The corded muscle of his arms flex as he pushes the mower across fresh green grass.
He probably smells like that, too, like sweat and summer and cut grass and youth.
Jensen licks his lips, but there’s no milk on them this time.
==
Jensen looks and, one time, the kid sees it.
The next time Jensen looks, the kid knocks.
Jensen knows better than to open the door, but his fingers are wrapped around the knob before he can remind himself of why.
==
“I’m Jared. You probably don’t remember me,” is what the kid says moments before he wraps his mouth around Jensen’s dick for the first time. He looks up at Jensen from his place on his knees, eyelashes long and damp, mouth pink like cotton candy as it stretches around the girth in a way that no woman’s ever been able to manage.
But it’s only when Jared slips two of his own fingers in his mouth as he’s sucking, gets them wet with spit and then slides them back, under, around, in, that Jensen really gets that just because Jared’s the one on his knees doesn’t mean he’s not the one with all the power.
Jensen comes so hard that he barely notices Jared pulling his fingers back out and smiling.
==
The next time Jensen opens the door, Jared fucks him right over the kitchen counter, Jensen’s cheek pressed cold against the spot that had held his eldest child’s plate of waffles not forty five minutes prior.
“I knew you’d be good for me,” Jared mumbles, teeth biting down Jensen’s spine in an obscene impersonation of butterfly kisses.
Jensen wants to ask how and when he knew these things, and why Jensen himself isn’t as aware about his own body as some punk college kid, but Jared’s cock is too deep and his hands are too strong to allow much in the way of rational thinking.
After, Jensen knows there is something that he should be saying. Something like no or why or I’m not who you think I am but Jared is pulling Jensen’s pants up for him over his tender ass and pressing a kiss laced with promise against Jensen’s mouth.
Words never come, but Jared always does.
==
Jensen's hands are shaking as he signs his name to the last of the documents stacked neatly on his desk. He tries to steady them, since the last thing he needs is someone thinking his signature looks under duress, but his eyes flicker up to the clock on the wall and the shaking continues.
1:07
Maybe he won’t come. Maybe this is crazy. Maybe Jensen is crazy.
“Mr. Ackles, there is a Mr. Padalecki here to see you.”
The buzzer of the intercom startles him out of his reverie, and he tries to take a few deep breaths before he answers.
“Thank you, Felicia,” he tells his secretary, proud of how calm his voice sounds. “Please send him in.”
Jensen stands up, but stays behind the desk. A makeshift shield.
He drums his fingers on the wood and waits for the door to open.
Jared’s already smiling before he even gets the door open, dimples cratering his face like smug promises of even deeper places yet to be filled.
Jared opens the door, closes behind him, locks it. The blinds are already shut.
“Fancy digs,” Jared says, humming low in his throat as he heads further into the room, running his fingers along the edge of Jensen’s desk as he comes around the back.
Jensen doesn’t respond, figures the live wire tension in his shoulders is answer enough.
Jared’s fingers slide off the desk and right over to Jensen’s side, a quick, electric touch before he slumps unceremoniously into Jensen’s office chair and reaches with both giant hands to pull Jensen into his equally giant lap.
Jensen hisses, biting his lip to stop any further sound from coming out. He adjusts his stance, thighs tight as they widen around Jared’s body but remain caught snug in the chair. Trapped against Jared’s body and the air behind his back.
“Shhh,” Jared says, soft, teasing, hands roaming along Jensen’s sides and around to his back, down to cup his ass through his suit pants. Jared’s thumb dips into the crevice, pushing the material into the crack and rubbing it against the core of him.
Jensen sees the moment when Jared first feels it. Sees the way Jared’s breath catches, the way his pupils change, the tiny tremor in the corner of his mouth pulsating upwards.
“You did it. You got ready for me, baby. Tell me what you were thinking about when you did it,” Jared says, and it’s a cooing noise, a hot, possessive, triumphant sound as he pops the button on Jensen’s slacks and slides both hands into Jensen’s briefs until two knowing thumbs crack open the mound and bump against thick, wet plastic.
Jensen can’t reply, can’t even speak. Definitely can’t tell Jared how he bent over his own desk this morning and broke himself open with three fingers and a travel size bottle of K-Y. How he pulled out the obscene purple butt-plug from his bottom desk drawer, locked with a key that only he has so the cleaning lady won’t find his darkest secrets. How he rocked that plug inside of himself, slowly, carefully, hips humping the wood like a teenager after prom as he thought about the very moment when Jared would walk into his place of business and replace the cold, stiff plastic with warm, hard flesh.
Jared’s lifting him then, needy, tugging at his pants until they are just enough out of the way that the artificial air of the room is cooling down Jensen’s now feverish skin. Jared’s hands are back on his ass almost as fast, fingers toying with the plug, easing it out an inch and then pressing it back in, now two inches, halfway, all the way, before slamming it back in as Jensen gasps as quietly as possible.
Jensen’s whimpering into Jared’s mouth now, he knows it, no dignity left, but his silent begging works as Jared finally pulls the plastic out and slides bare flesh right up into the core of him.
“God, baby, taking it so good, just like this. Fucking you raw so you can feel my come all up inside you all day long, isn’t that right, fuck, baby, you are so fucking hot like this.”
Afterwards, Jared slips the plug back in him, tucking all that slippery white inside so that Jensen won’t be able to forget. Like that would even be possible.
“Thanks for your help, Mr. Ackles,” Jared says brightly from the open doorway, half of Felicia’s bright red hair visible from behind him.
Jensen’s hands shake for the rest of the day.
==
Mr. Padalecki is a master griller, or so he claims. He boasts about this as he places charbroiled hot dogs onto a paper plate and passes them to Jensen’s wife, who smiles her PTA smile and heads off to chat with Ms. Smith from the church, who kindly made vanilla bean cupcakes for the annual fall barbeque they are all gathered at.
Mr. Padalecki’s son has Jensen on his knees behind the storage shed, back pressed against corrugated metal as the cock he’s gotten so good at worshipping presses to the back of his throat.
There is the sound of laughter so close, too close, but it’s just a buzz in Jensen’s ears now. His world narrows down to this, to too much spit down the corners of his broken mouth and the feel of Jared’s palms cupping the side of his head to draw him even closer.
“Your son’s getting big now. Tall like you.”
Jensen closes his eyes, suckles the flesh, tongue working and flexing.
“He looks just like you but your little girl, no, she’s looks like your wife.”
The buzzing is louder as Jared’s hips pound harder, more vicious with every stroke.
“What’s your wife’s name again? I always forget.”
His throat constricts, not enough air getting through.
“Hmm, what was that? Tell me her name again.”
Jensen opens his eyes just as Jared slams in one more time and comes. Jensen swallows around it, trying not to choke, jizz dripping down the sides of his mouth and along the jut of his chin towards the collar of his polo shirt.
“Oh well, guess it doesn’t matter too much, right?”
Jensen wipes a hand across his mouth and looks up, eyes glazed. Jared’s looming over him, unrepentant and beautiful.
“Fuck you,” Jensen manages to reply, voice raw and coated.
Jared laughs, smiling face framed by the sunshine.
“You always get that part backwards, Jensen.”
==
Jensen’s just pulling the clean sheets out of the dryer when he hears the stampede of little feet in the hallway. He holds the material to his nose, almost missing the mixture of Chanel N°5 and jizz that represents his sin.
“Dad! I made two goals today!”
His ass aches, throbbing like a heartbeat.
He’s hugging his kids but thinking about tomorrow.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2015-03-17 04:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-04-04 08:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-17 07:32 pm (UTC)I am nearly exhausted from all the pork reading today. Between you and fiercely normal and Firesign10, its been like a marathon.
no subject
Date: 2015-04-04 08:31 pm (UTC)<333
no subject
Date: 2015-03-17 07:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-04-04 08:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-17 09:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-04-04 08:31 pm (UTC)<33
no subject
Date: 2015-03-17 11:40 pm (UTC)Speechless. All hail, to the Queen.
no subject
Date: 2015-04-04 08:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-19 03:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-04-04 08:32 pm (UTC)Thanks, bb! <3
[ Fic rec ] Masquerade Round 2!
Date: 2015-03-19 05:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-19 06:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-04-04 08:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-19 08:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-04-04 08:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-19 10:28 pm (UTC)It's perfect. PERFECT AND YOU CAN TWEET THE CARVER CROTCH WHENEVER YOU WANT AND I WONT MIND BECAUSE YOU WROTE THIS
no subject
Date: 2015-04-04 08:33 pm (UTC)OMG sorry for the late reply, but so happy that you liked it, bb! <3
no subject
Date: 2015-03-20 06:31 pm (UTC)LOVE your title too.
no subject
Date: 2015-04-04 08:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-24 05:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-04-04 08:33 pm (UTC)Thanks, bb! <3
no subject
Date: 2015-05-11 08:43 pm (UTC)