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

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fic: Additional Charges May Apply

Title:  Additional Charges May Apply
Genre:  J2 AU
Rated: nc-17
Word Count:  3700
Notes:  written for salt_burn_pornfor cherie_morte's prompt long distance telephone call.  A billion thanks to dugindeep for providing the soundtrack, and for the superquick beta, and for staying up and keeping me company way the hell past our bedtime.  Wow.

Summary:  Jensen is a phone sex operator, and Jared has a bad habit of dialing wrong numbers.

It’s a mistake at first.

Jared paces across his living room, his refrigerator wheezing its last, gasping death rattle in the background, his phone pressed against his ear. He’s expecting the computerized voice of his apartment’s maintenance department, but instead Smokey Robinson pipes through, a little fuzzy and singing “Baby Come Close.” The music dims and is replaced by a woman’s voice, pitched low and syrupy, overly sensual and breathy. “Welcome to Baby Hello, where all your—“

Jared doesn’t hear the rest of it. He disconnects the call fast, a hot blush spreading across his cheeks and his scalp itching. He looks around his apartment and paranoia spikes as fast as his heartbeat, even though he knows he’s alone. Laughing at himself, Jared checks the maintenance number and tries again. He’s got a very dodgy phone number in his call log, a low, unaccountable heat building in base of his stomach, and a fridge that is now definitely busted.


The number stays in his phone. He doesn’t think about it, simple as that. Just like he doesn’t chew on the fact that he isn’t all that up for going out for drinks after work with the guy who sits two cubicles away eight hours a day, and who may or may not have a crush on him.

It’s not a big deal, which is why he doesn’t examine his motives too closely as he stretches out in bed, a few beers under his belt, a little tipsy but not tipsy enough to pass out straight away. His thumb hovers over the number for a second before he mutters, “C’mon,” and presses it.

Smokey’s on the line again, and Jared makes it through the entirety of the pre-recorded message this time, feeling only mildly scandalized and barely wincing as he punches in his credit card number.

“Hello, you,” a woman says after a short hold, her voice high-pitched and bubbly. “I’m Cherry, what’s your name?”

Jared’s mouth instantly goes dry. Of course her name would be Cherry. Of course. He sputters, “Could I…ah.” Jared hesitates, breathes in deep and lets it out slow. “I mean. I’m sure that you’re very good at…at what you do, but do you think that I could maybe talk to a guy?” And god, here he is, sitting at home alone on a Saturday night, attempting to convince a phone sex operator that she’s brilliant at her job, and trying to find the right way to let her down easy. It’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous.

Without a wasted second, the woman on the other end says, “Sure thing, kiddo. No problem. Hang on a sec, okay?” Her answer is all laid back and easy, like Jared has just asked her for a regular coke rather than a diet.

The phone switches over to hold music. It’s Marvin Gaye this time, telling him to let’s get it on. Suddenly Jared’s skin feels too tight and his heartbeat spikes north, and he tosses the phone toward the center of his bed like it’s just bitten him. A second later, he scrambles to disconnect as a small, faraway voice says, “Hello? Hello,” then buries his phone under his pillow.


Candles are lit, scattered all over and lighting Jared’s bedroom with a hazy, warm glow. Soft, mellow electronica plays on the radio and a glass of wine sits on the bedside table next to a bottle of lube, because Jared figures that something worth doing is worth doing all the way. Jared sprawls on his bed with boxers riding low on his hips and his chest bare, curiosity burning a hole in the back of his mind.

It’s easier the third time. Jared navigates the menus with hardly a stutter, tells himself that this isn’t perverse or bizarre. It’s not odd that he’s already half hard in his shorts and anticipating the sound of some stranger’s voice.

“Hey there, big boy,” a man says. His voice is deep and a little hoarse. Jared can’t be sure, but he thinks he hears some Texas in it, the vowels pulled out long. It sounds like home. “How are you?”

Jared flinches. “Can we skip the pet names?”

“No problem. Duly noted. What’s your name?”

“Jared,” he says, then pulls a face. That was probably a mistake. “What should I call you?” he asks.

“What do you want to call me?” the man shoots back.

“Is that how this works?”

“It works however you want it to,” the guy chuckles a little, a warm, soft sound. “Call me Jack.”

“A little on the nose, don’t ya think?” Jared smiles. “I mean, Jack?

The laugh he gets in response sounds more genuine this time. “It works, right?”

“Has a nice ring to it,” Jared concedes.

“Tell me about yourself. What do you look like?”

“Tall, I guess.” Jared shrugs as if there’s anyone there to see it. “Brown hair, hazel eyes.”

Jack hums. “Bet you’re built. You work out, right?”

“A little, yeah.”

“I bet you're fucking ripped,” Jack goes on. “I’d love to see you when you’re working out. All sweaty and hot. Everybody looks at you, can’t take their eyes off of you.”

“I don’t pay too much attention,” Jared says truthfully.

“All that and humble too,” Jack says. “I’m getting hard just thinking about it.” He makes a noise, halfway to a growl, and the sound of it shoots straight to Jared’s dick. Jared cups his hand loosely over his boxers, just the barest amount of pressure.

“I wanna get you in the showers in the locker room, all pumped up and huge, have you pin me up against the wall. Do you wanna do that?” Jack asks. “I’d let you.”

Jack’s breath quickens, hissing in Jared’s ear, and Jared shuts his eyes, squeezing at his dick and rubbing along the length of it. There’s a thrill to this, to the anonymity of it, the freedom to say whatever he wants and not have to answer for it.

“I want you down on your knees,” Jared says, “your mouth on my cock. I want you suck me off.” He licks his palm and slides his hand into his boxers, breathing a small gasp when he grips himself tightly, working his fist from the base to the tip.

“Yeah,” Jack groans. “Fuck yeah. You’re so big. God. I wanna choke on you, take you all the way down. Take you so deep that I’ll taste you for a week. Your cock so deep in my mouth, down my throat, pounding into me so thick and hot.”

Jared works himself faster now, his cock heavy and straining as he bucks up into his hand, the steady sound of Jack’s voice in his ear.

“I want you to fuck into my mouth. Hard. Fucking fast. You could make me come just from that. I wouldn’t even have to touch myself.”

Jared’s orgasm slams into him so fast it’s almost startling and he arches off of the mattress, hand stripping his cock in a blur. “Ah, god, fuck,” he spits. He digs his heels in and spreads his legs wider, hot come spilling over his hand and onto his stomach. Jack says something else, but Jared can’t hear it over the white, static noise filling his ears.

He’s slow to come down and his pulse still pounds, a tingling numbness spreading through his fingers, his breathing fast and irregular. Jared jumps when Jack’s voice comes over the line.

“Jared. You still there?”

“Yeah, barely,” Jared mumbles.

“Remember this number. It’s my direct line. I’d love to do this again sometime.”

Jared’s hand still shakes as he shuffles through his drawer for a piece of paper to write it down, feeling at least seven different kinds of foolish. Jack probably says that sort of thing to everybody.


Jared calls Jack five more times over the next few weeks. The last time had been the best by about a mile. It had been Jared’s turn to take the reins and he’d stayed on the phone almost an hour, describing in minute detail all the things he wanted to do to Jack, how he wanted to bend him over every available surface and fuck him for hours. Split him wide open and make him come again and again on his cock until he couldn’t come anymore.

Jack had been right on board with the plan, he was always game, groaning as Jared told him everything he wanted to do to him, shivery breath coming heavy over the telephone line. It was all an act, and on some level Jared had recognized that, but he still thought that Jack could put on one hell of a show.


“Hey,” Jared says. He’s folded into his chair in the living room, bare feet tucked under himself and a bottle of beer dangling from his fingers.

“Hey yourself,” Jack says. “I was wondering where you’ve been.”

Jared smiles a little at that. “Been busy.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

He’s lying, and it must be clear in his tone because Jack says, “Take this down. Call me back at this number.”

It’s a Dallas area code. Jared had guessed right. He celebrates a tiny victory and follows Jack’s orders. He sounds different on this number. Closer, somehow.

“It’s Jensen,” Jack says as soon as he picks up.


“It’s my name. My real name. I. I wanted you to know.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jensen. I’m Jared.”

“I know,” Jensen says, and Jared can hear the smile in his voice.

“What’s this number?”

“It’s my real one. You sound like you’re having a shitty day, and well, you shouldn’t have to pay to talk to me right now.”

Shitty is probably an understatement, work had been pounding Jared down for the last few weeks; he's tired, pretty monumentally bummed out, and feeling very, very lonely.

“You won’t get in trouble?” Jared asks. He takes a sip of his beer, props the bottle on his knee, and starts to peel at the label.

“Don’t much care if I do. Now tell me what’s going on. I’m all ears.”


“Are you alone?” Jensen asks, positively wicked. They’re on what Jared has come to think of as Jensen’s business line, and have been splitting their time between this one and Jensen’s personal phone for the last several weeks. It’s a weird dichotomy, but Jared kinda likes it.

“Yeah, I’m alone,” Jared says.

“Put me on speaker. You’ll need both hands for this.”

Disobeying, Jared tucks the phone between his ear and his shoulder. It’s better this way, more intimate, makes it feel like Jensen is right beside him, whispering into his ear.

“Are you all slicked up?” Jensen asks.

“Getting there.” The lube is a little chilly in Jared’s palm. He tips his hand, letting it drip down to his fingers. His cock is so hard it almost hurts, precome smearing along his belly.

“Wonderful,” Jensen says, his voice rough. “Go ahead, touch yourself. Just a little.”

Splaying his legs wider, Jared circles his rim, teasing himself, feeling the muscle contract, and sucking down a sharp intake of air.

“Atta boy,” Jensen says. “Slip one finger in, but not too much.”

Jared complies, forcing only his fingertip inside, his other hand setting a slow, lazy rhythm along his cock.

“A little deeper now. How’s it feel?”

“Tight,” Jared whispers, sinking into himself up to the second knuckle. “Really fucking tight.”

“Fuck yeah, you’re tight. Jared. So hot. Keep going.” Jensen’s voice sounds constricted, like he’s holding back. “Put another one in.”

It burns as Jared slides a second finger beside the first, and his cock thickens even more, impossibly hard now. He slips his fingers in and out, gritting his teeth against the stretch, the push and pull of it.

“C’mon, Jared, talk to me. Tell me.”

Jared fingers himself faster, writhing at the sensation. “I wish. I wish it was you.” It’s out of his mouth before he can bite it back, and he freezes. A rock lands in his stomach and starts sinking down.

“Yeah, Jared. Damn. Me too. I wanna fuck you so bad. Touch you. Get inside you. God. Anything.” Jensen’s talking in fragments. He sounds so hoarse, all desperate and wound up, and this is something new. It’s never been this way before. He’s panting, and Jared can hear the scratch of his stubble against the phone, the quiet slap of skin on skin, the sound of each inhale and exhale and Jensen's keening whine as he comes.

It’s the end of Jared. His fingers still inside his body. He tightens his grip on his cock and shoots hard, Jensen’s rasping groans filling his ears.

A few minutes pass before Jensen talks again, and when he does it’s sarcastic and self-deprecating. “Well, now. That was very unprofessional of me.”

Jared huffs a laugh. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.” Mustering all the courage at his disposal, he continues. “Jensen. I was thinking—“

“Call me back,” Jensen cuts him off and hangs up.

Jared’s fingers are still slick and he makes a mess of his phone, manages to hit the right contact on the third try.

Picking up on the first ring, Jensen says, “Yes. My answer is yes.”

“You don’t know the question.”

“Was I wrong?” Jensen says, unsure. “Because, awkward.”

“You weren’t wrong. I really want to see you, too.”


This could be the worst decision he’s ever made. Or the best. The jury’s still out on that one.

Jared had almost turned around a dozen times on the interstate between San Antonio and Dallas. Once, he went so far as to pull off at a gas station and sit with his forehead pressed to the wheel for a very long time, quietly reevaluating nearly every single one of his life choices.

They’d agreed to meet at a coffee spot that Jensen’s fond of, across the street from a very open, very public grassy area scattered with benches. Jared pulls into a parking spot and walks to the front door, a little dizzy and his heart banging against his ribcage. His phone buzzes in his pocket just as he reaches for the handle.

Before Jared can answer, a hand lands on his shoulder and spins him around. He looks down at Jensen, and thinks that he probably ought to say something and perhaps he would, if his tongue hadn’t decided that now was the best time to glue itself stubbornly to the roof of his mouth.

Jensen grins up at him, laugh lines branching from the corners of his eyes. He’s fucking beautiful, remarkably so. Sure, Jared had conjured up a few imaginary images over the last few months, but not a single one of them could possibly hold a candle to the reality.

“There you are,” Jensen says, and Jared is struck by the closeness of his voice, how it sounds so much better in person. He files that information away for safe-keeping as Jensen yanks Jared into a hug, his chest solid and strong against Jared’s own, his arms slung tight around Jared’s neck. Jared buries his nose into the crook of Jensen’s neck, breathing the smell of Jensen’s sun warmed skin.

“Damn,” Jared says stupidly.

Jensen’s grin grows even wider and he says, “I could say the same thing.” He hugs Jared again, just as tightly as the first time. “It’s so good to see you. So good.”

Every little thing about Jensen fascinates Jared, from the shift of his hips as he walks into the coffee joint to the way he takes his coffee—no sugar, a little bit of cream and a ton of cinnamon. They get to-go cups, cross the street to the small park and take up residence on one of the benches.

Jared’s having trouble maintaining eye contact. He’s blushing furiously, hopes like hell that Jensen thinks it’s because of the late summer sun beating down on them. If Jensen notices, he doesn’t let on, and only stares at Jared openly. Jared’s half hard the entire time, and it occurs to him that he might be hard wired to the sound of Jensen’s voice, some sort of pavlovian response after all these months of getting off on that and that alone.

They talk like old friends, two guys who have known each other forever, a sort of casual intimacy in the way they exist in each other’s space. Jared can’t get enough of it.

“So what do you do?” Jared asks. He feels like he should know this. “Do you have a day job?”

“I’m a grad student. Psychology.” Holding his hand up, palm forward, Jensen says, “Before you say anything, yes, some people strip, or work the sex line or that sort of thing to put themselves through school, and yes, I actually am a walking, talking cliché, and no, you’re not part of some study or anything.”

Jared takes Jensen by the wrist and kisses the palm of his hand. “Didn’t think that I was.”

Jensen licks his lips, slow and deliberate, and looks at Jared in a way that says he knows exactly what effect it has on Jared. “Is it too soon to invite you back to my place? Because I really want to invite you back to my place.”


Jensen’s home isn’t far, a narrow townhouse that’s longer than it is wide, plain and nondescript on the exterior. His mailbox reads J.Ackles in blocky gold letters and Jared lets out a snort of laughter.

“Jack, huh?” he says.

“It’s easy to remember,” Jensen says with a shrug.

They’re barely past the front door before Jensen spins on him, grabbing Jared by the front of his t-shirt and walking him backward into his bedroom. Jared backs into the bed and sits down with a bounce, staring up at Jensen towering over him.

Jensen takes Jared’s face in his hands, swipes his thumbs along the hollows beneath Jared’s eyes and leans in closer. “I’ve wanted to do this for a very long time.”

The kiss is slow, lingering, a firm press of their mouths together and Jared thinks that he could get lost, right here and right now, and be perfectly content for the rest of his life. Jensen’s mouth is soft and warm, but his fingers are strong, tangling into Jared’s hair and tugging a little. Jensen backs off, eyes fixed on Jared, his gaze direct and intense. Jensen opens up on the second kiss, and Jared licks into his mouth, slides his tongue against Jensen’s and tastes coffee and cinnamon.

“Do you remember the first time we talked?” Jensen asks. “What I said I wanted to do to you?”

“Of course,” Jared replies, going achingly hard the instant Jensen palms his cock through his jeans.

“Good. Because I intend on doing exactly that.” With his fingers tented on Jared’s chest, Jensen shoves Jared flat on the bed and crawls in after him. He nips at Jared’s mouth, his jaw, the base of his throat, then rucks Jared’s shirt up under his arms to worry Jared’s nipple between his teeth. Jared squirms beneath him, tightens his thighs around Jensen’s hips and presses up against him, feeling the heat of their cocks slotting together between their bodies.

Jensen sits back on his haunches and rips his shirt off. His chest is toned, freckles everywhere and Jared wants to get at every square inch of it. He reaches for Jensen, but Jensen ignores him, unfastening Jared’s belt and pushing his jeans down and off. Jared’s cock slaps against his belly, flushed and hot and leaking at the tip.

“So much better,” Jensen mutters. “I can’t get you outta my head.”

“I can’t…” Jared trails off as Jensen circles the base of his cock with his fingers and kisses the thick vein on the underside. It’s almost innocent. Delicate. All rational thought blanks out when Jensen seals his lips around the crown of Jared’s cock and sucks, swirling his tongue around it.

Jensen pulls off and Jared whimpers, pathetic and needy. “Don’t hold back,” Jensen orders, and the timbre of his voice shoots Jared back in time, across the last few months, any amount of shyness and apprehension dissolving as Jensen sucks him down. His throat clenches around the width of Jared, a flutter of sensation zipping up and down Jared’s spine. Jared bucks up hard, dimly aware of the press of Jensen’s fingers into his hipbones, and the happy, satisfied noises that Jensen makes around his cock.

Fuck, he’s close. Jensen’s only started and already Jared’s almost there, transfixed on the flex and give of Jensen’s mouth surrounding him, the way that Jared shoves his hips up higher and higher and how Jensen just takes it, eyes watering and lips stretched out so wide and pliant.

“I’m gonna. Fuck. Jensen.” Jared tries to sink his hips into the mattress, going for some kind of warning or indication, but Jensen takes him down further, swallows Jared down all the way to the base and claws at the skin covering the knobs of Jared’s hips. Jared plants his heels on the bed and fucks up into Jensen’s mouth, any attempt at a rhythm a completely lost cause. He reaches down, fits his hand around the curve of Jensen’s neck, holding him in place as his orgasm builds and crashes through him, his dick throbbing into the wet heat of Jensen’s mouth, spunk spilling down Jensen’s throat and Jared’s whole body shuddering.

Jensen gasps as he pulls off. His mouth is red, swollen and wrecked. Jared likes it. It’s a good look on him.

“Even better. Fuck,” Jensen says, all grit and gravel. He slides up the length of Jared’s body, kisses him on the cheek and whispers, “You still wanna let me fuck you?”

“More than anything,” Jared answers, then offers Jensen a sheepish look. “But…ah. I’ve only ever topped.”

Jensen smiles at him. It’s a tender little thing and right then Jared knows he’s so far gone. Going back isn’t even an option.

“It’s okay,” Jensen says. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk you through it. It’s kinda what I do.”


Thanks for reading.

Tags: fic: j2, rated: nc-17
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