Word Count: 3100
Notes: warning for prostitution. i don't know, maybe underage? it's never explicitly stated. written for this prompt over at the spn_masquerade.
Summary: (from the prompt) Jensen is incredibly nervous. After all, it's his first time picking up a hooker. But the pink-cheeked, shaggy-haired kid who climbs into his car sure seems to know what he's doing.
Most of the buildings are derelict, busted out windows behind iron bars. The only places thriving are payday loan joints or liquor stores. A triple-x video shop says it has the most beautiful ladies you'll ever see. Hand over twenty bucks and they'll be all yours for ten minutes. The plexiglas and lube are complimentary.
Women crowd the street corners, a lot of them in thigh-high spiked boots and little else, come-hither-but-don't-fuck-with-me smiles painted on their faces. Two people are having a high-volume argument from opposite sides of the street. A few blocks north and that's where the boys come out to play, or at least that's what the bartender at the hotel told Jensen. He'd meant it as a warning, although Jensen didn't take it that way. He drives north, finds out the guy hadn't been lying.
Jensen lingers at a stop sign and a guy approaches the passenger side. Barbiturate-thin arms, eyelids trying not to shut down, slinky and twinky and those marks on the backs of his hands aren't bug bites. Jensen punches the gas, takes the corner fast and doesn't know what he's doing here.
He's got a retirement account that hasn't tanked and a likely promotion a few months down the line, a white picket fence back home, an almost-girlfriend that might turn into his wife one day if he plays his hand straight. He's also got an itch way down, dirty-deep and it's screaming at him, won't ease off until Jensen digs his fingernails in and scratches.
His own hand and a glossy photo of an underwear model didn't cut it. The hotel's internet connection was painfully slow and had a granny gear that wouldn't allow him to go where he wanted to go. His almost-girlfriend's sweet, soft, incredibly feminine voice wasn't gonna get him there. Ten minutes, one beer, and three sets of hands grabbing at his ass in the only gay bar in town had him heading for the neon green exit sign and the nearest ATM.
A dozen mindless turns and Jensen stops at a light, has to pry his hands away from the wheel, force himself to roll his shoulders, nerves gone haywire. The street signs have names, not numbers. No grid here, roads crooked and spider-webby. The older part of town.
Jensen catches movement in his fuzzy periphery and he looks over. A kid in cut-off cargo shorts, one scuffed Chuck Taylor propped up on the brick wall. It's dark, but Jensen can still see that he probably only has to shave once a week. The light cycles to green and back to red while Jensen stares. The guy's wearing a Guns N' Roses t-shirt, the cover of an album recorded years before he was born. It rides up a little to expose a smooth lower belly when he crosses his arms and stares back.
The light turns green again. Switches back to red, and the kid pushes off of the wall. It takes forever for Jensen to find the button for the window in his rental car, shaky fingers and the taste of his heart in his throat.
The kid's hair flops down in front of his face and he chews on his lower lip for a second like he knows the sort of effect it has on the right kinda people. "Are you looking for directions or company?"
"Neither," is Jensen's first reaction. A second later, "Both. Which are you offering?" His tongue is thick in his mouth, twisted and clumsy.
The guy leans his arms on the door, shifts his hips and arches his back a little. "Both." He gives a one-shoulder shrug. "Or neither."
This close, Jensen can see the sweet blush color of his cheeks, the up-tilt of his eyes and the delicate structure of his wrists that make him fey-like, the shape of somebody's daydream. Maybe Jensen's.
Jensen kisses his better judgement goodbye. "Get in," he says.
The kid opens the door, pauses with both feet still on the pavement. "Show me the cash."
Jensen flashes a neat little fold and he seems satisfied, slides into the passenger seat smooth as honey. He eyes Jensen's expensive watch, the tailored cut of his clothes, runs a slow hand up the inside of Jensen's thigh, and fuck, Jensen shouldn't be getting off on that alone, yet here he is.
"I'll suck you off for a hundred," the kid says, a low purr to his voice.
It could be that the guy is hanging Jensen out to dry, but a search of the average cost of a blowjob from a rent-boy isn't something that Jensen wants showing up in his browser history.
"What can I get for two?" Jensen asks.
"Spring for the room, and you can do whatever you want to me for an hour." His hand is edging up toward Jensen's crotch. Long, nimble fingers playing along the inseam of Jensen's pants, teeth still working at his lower lip.
There's a room on the other side of town, bought and paid for with the company credit card and there's no way in hell Jensen's going back to it. "This is the part where you give me directions."
Jensen pulls off, introduces himself, figures that an imminent fuck probably puts them on a first name basis, and learns that the kid's name is Jared.
"Kind of an empty street corner you were on," Jensen points out. "Why weren't you back there with everyone else?"
"I was on my lunch break," Jared deadpans. "Make a left up here." He points, arm stretched across Jensen's field of vision. There's a tattoo in the crook of Jared's arm, too dark and Jared's movements too fast to really make it out.
The hotel Jared takes him to is small, looks like it needs an overhaul. Jared takes forty bucks off of him for the hour and that's another thing that isn't gonna show up in Jensen's browser history. The room smells like cigarettes and there are burn holes in the rough, garish comforter on the bed.
Jared throws a strip of condoms on the bed, rips open a packet of lube with his teeth and heads toward the bathroom. Before disappearing behind the door, he tells him, "Leave the money on the table."
Nerves jangling, Jensen paces to the sound of running water in the bathroom, thinks about leaving twice and gets as far as a hand on the doorknob once. He's counting out the money as Jared comes back into the room, damp hair finger-brushed away from his face, cheeks scrubbed pink and smelling like toothpaste. His clothes are a rumpled bundle in his arms that he throws onto a threadbare chair beside the bed. He regards Jensen with a bare look, idly straightening the waistband of his boxers.
Heat spreads across Jensen's chest, pools low in his groin and he's pretty sure he's blushing, feels flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. He can't rip his eyes away from Jared, an acre of tight, lean muscle, the tanned color of his skin stretched over it, dotted with dark moles here and there. The tattoo is plainly visible now, four small flowers, daisy-like, in black and gray monochrome on his inner arm, trailing down from the ditch of his elbow.
"Huh. You're not ready." Jared sucks on his teeth for a second. "Anyhow, I kinda thought you'd bolt." He moves in, stands up straight gives Jensen a taste of how tall he actually is, backs Jensen up until Jensen's legs hit the bed, his whole body tantalizingly close to Jensen, but not touching. "You're new at this, aren't you?"
Jensen could lie. He doesn't really see the point, though. "That obvious?"
"About as obvious as this." Jared reaches between Jensen's legs, rubs a slow hand against the bulge of his cock. "Gonna take good care of you, newbie." He trails his fingers up Jensen's chest, untucking Jensen's shirt and taking care of the buttons with practiced efficiency, splaying his hands over Jensen's ribs.
"Can I--" Jensen's voice is a dry croak. He licks his lips. Tries again. "Can I kiss you?"
The low chuckle Jared lets out is fucking hot, makes a beeline for Jensen's cock. So does the dark look Jared flicks down at him as he leans in, his mouth near enough that Jensen can taste his breath. "This ain't Pretty Woman, Jensen. You can do whatever you want."
Jared's cheeks are smooth under Jensen's palms, the angle of his jaw is sharp, his mouth warm and soft against Jensen's lips. Jared opens up right away, curls his tongue around Jensen's with a pornstar groan, locks his fingers on Jensen's hips and rocks thier bodies together, all sinuous grace.
Snapshot thoughts flicker through Jensen's head. He wonders how many men Jared has kissed tonight, how many times he's wrapped his mouth around someone's cock and made these same exact noises. How long it's gonna be until Jared's in someone else's car, or in another room in this hotel, whether he ever gets bruises on his knees from hitting them on dirty pavement.
"Wanna taste you, get that cock of yours in my mouth," Jared says when he breaks off, starts to lick and suck his way down Jensen's body, unhooking his belt and his fly as he sinks to his knees. "You're gonna taste so good. Get you all sloppy and wet with my spit, get you so goddamn close."
It's a good idea. Jensen's cock really fucking likes that idea. Jared jacks him a couple of times, milks a string of precome from his slit. It's hot and feels so good and it's still not enough to get his brain to go entirely offline.
"Drop the act," Jensen says, a small part of him afraid that the act might be the only thing Jared has. "Why? I mean. What?"
Jared sits back on his haunches, folds his hands in his lap and tips his chin up to look at Jensen, his open mouth kissed slick and flushed. The action is so instantly submissive, as if Jared has punched clear through his skin and ribs, wrapped his fingers around his lungs and has begun to squeeze. "What do you wanna know?" The rough, lust-drunk tone is gone, replaced by a sharp edge. The street-kid coming out.
"I guess I'll go with why," Jensen says, and he kinda hates himself right now, hates his restless curiosity and that ever-present itch under his skin that's not going away, how he can still feel his heartbeat throbbing in his cock. He falls to the bed, holds Jared back as he tries to crawl between Jensen's knees and distract him.
Jared makes a frustrated sound, part sigh and part cut-off growl. "Do you want some boo-hoo story about how my mother is fucked up on crank and my dad didn't even bother to lie about going out for cigarettes and just left? 'Cause I got one of those. Or how about the fact that my last date had these huge, clammy paws that made my skin crawl and used too much teeth when he went down on me? And all of this happened about a half an hour ago and there's probably no way I'm gonna get hard again so soon. Got one of those stories too." He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, fits himself between Jensen's knees and Jensen lets him this time. "Or maybe you wanna hear about the one where all I wanna do is make you feel good. Make you come so hard you'll be thinking about it for days, 'cause I never get this lucky."
"Lucky?" Jensen sputters. He's touching Jared's shoulder, slides up to cup the back of his neck.
"Yeah, lucky." Jared rises up to his feet, crawls onto Jensen's lap, framing his hips with his knees. "Fucking look at you. I don't even need to pretend."
"Then don't pretend," Jensen tells him, and pulls Jared down to him. A crash of tongues and teeth, Jared nips at his mouth and ditches the pornstar moans this time. Nothing but Jared's rapid breaths as he kisses along Jensen's jaw line, sucks wetly on Jensen's ear, hips circling in an inexorable grind, rubbing his ass along Jensen's cock. His chest is hard against Jensen's, unforgiving like the grip he has on Jensen's upper arms, the weight of him on Jensen's lap, keeping him pinned there.
Teasing, relentless friction and now Jensen's the one who's groaning, begging Jared to give him more, just a little bit more.
"Yeah," Jared breathes, "Fuck. Yeah." He slips off of Jensen, finds the strip of condoms and tears one loose. "See," he begins with a tiny smile, "usually I do this trick. Put it on with my mouth."
The thought of that makes Jensen's cock twitch hugely, drag him closer to the edge. "Shit, Jared. Just put it on me."
"Sir, yes sir." Jared grins then, big and bright and without pretense. It tugs at Jensen's chest as neatly as the sensation of Jared rolling the condom down, turning to settle into Jensen's lap, this time with his back pressed to Jensen's chest.
"Don't you need to--" Jensen starts.
"Took care of it in the bathroom," Jared cuts him off. "Did you forget you hired a professional?" Then Jared's full weight is on him again, tight and slick as he sinks down onto Jensen, his rim stretching and giving around the thickness of Jensen's cock. He bottoms out, gives this full-bodied shiver.
"Jesus. So fucking full," Jared mumbles, and Jensen doesn't think it's an act this time. Jared takes him by the wrists, fits Jensen's hands to his hips and slowly rides him up, pauses for a few drawn-out seconds and sinks down onto him again. Does it again, faster this time with a filthy circle of his hips that sends a jolt through Jensen's system, makes him buck up into the heat of Jared's snug ass.
Jared's back is slick against Jensen's chest and Jensen can't catch a full breath, the air whistling past his clenched teeth in ragged gasps. The muscles in Jared's thighs stand out with the strain of his thrusts. He tips forward but Jensen still can't breathe, all wrapped up in the sight of Jared's rim stretched wide around his cock, wet with lube and sweat. Swollen, deeply pink and working up and down, swallowing Jensen down over and over.
Jensen follows him up, splays his hand on Jared's taut stomach, feels the slap of Jared's hard cock against his knuckles. "Thought you said you couldn't," he says, and takes Jared's cock in his fist, tries to time it to Jared's thrusts and can't quite get it right.
Jared doesn't seem to mind, only says, "You feel so good," like that's some sorta explanation. Jensen gathers Jared's precome to slick the way, jacks him quicker, feels it on his cock when Jared comes, how Jared tightens around him and bears down, a sound like pain growling out of his throat.
It's a real sound. Gritty and raw, and Jensen wishes he could have seen Jared's face. Doesn't have much time to dwell on it, because Jared fucks down on him hard and stays there, gives little hitches of his hips that suck Jensen's orgasm out of him. His hips are at a screwy angle and his toes curl against the mattress and for a few seconds, Jensen loses track of gravity, gets lost in the bone-shattering relief as he shoots hard into Jared, grappling at Jared's hips, his back, anything he can get his hands on.
With a fucked out whine, Jensen pulls free, tosses the tied-off condom and misses the trashcan.
"Smooth," Jared says as he sprawls beside him, brushing his hair out of his face.
"One more question," Jensen says, and when Jared hums, he goes on, "Your tattoo. The four flowers."
"It's nothing." Jared lifts his arm, touches each one of them in turn, one finger lining up on each. It's a practiced move, seems like a ritual. Not nothing, definitely something. He sighs. "Okay. Alright. They're missed opportunities."
"People?" Jensen asks.
"Guess you could say that." He rolls off of the bed, shakes out his shirt and his shorts before putting them on and Jensen watches him with a sort of strange fascination.
"Are you hungry? Y'know, since I interrupted your lunch and all that."
"Nope. I'm good." Jared pockets the money on the table, leans over the bed and quickly kisses the corner of Jensen's mouth. "It's been fun." Then he's out the door, closing it gently behind him.
Jensen gets lost the next night, looking for a specific street corner. Does the same thing the night after that and flies home early the next morning.
He calls it off with his almost-girlfriend. Her skin is soft and so are her curves against his body. She's such a sweet girl and Jensen's sorry. She doesn't have a dirty mouth and narrow, boy-shaped hips and he's so very sorry.
Six weeks pass before his job finds Jensen in the same city, behind the wheel of a different rental car. He drives north, past the ladies, circles and circles and doesn't see Jared. Tells himself he's not gonna do it the next night and knows before he even finishes the thought that it's a lie.
The nerves are back and this time it's for a brand new reason. A familiar mop of hair, cargo shorts and one Chuck Taylor propped up against a different wall this time.
Jensen's rental is double parked and his heart is very busy trying to stop in his chest. It starts to work double-time when Jared sees him.
"Are you looking for company or directions?" Jared asks. His eyes are incredibly bright. So is his smile.
"Both," Jensen says, then, "New tattoo. I like it."
Jared holds his arm out to catch the light of a streetlamp. A skinny green stem twists and turns up the inside of his arm, from his wrist to the spill of flowers. The skin has the papery look of fresh, barely healed ink.
"Glad you do," Jared tells him. "You paid for it."
Someone honks their car horn and Jared glances over his shoulder. He makes a frustrated noise and says, "Shit. Gotta go. He's a regular." Halfway through a spin, he turns back, grabs the back of Jensen's neck and kisses him, whispers against Jensen's mouth. "Gimme thirty minutes, okay? Fuck it. Gimme fifteen."