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

  • Music:

fic: Four Corners

Day late and a dollar short, ladies and gentlemen, but here is a fill for blindfold_spn.  Original prompt here.  I wasn't going to claim it, hardly ever claim what I write for the challenge, but then I had a sudden bend toward archiving and posterity and here you have it.  Plus, I had to hack at it to fit it in a comment box in the original post, which sorta made me itch.  Let's call this full version the director's cut, shall we?  There's a cheat in here, in that the original prompt called for Jensen to have left home at 15, and this is set a couple of years after that. 

Title:  Four Corners
Genre: J2 AU
Word count: 2,300
Warning:  Quasi-hooker!fic. Homelessness. Underage.
Rating:  NC-17

Summary:  Jensen has never been one to turn down a dare.

Four Corners

A couple of years on the streets have taught Jensen a lot. He knows the best dumpsters to dive, and that the manager at that one deli on 54th has a soft spot for street kids and hands out food when the place closes for the day. He knows that Johnny, the night janitor down at the Y, always forgets to lock the back door and doesn’t mind it when Jensen sneaks in and steals a hot shower. The cops don’t come knocking at the condemned factory building on the outskirts of town, he can stash his stuff in a hole in the wall on the third floor and no one will touch it.

He does okay for a kid with no permanent address. He scavenged a new pair of boots two days back that are a really good fit, managed to score a coat that’s pretty warm, and his morning spent on this corner has been lucrative. Three bucks and some change in his pocket is more than enough for a cup of hot chocolate and maybe a candy bar. A couple more dollars and he’ll have enough bus fare to take him across town to the docks, and if old man Ned is working he might be able to talk him into letting him help unload and come out twenty bucks richer for the effort.

The sun is shining bright, the air is warm for winter, and no one’s come around to kick him out of his spot.

Today is a good day.

Jensen shifts his weight, trying to ease the ache in his spine and his ass that’s set in while he’s been sitting on the hard concrete. He does a double take as a limo slides silently by, black and shiny and looking so slick that Jensen thinks that any speck of dirt would just slide right off. The windows are dark, and Jensen tries to squint past the tint, curious. This isn’t the worst section of town, but it sure as hell isn’t the best. The sight isn’t commonplace, and is attracting attention from folks on both sides of the street, heads turning and people pausing in their dash from this place to that.

The limo takes the corner and slides out of sight, and Jensen mentally shrugs it off, figures they’ve gotta be lost. He knows for sure that the driver’s lost when the same limo makes another circle around the block, slowing down right in front of him. He pushes to his feet, subconsciously patting the back pocket of his jeans to make sure his pull for the day is still safely deposited. It’s an old habit.

Unexpectedly, it’s not the driver’s window that opens, but rather the one at the back. It rolls half way down, exposing a dark interior with ropes of dim lights lining the roof of the limo. Jensen sees a pair of expensive sunglasses and a mop of long, dark hair and is a little surprised. The guy’s young, not what Jensen expected. Kinda hot too, with a strong squared-off jaw and a wide, smiling mouth. Dimples dig into his cheeks. He pushes his sunglasses down his nose and there’s a light in his eyes. Heated.

“You working?” the man asks, the implication clear as day.

Jensen’s upper lip curls into a sneer. He’s done a lot of things for money, he’ll be the first to admit, and he’s seen a lot of his friends head in this direction when the streets get too cold or the dope gets too important. This is far from the first time he’s has some jerk proposition him, but it still pisses him off.

“I’m not a hooker,” Jensen snarls, and starts to take a step backward.

“Everybody’s a whore,” the man says, and there’s something about his voice, the slow, southern purr of it that sends a flash of unbidden heat straight down Jensen’s spine and makes his skin feel too tight. He continues, “I am. You are. We all get paid for something. Some people just get paid to fuck.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not some people.” Jensen spins on his heel, hell bent on grabbing his small cardboard sign and finding a new corner to populate. He goes for another quick glance over his shoulder and freezes. The man’s raking a long look up and down Jensen’s tall frame, the corner of his lip trapped between his teeth.

“Got a little spunk in you,” the guys says. “I like that.” He pulls a thick money clip from his inside jacket pocket and makes a show of peeling a fifty off of the stack. He holds it between his first and middle fingers and raises his eyebrows.

Jensen hesitates, takes a slow step toward the car. “What do you want?”

“Your mouth,” the man says conversationally, like he’s just talking about the weather or the price of toothpaste at the corner market. “We’ll circle the block and I’ll drop you right here. Safe as houses.” Another fifty joins the first one. “Get me off before make it around the block and I’ll double it.”

Jensen has never been one to turn down a dare. Besides, he knows he’s looking a tidy little nest egg right in the eye. It might be warm out right now, but that’s bound to change. A hundred would more than buy him a cozy room for a couple of days at that fleabag joint the next street over. He could eat like a king.

“Money up front,” Jensen says.

“Half now and half when we get back,” guy counters with a wicked grin.

“Deal,” Jensen tells him.

With the money deposited safely in his back pocket, Jensen gets into the limo, sliding easily across the leather seat.

“Jared,” the guys says, extending his hand in a fashion that is completely incongruent with the business at hand.

For a split second, Jensen considers lying his way through an introduction, but then figures it’s pointless. No use standing on ceremony when he’s seconds away from getting Jared’s dick in his mouth. “Jensen,” he says, taking Jared’s hand in his own.

Jared’s grip is warm and firm. “Pleasure doing business with you,” Jared says, and Jensen lets out a snort of laughter. Jared presses an intercom switch. “Around the block,” he says to his driver. “Drive slow.” He looks at Jensen, taking note of his raised eyebrows. “What? I’m not opposed to stacking the deck in your favor.”

“Don’t think I’ll need it,” Jensen says, sliding off of the seat and slipping his hands up the insides of Jared’s thighs. The material of his pants is soft, expensive. His suit has to be custom made, the jacket broad at the shoulders and nipped in at the waist. Not the sort of thing someone can buy off the rack. The dim light sparks off of the diamonds in Jared’s cuff links, and Jensen wishes that his fingers were a little more nimble. Those things could probably feed him for a year straight.

Jensen pushes Jared’s knees apart and settles in between them, feeling the soothing vibration of the road through the floorboards work its way up his legs. Jared’s already hard, his dick an obscene bulge at the front of his pants. Jensen licks his lips and loosens Jared’s belt, shifts a little when the car takes the first corner.

Jared puts a hand down on the seat to steady himself, cocks his head with a small smile. “One corner down,” he warns, “three more to go.”

Pressing his palm to the length of Jared’s dick and tracing it lightly with his fingers, Jensen says, “Sure, but it looks like you’re already half way there.” He yanks at Jared’s pants, pulling apart the zipper and freeing his cock.

It’s long and thick, curving up toward Jared’s belly, flushed red and already wet at the tip. Jensen wraps a hand around the base. The flesh is hot, silky soft and Jared’s so so hard. Above him, Jared hisses a breath through his teeth as Jensen runs his fist from the base to the tip and back down again, rolls Jared’s balls between his fingers and presses a tentative tongue to his slit. The taste isn’t bad, a little salty and a little sweet. He takes the head into his mouth and lightly sucks, another gush of precome hitting his tongue, and the dark, musky smell of Jared mixes with his aftershave.

Jensen’s inexperienced; he’s only ever been on the receiving end of a few fumbling, sloppy blowjobs, but he’s still clinging to the adolescent belief that any head at all is good head and he just goes for it, sucking Jared down, running the tip of Jared’s dick along the roof of his mouth and the inside of his cheek. Relaxing his jaw, he takes Jared’s dick in further, feels the way the muscles in Jared’s thighs tighten up as Jared sinks into the seat, trying not to buck forward.

Jared lands a hand on the back of Jensen’s neck, and Jensen pulls off, sits back on his haunches and works his fingers along Jared’s spit slick length. “Hands off,” he orders.

Jared’s ditched his sunglasses at some point, and is looking down at Jensen, a blush on his cheeks and his eyes heavy-lidded. He holds his hands up, palms forward in a display of surrender. “Yes, sir,” he says.

Jensen takes him in again, deeper than before, head bobbing and getting a little dizzy from lack of air, his hand squeezing and kneading all the places his mouth can’t quite reach. Jared’s panting now, small breathy noises that almost sound plaintive, his hands bunched in fists by his sides and his chest heaving. Jensen backs off a little right before his gag reflex can kick in full throttle, licks slow and wet along the underside of Jared’s cock and dips down to suck one ball and then the other into his mouth, rolling them along his tongue. He gives the tender flesh of Jared’s cock a light graze of his teeth, letting him feel their rough, slick surface, and Jared does buck then, hips jumping up with a cut-off growl as he throws his head backward against the seat.

“Fuck,” Jared breathes. “Yeah. Do that again. Please.”

Jensen feels a thrill curl low in his stomach as a certain clarity breaks through. He gets it. Finally. Jared might be the one with the fancy car and the ridiculous bank account, tailored suits and high class sunglasses that cost more than Jensen will make in a year, but Jensen’s the one with all the control. Jensen, the scuffed up street kid on his knees with fifty-three bucks to his name and nothing but the clothes he has on his back, is the one in control. He’s had it since he cut the deal.

Jensen licks into Jared’s slit, rolling the taste of it along his tongue, lightly scrapes his teeth on the bundle of nerves beneath the head of Jared’s cock, just because the guy asked nicely. Jared forgets their deal and touches Jensen’s cheek, tracing the shape of his dick in Jensen’s mouth, and Jensen lets him. He even likes it a little when Jared swipes his fingers along Jensen’s chin, gathering the mix of spit and precome spilling from his lips. Jared licks at his fingers, pink tongue curling out to taste as his eyes slip slowly closed, and Jensen likes that too.

The car turns another corner, and Jensen realizes that he’s lost track. This could be the second or the third. Either way, Jared’s close, his cock growing incredibly harder between Jensen’s lips and twitching. Jensen reaches beneath Jared’s shirt, skims along the skin covering Jared’s toned abs, raking his nails across Jared’s ribs and feeling each and every deep breath Jared pulls into his chest. Opening his throat, Jensen takes him down to the base, plants his nose in the rough crinkle of Jared’s pubes and swallows, his eyes watering and lungs screaming for air.

Jared grips the back of Jensen’s neck tight and his hips jab up. With a slow, drawn-out moan his cock pulses, spilling down Jensen’s throat. Sputtering, Jensen backs off. Bitter, hot spunk floods Jensen’s mouth, leaks past the corners of his lips as Jensen suckles the head of Jared’s cock, working him through the last shudders of his orgasm.

Jensen’s turned on. There’s no denying it. His cock is half hard, uncomfortable and confined in his jeans, and there’s a heat starting to build in his skin. Ignoring it, Jensen instead rests his forehead on Jared’s knee and struggles to catch his breath. He spits onto the floor of the limo, a long trail of come and saliva dripping from his bottom lip. He swipes at his chin and his mouth with the back of his hand, and wipes the mess off on Jared’s thigh, just to prove a point.

The limo rolls to a stop and Jensen looks out the tinted window. His cardboard sign still rests on the step where he left it. He won’t be needing it for a while.

Jared’s staring down at him from above, a sated, muzzy cast to his expression. He blinks, tucks his cock back into his pants, gives his head a little shake and digs into his jacket pocket, handing over another fifty.

Jensen has one foot on the pavement when Jared grabs him by the wrist, fingers in a loose grasp. “So,” Jared starts. “How much for a fuck?”

“There’s not enough money in the world,” Jensen tells him.

Jared smiles then, his grin so surprisingly bright and genuine that it sends a shock straight into Jensen’s core. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”


Thanks for reading.

Tags: fic: j2, rated: nc-17
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic
    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →