an agent of the random (riyku) wrote,
an agent of the random
riyku

fic: Your Wish is My Command

Title: Your Wish is My Command
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Jared/Jensen AU
Word Count: 5,000
Notes: A million thanks to my darling flawlessglitch for seeing me through this one.  Hey, junebug? TIPTOES.  Written for salt_burn_porn, for laisserais's wonderful prompt: rub you the right way. Also? lj is totally borked--it ate this post like five times.

Summary: Jared never knew that his job as a dealer in fine antiquities would be this interesting.





The bottle is small, slender, about the length of Jared’s hand from his middle finger to his wrist, and heavy for its size. Too large to be a perfume bottle, although that’s what it resembles most. Jared holds it up by its neck, and the light catches on its surface, reflects a brilliant green beneath a thin layer of dust, iridescent like an oil slick. There’s no stamp on it, no mark, nothing etched into the bottom to identify the maker. Jared tries the small stopper, but it’s wedged in tight.

With a mental shrug, he places it carefully on a shelf in the shop’s storage room and turns back to the box he’s unpacking, a recent shipment of antiques from one of his overseas colleagues. The bottle isn’t on the manifest, and that’s odd. This particular buyer is always painfully thorough.

Jared’s a furniture guy himself. One quick glance at an antique chair or a sideboard, and he can peg the age, builder, and in most cases how much the piece will pull at auction, but he only has a basic, working knowledge of old glass. He’ll call his glass expert in the morning, see if the guy can give him any background and an estimate.

It’s an hour before he has the contents of the box unpacked, sorted and catalogued, and the windows of the shop are dark when he double-checks the locks on the door, then heads for the stairway in the back that leads to his apartment on the second floor. He’s thinking about the bottle of white wine he has in the fridge and his leftover take out from the Indian joint across the street.

At the base of the stairs, Jared’s finger is on the light switch when something flickers in his peripheral vision. He stops and scans the cluttered room.

“Hello?” he says quietly, feeling foolish and oddly self-conscious, at least until he catches it again—a faint spot of light emanating from inside the bottle on the shelf. It’s a full five seconds before his curiosity wins out. He approaches it, his steps dragging and slow, and shivers a little as the hair at the back of his neck stands up.

“What the—“ Jared starts. He takes the bottle from the shelf, and the glass is warm in his hand now, vibrating minutely, as if some sort of current is running through it. The light inside seems to respond to his touch, growing brighter for an instant before it starts to pulsate, steady like a heartbeat. It’s got to be some kind of chemistry, some chemical reaction triggered by jostling the bottle during shipment, or caused by the light or maybe even the warmth of his hand. Jared turns the bottle over in his palm and rubs his thumb back and forth along its rounded base, wiping away a layer of dust and trying to get a better look inside.

“Hello, beautiful.”

Jared’s heart jumps into his throat and he spins around fast, trips backward a few steps until his back collides with the long workbench.

A man is standing there, elbow propped up on the railing leading up to Jared’s apartment, legs crossed at the ankles, his pose casual, comfortable, like he goddamn well belongs there.

“What the fuck?” Jared tries to yell, but it comes out weak and high-pitched. His hands go numb and the bottle slips from his fingers, but before it can shatter to the floor, the stranger moves, diving forward impossibly fast to catch it a couple inches from the ground.

“Phew,” the guy says with a relieved exhale. He holds the bottle up with something that might be close to reverence, then puts it securely on the shelf. Turning to Jared with a huge grin, he says, “You break it, you buy it.”

“What? Wait a minute. Who? What?” Jared can’t manage to complete a thought much less a sentence, his mind misfiring and landing on the idea that if he’s getting robbed, then it’s at least by someone who has a decent respect for the delicate nature of rare antiquities.

“You break it, and you’re stuck with me,” the guy says, as if that explains everything. He draws himself up to his full height, his back straight and his broad shoulders square. His eyes seem to glow, and Jared realizes that they’re the same bright shade as the bottle. “I should have started with the formalities,” he continues. He presses his palms together in front of his chest and fixes Jared with a serious stare. “I am Jensen. Your wish is my command.”

Jensen bows deeply before him, his chin tucked toward his chest and the back of his neck exposed. A strange feeling washes over Jared, almost like walking through a spider web only much more pleasant, leaving his skin warm and tingling. It’s only then that Jared notices the tattoos covering Jensen’s forearms and the backs of his hands, arcane symbols and swirling designs etched in deep, reddish brown. Jared can’t manage to follow the pattern of them, and they seem shift the longer he tries.

Jared should be doing something. Telling Jensen to leave, or calling the cops. He’s got several inches and at least thirty pounds on the guy, had spent enough time in seedy bars growing up to know how to hold his own in a fight. Something he can’t quite put his finger on stops him, though.

“I’m—I’m Jared,” he says, at a loss.

“I know,” Jensen says, matter-of-fact, and straightens with a grin. He takes two huge steps toward Jared, pulls him down by the back of his neck and kisses him, his mouth smooth and soft, flicking his tongue along the seam of Jared’s lips before Jared can manage to push him away.

“Whoa. Whoa,” Jared says, and shakes his head, trying to clear it. It’s like he’s riding out some kinda aftershock, his face feels flushed, and warmth zips throughout his body. He licks his lips, tastes something sweet, like cinnamon.

“Americans,” Jensen snorts. “You’re all such prudes. Remind me to tell you about the time I found myself serving this Etruscan empress. Now that was a party. Anyway, I thought you guys woulda learned to loosen up a little by now. It’s the twenty-first century, right?”

“Ah, yeah.” Jared ought to be pushing this strange man toward the door, but all he wants to do is kiss him again.

“That would explain the outfit,” Jensen says, gesturing at his worn jeans and soft blue t-shirt with the Captain America logo front and center.

“How did you get in here?” Jared asks, trying to crowbar some sense into the situation. “The doors were locked.”

Jensen blinks at him, tilts his head with a frown. “You honestly don’t know? You brought me here, Jared. You called me.” He hikes his thumb toward the bottle.

“You’re a genie?” Jared asks, incredulous.

Jensen’s smile reasserts itself. “That’s one way of putting it, sure. I’ve been called a lot of things.”

Jared takes him by the shoulders and begins to lead him in the direction of the front of the building, ignoring the fresh wave of heat that washes over him the moment they touch. He’s out of his mind, this huge reckless thing taking over his better judgment. He feels branded. Imprinted. He still wants to kiss Jensen, and instead leans in and breathes deep, smells exotic spices and the clean scent of Jensen’s skin underneath.

“Alright,” Jared says, steeling himself. “It’s a great story, and I’m a big fan of Aladdin and all, but it’s time you take your particular brand of crazy somewhere else.”

Jensen puts the brakes on, his body tensing under Jared’s hands and his eyes going wide. “No. I can’t leave you. Not until you’ve allowed me to fulfill my contract.”

“And your contract states that you have to grant me three wishes,” Jared deadpans.

Jensen relaxes, snaps his fingers and points at him. “Give this man a gold star and a chicken dinner.”

Planting his hands on his hips, Jared says, “Prove it.”

Jensen’s expression turns calculating. “Is that you’re first wish?”

“Sure.” Jared shrugs. “Why not?”

“Everyone always wastes their first wish,” Jensen mutters, then glances around the room. “You’re a collector. You trade in antiquities?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No need to get smart-mouthed.” Jensen pulls his bottom lip through his teeth thoughtfully. “I have just the thing.” The lights flicker as he claps his hands together, there’s a sound like a thunderclap that makes everything on the shelves rattle, and the air fills with a sweet scent. After a second, Jared recognizes it as frankincense.

Burying his hands in his back pockets and rocking onto his heels, Jensen tips his chin toward the wall behind Jared. “Behold.”

Resting on the workbench is an enormous box. It’s covered in fragile blue linen, tattered and torn with age, gold glinting from under the fabric. The top of the box is adorned with twin cherubim, their wings outstretched, the tips of them touching in the center.

Jared squints at the box, takes a hesitant step toward it, but Jensen pulls him up short with an arm draped over his shoulder. “Don’t get too close. And whatever you do, don’t fucking touch it. Think about what that thing did to the Philistines.”

“Is it…is it really…” Jared trails off. His fingers itch to touch it.

“Yup. The Arc of the Covenant, Ten Commandments and all, and it’s as real as you and me,” Jensen tells him, and sneaks a small kiss onto Jared’s cheek. “And it’s about time it heads back home.”

There’s another clap of thunder, and a whistling sound as if all the air is rushing in to fill a vacuum, and the box disappears with a puff of lavender-colored smoke.

“Do you believe me now?” Jensen asks.

“I don’t think I have a choice.” Jared’s stuck, still staring at the empty space on the bench.

“Good. Can we go to your place now? I haven’t eaten in…well…a couple hundred years. I’m fucking starving.”

Jared spends the next hour sitting on his kitchen counter, ignoring the glass of wine at his hip in favor of watching Jensen systematically blow through his refrigerator. Jared’s leftover Indian food is the first to go, followed by a whole key lime pie he’d had flown in special from Florida, and his entire stash of both ice cream and frozen pizzas. He washes it all down with the rest of the bottle of wine, then stands up, situates himself between Jared’s widespread knees and fits his palms to Jared’s hips.

“Hot damn I love shore leave,” he says, raking his gaze up and down Jared’s body, lingering on his mouth for a few seconds before looking Jared in the eye.

It’s with a large amount of effort that Jared forces Jensen to keep his hands to himself. “Prudish American, remember?”

Jensen pulls a face. “Alright, fine. But you know? That’s just my luck. I finally get topside, manage to bind myself to the most gorgeous man I’ve seen in a millennium—and I mean that literally—and he’s a monk. Two hundred years. I haven’t gotten laid in two hundred years. I might be a creature of nearly boundless power, but I have an ego, and that ego’s fragile.”

Jared finds himself dumbstruck for the tenth time this evening, figures that might as well be a permanent condition at this point. “Bound,” he repeats.

“Until the terms of our contract have been fulfilled, yes. You’re stuck with me. Check it out.” Jensen starts to back up, one slow step at a time. He makes it to the doorway about ten feet away before Jared detects a pulling sensation in his core. A few more steps and it worsens, as if someone has wrapped an iron band around his chest and is tightening it down. Jared’s throat constricts, his breathing grows shallow and his vision blurs at the edges, narrows down until Jensen is the only thing he can see.

“Jensen,” he gasps and reaches out for him, begins to slide from the counter and has to lock his knees in place to avoid crashing to the ground.

Immediately the sensation dissolves as Jensen rushes back, and snatches Jared into his arms. Damn, the guy’s stronger than he looks. Of course he is. He presses his lips to Jared’s temple and whispers in his ear, low and soothing. “You’re alright. It won’t happen again. I promise. I had to show you.”

“I get it,” Jared assures him. He knows himself, knows he would have tested the boundaries if Jensen hadn’t gotten to it first, and that the results would have been so much worse. “Are you okay?”

All traces of Jensen’s snark and sarcasm are gone. “I’m fine, kiddo.” He pushes a hand into Jared’s hair, and regardless of what he’s saying, Jared swears his face is paler than before and he can feel Jensen’s hand shaking a little. “Don’t worry about me.”

“So I suppose you sleeping on the couch is out of the question.” All at once he’s exhausted, as worn out as an old rag. He shuffles in the direction of his bedroom and doesn’t even think twice about it when he tangles his fingers with Jensen’s and drags him along.

“I can sleep on the floor,” Jensen offers once they’re in the bedroom. Without a lick of self-consciousness, he pulls his shirt over his head and drops his jeans to the floor, and stands in the center of the room in a pair of red boxers.

Jared’s caught off guard by the sight of him, the width of his shoulders, dusted with freckles, the stark contrast of his tattoos against his pale skin, the faint trail of hair that runs down into the waistband of his shorts. He wants to run his hands along Jensen’s ribs, down the dip of his spine, press his fingers into the rounded curve of his ass.

Clearing his throat, Jared says, “The bed’s fine.” He turns his back to Jensen to hide the growing bulge in his pants and strips, uncharacteristically leaves his clothes crumpled on the floor, all but flees under the covers and curls toward the wall.

After a moment, the bed dips behind him and Jared is surrounded by the now-familiar smell of Jensen’s skin. Jensen presses their backs together, bare skin to bare skin.

“It’s been two hundred years since you were here, huh?” Jared asks.

“More or less, yeah,” Jensen responds, voice muffled by his pillow.

“But the way you talk, and your clothes…” he trails off, leaving the question open-ended.

“I pay attention,” Jensen explains, “and I’m a quick learner.”

“How quick?” He flips over to face Jensen’s back, stares openly at the gentle curve where his neck meets his shoulder, thinks about how much he wants to put his mouth there.

“In the way you reckon time, milliseconds.”

“And the time in between? When you’re not here?”

“I dream,” Jensen says simply. “I dream about now, this time, and I dream about then.” He rolls over and settles in, leaving only a few inches between them. “But that’s for another time.” Tracing the backs of his fingers along Jared’s hairline, he whispers, “Sleep. Go to sleep.”

“Are you putting a spell on me?”

And there’s the sarcastic twist to Jensen’s mouth, the wicked glint in his eyes. “Me? Now why would I do that?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Jensen’s still there in the morning, and he’s still there the morning after that. On the third day, Jared, curious by nature, decides to test the boundaries of their bond again, and makes it all the way to the bottom of his stairs before Jensen materializes at his side, appearing out of thin air with a sheepish look on his face.

Other people’s reactions to him are strange. They dodge him without a second glance as he walks down the sidewalk; waiters and waitresses don’t take his order, but don’t seem to bat an eye when Jared orders for the two of them. It’s not as if he’s invisible to others; it’s more like they simply don’t notice him. For his part, Jared doesn’t understand how they can’t. The guy never shuts up, treats the whole world like it’s a stage and he’s a one-man show. And the bitch of the thing is that Jared loves it. Loves it a lot more than he cares to admit.

“World peace. That’s my second wish.” Jared hugs his clipboard to his chest, his inventory momentarily forgotten.

Jensen’s sitting behind the register at the shop, feet propped up on the counter and his nose stuck into a book. Jared’s stomach sinks when he sees that it’s a first edition, private printing of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, worth a cool eighteen grand, and winces as Jensen slams it shut and tosses it onto a nearby stack.

“Oh no.” Jensen shakes his head, adamant. “No. Haven’t you ever seen The Butterfly Effect?”

“Have you?” Jared shoots back.

“Not exactly, heard it was god-awful, but I get the premise. If I try something that big, it’ll probably make the earth spin out of orbit, go crashing into the sun or something equally dire. Anyhow, that’s not how it works.”

Circling around the counter, Jared slots in behind Jensen and squeezes his shoulder. It’s an unexpected but not unpleasant side effect of whatever magic that ties them together. Touching Jensen calms Jared, grounds him. Jensen reaches up and squeezes his hand, and that makes it even better.

“Alright,” Jared says, “I’ll bite. How does it work?”

“I’m here to give you what you need, and that’s not necessarily what you want.”

With a frustrated huff, Jared says, “How about my first wish? You’re saying I needed proof that you were real?”

“Obviously. I couldn’t get anywhere with you if you didn’t believe me.”

Grudgingly, Jared concedes the point. “And how do you know what I need?”

“I just do, and before you ask, it’s against the rules for me to tell you.” Jensen smoothly leaps across the counter like some sorta marital arts master, and Jared hardly bats an eye. It’s amazing, how quickly a person can get used to the impossible.

Flipping the sign on the door to ‘Closed,’ Jensen states, “Anyway. Come upstairs. I’m making you some fucking pancakes.”

“Is that what I need?” Jared asks.

“Absolutely.”


~*~*~*~*~

Summer is ending. It’s late, and Jared has his windows open, a cool breeze pushing at the sheer curtains. They’re on the sofa, Jensen wedged into the corner of it and Jared sprawled out on the rest, his feet in Jensen’s lap. Jensen’s telling the stories from Arabian Nights, offering up a first hand, boots on the ground perspective of the whole affair. He’s got a hand on Jared’s ankle, drawing lazy, thoughtless patterns on Jared’s skin with his thumb.

Nearly two months have passed since Jensen showed up, and Jared still has two wishes to collect. Sure, he’s jokingly tried a couple, asking Jensen to give the earth a second moon, since he’s always thought that it would be nice to have a matched pair, and wanting him to annihilate the existence of brussels sprouts because of scarring childhood memories.

The wishes are a riddle, and Jared’s never liked riddles too much. He likes straight lines, clear stretches between two points. He’s supposed to wish for what he needs, and he’s spent weeks trying to figure that out. But he doesn’t need anything. He’s got a good job, a decent bank account and a hell of a good ten second commute to work. He’s safe, and he’s comfortable. And he has Jensen, who’s beautiful and kind, who can always make him smile, and who makes the best damn blueberry pancakes in the whole wide world.

Realization slams into Jared with the force of a wrecking ball and he bolts to his feet. He’s got a PhD and two Masters degrees to his name, he’s ridiculously overeducated and remarkably well read. He’s also the densest person he knows.

Jensen stops his story mid-sentence. “Jared? You alright?”

“I used to be so alone,” Jared says softly. “It’s you. It’s been you all along.”

Jensen rises and stands before Jared. Invisible energy crackles around him, and his eyes spark with a preternatural light. He presses his palms together, and like the night that they met, the tattoos on his arms and hands appear to shift slightly.

His voice takes on a different timbre, more authoritative. “Are you ready to make your second wish?”

“Yes,” Jared replies. “I want you.”

“Your wish is my command.” Jensen bends at the waist in a deep bow.

Pure heat radiates from Jensen in a blast. It doesn’t burn, only blankets Jared’s skin and sinks into his bones. Jensen straightens and smiles at him, more content than Jared’s ever seen him, and it’s like the goddamn sun coming up.

He takes a step toward Jared, skims his palms along Jared’s face and curls his fingers around Jared’s ears.

“Finally,” Jensen says, stands on his tiptoes and kisses him. This time Jared kisses him back, licking at the hard surface of Jensen’s teeth, learning their shape and then going further, shivering at the slow, twisting slide of their tongues and the sweet taste of Jensen. It’s deeper and more intense than before, and Jared’s hooked immediately, can’t figure out for the life of him why he’d waited so long.

“Fuck, Jared, you have no idea,” Jensen pants when they break. “I knew. I knew and I couldn’t say…” He runs his lips along Jared’s jaw, takes a handful of Jared’s hair and forces his head back to lick at his throat, hot, branding kisses that make Jared squirm.

“How about your Etruscan empress?” Jared says as he rips Jensen’s shirt over his head and makes quick business of his own.

“She doesn’t hold a candle.” Jensen pulls him toward the bedroom, dodging furniture. They pause in the doorway, Jensen’s nimble fingers working Jared’s belt and snapping open the buttons on his fly only far enough to slide his hand inside and palm Jared’s cock.

That first touch makes Jared jab his hips forward until there’s not a sliver of space between them. He’s not sure what’s hotter, the needy expression on Jensen’s face or slide of Jensen’s hand up and down along his cock, the way Jensen bites down hard on his lower lip or how Jensen arches against him, rubbing himself off on Jared’s thigh.

Jared could come like this, exactly like this, on his feet with Jensen pressed all along the front of him, his eyes dark and his panting breath falling hot on Jared’s mouth. There’s a bed right there, only a few steps away, and Jared intends to make good use of it. He grabs Jensen’s thighs and hooks them over his hips, and as if on cue, Jensen moves to wrap his arms around Jared’s neck, both of them moaning as Jensen’s ass rubs along Jared’s cock.

Jensen’s not a small guy, he’s almost as tall as Jared and solidly built, but he feels like nothing in Jared’s arms.

“Neat trick,” Jared says.

“You don’t know the half of it.” Jensen winks, rolls his hips as if to prove a point, and any sort of response flies right out of Jared’s head.

Jared topples Jensen onto the bed, watches as Jensen raises his ass to push his pants off and untangle them from his feet. He’s hard, his cock swollen thick, deep red and shiny at the tip, curving against the cut of his hip.

With a grin, Jared says, “I’m sure you could find a quicker way of doing that.”

Jensen smirks. “I thought you’d like to watch. Don’t wanna ruin all of your fun.”

“You won’t. Trust me, I don’t think that you can.” Jared jumps when Jensen snaps his fingers and suddenly his pants are in a puddle around his feet. “Holy fuck, that’s kinda hot. Why is that so hot?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just covers Jensen’s body with his own, makes a space for himself between Jensen’s spread legs and rocks down, lining their cocks up in a slow, drawn out slide. They move in tandem, like they’ve known how to do this from the start, Jensen wrapping his legs around Jared’s waist, his arms loose around his neck, hips shifting with each lazy thrust. Jared wants to do this for hours, fucking days, lose whole months to nothing but this.

“On your back,” Jensen commands. He doesn’t wait for Jared to respond before he’s pushing him over, and there’s nothing light about him now. He’s a solid weight as he squeezes Jared’s hips with his knees then moves down the length of Jared’s body, pausing for a moment to tease one of Jared’s nipples with his teeth and then the other before coming to a stop between his legs. He laps at the sticky trails of precome on Jared’s stomach, takes Jared’s cock in a maddeningly loose grip and nuzzles at his balls.

Jared cants his hips this way and that, and grits his teeth against a desperate moan. “You’re gonna kill me. God, just do something. Anything.”

“Yes, master,” Jensen says, his voice low and gravelly, then he wraps his lips around Jared’s cock and sucks. Hard.

“Fuck,” Jared shouts. His toes curl and he twists one fist in the sheets, uses his other hand to grab the base of his cock, trying to stave off his orgasm. In some ways it’s worse, because now he can feel the seam of Jensen’s lips on his cock, the wet slip of his tongue as Jensen takes him in deep.

Jensen’s staring up at him, eyes glued to Jared’s. He blinks, and for an instant that light shines behind them. A sensation flitters across Jared’s chest, like whispers of silk moving against his skin, hot and cold all at once.

“That’s not fair,” Jared says, fighting the instinct to thrust upward, shove his cock further into Jensen’s mouth, in as far as he can go so that he can feel the flex of Jensen’s throat all around him.

Jensen hums, and it sends a whole new shockwave that vibrates right up Jared’s cock. He pulls off some, suckles the head of Jared’s cock, and wriggles the tip of his tongue into the slit.

“Does it feel good?” Jensen asks, lips moving against the spine of Jared’s cock as he speaks.

“Yeah—yeah.”

“Then it doesn’t matter if it’s fair,” Jensen says, and starts a languid crawl up along Jared’s body, sucking kisses onto Jared’s stomach, his chest and throat. He straddles Jared, hips hitching as he slides Jared’s cock against the crease of his ass. “I’ve waited so long. Forever.”

Jared flattens his hand on Jensen’s chest, feels the thump of Jensen’s heartbeat on his palm, and a green light shines on Jensen’s skin between his fingers. It’s faint, like an afterimage. Jensen gives him a small smile, rolls his eyes like perhaps he’s a little embarrassed, but Jared only presses in more, curling his fingers against Jensen’s chest, and Jensen’s smile grows wider.

He lifts himself a fraction, wraps a fist around Jared’s cock and begins to line them up, rubbing the head against his rim, brow creasing in concentration.

“Do you—do you need me to prep you?“ Jared asks.

“I got it covered,” Jensen tells him. “I’m magic, remember?”

“How could I for—“ Jared starts, but he cuts short when Jensen sinks down onto him.

And this is the best part, absolutely the best part, that instant when Jared pushes past the resistance, feels the flex clench of Jensen’s rim around the width of his cock, nothing but the slick heat of Jensen surrounding him. Scratch that. It gets even better a second later, when Jensen relaxes into it. His body gives in very specific ways, takes Jared in all the way to the base. Jensen starts to move, and Jared’s barely hanging on, stabbing his hips up as Jensen fucks down on him, Jensen’s cock slapping against his stomach with each downward motion.

Jared gets a hand on him, his cock so hard and beneath a layer of soft, silky skin. He smears Jensen’s precome up and down his length, and has hardly touched him before Jensen comes with a shout, thick spunk spattering Jared’s stomach and his chest, a drop falling on Jared’s mouth.  Jared licks it up, greedy for a taste.

Jensen’s beautiful, the hottest damn thing in the world as he arches his spine and throws his head back, mouth slack and his eyes closed. Jared drives deeper and deeper into him, until he can’t hold back any more and pushes up, pulsing inside of Jensen, his back losing contact with the bed. It tips Jensen’s balance and he falls forward, finds Jared’s mouth and kisses him, sucks on Jared’s bottom lip and bites down hard.

They stay that way for long, stretched out minutes, Jensen’s hips moving in fits and starts as he rides Jared through the aftershocks. Jared kisses Jensen, and tastes salt and cinnamon.

“You can keep calling me master, you know,” Jared says after a while, absently stroking Jensen's sweaty back.

Jensen smiles against his throat.  "I thought that it was time I pulled out some of the classics."



~*~*~*~*~*~

Jared stands in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Jensen as he pours out a couple of cups of coffee. Jensen’s bare to the waist, a pair of Jared’s pajama pants hanging low and loose around his hips. Morning sunlight pours through the window, sparking gold highlights in Jensen’s hair.

“Hey,” Jared says. “Remember when you said that you’d be stuck with me for good if your bottle broke?”

Jensen turns to him, a sloppy, well-fucked grin on his face. “Of course.”

Jared holds up the bottle by its slender neck and twists it to catch the sunlight. He levels a direct stare at Jensen, gives him a small nod and lets it go. Jensen watches as it hits the floor and splinters into hundreds of tiny shards.  He doesn't make a move to stop it.  He doesn't even flinch.

“Whoops.”


--fin

End notes: Just wanted to tell you guys that the working title for this was "Jensen the horny, foul-mouthed genie, and Jared the antiquer who loves him."  I was half-tempted to keep it that way.

Thanks for reading!



Tags: fic: j2, rated: nc-17
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