Genre: Jared/Jensen AU
Word Count: 4800
Notes: written for salt_burn_porn for wendy's prompt room service Sorry for the slight delay folks. Varnish errors foiled me at every turn (and I still have no clear concept as to what those things really are). Not beta'd and now I'm at work. I'll fix any typos when I get home.
Summary: Jared doesn't know what to expect when he accepts a position as an assistant to Jensen Ackles, but it sure as hell isn't this.
“I believe you’re going to fit in quite well here,” Mrs. Hopkins tells Jared, leading him through the enormous kitchen. The room is buzzing, barely controlled chaos on the surface, but a few moments of observation and the scene resolves into a carefully choreographed system of housekeepers, cooks and wait staff dashing along their appointed rounds.
Jared dodges a housekeeper, panting under her load of dirty linens, hitches his backpack further up on his shoulder and adjusts his grip on his suitcase. “How many people live here?” he asks.
This earns him a couple of sidelong glances and muffled laughter, all of which Mrs. Hopkins meets with a stern glare. “It depends on the day of the week,” she answers, and Jared detects a hint of sarcasm to her tone. “Mr. Ackles has a bit of a revolving door. When you have money...” she trails off with a sigh. “Well, you know how it is.”
Jared doesn’t know, but he nods anyway. His last position was as the butler to an elderly heiress, who had provided him with a small severance and a decent letter of recommendation before shipping out for points southward. Truthfully, he’d been little more than a glorified caretaker of her two tiny dogs. The woman had taught him how to make a damn fine martini though, so it hadn’t been a complete loss.
An exit off of the kitchen opens up to a long hall with a number of doors on either side. At the far end, a set of double doors lead to the primly manicured gardens and tennis court, and beyond that a gravel trail snakes toward the boathouse and floating dock. Jared knows the look of old money when he sees it, and this is it.
“Most of the staff double up, but you’ll have a room to yourself,” Mrs. Hopkins says and Jared raises his eyebrows. “Our employer keeps irregular hours,” she explains, unlocking the door to his room and dropping the key into his palm. She points to an intercom on the wall beside the doorframe. “I hope you’re a light sleeper. He’s likely to ring for you at all hours of the day or night.”
Jared whistles low as he dumps his bags on the floor and makes a full turn in the center of the room. It’s a castle compared to his last room--which had been only moderately larger than a broom closet--with a double bed that looks almost long enough to fit him, a private bathroom and a window that overlooks the pool and the sprawling east wing of the house. “Nice digs,” Jared says.
Mrs. Hopkins offers him a pleased smile, claps her hands and says, “Get cleaned up. Time to go to work.”
Twenty minutes later, Jared finds himself in a suit that doesn’t quite fit, standing in the corner of a large library, natural light spilling down from a tall, domed atrium. He scans the spines of the volumes within arm’s reach, fingers itching to pluck a book from what appears to be an extensive collection of first editions from the nearby shelf, then nearly swallows his tongue and forgets to breathe when Jensen Ackles sweeps into the room. Jensen’s shucking layers as he goes, his jacket thrown over a convenient chair back, his vest unbuttoned and his shoes and socks leaving a trail behind him as he heads toward a long, low sofa.
“Board meetings,” he spits out. “Remind me next time to get drunk first. It’s the only possible way to handle those—“ He catches sight of Jared and stutters to a halt, his tie half unknotted and hanging loosely around his neck.
Sure, Jared has seen the paparazzi photos, grainy shots of Jensen in bars and clubs after hours, hiding behind huge sunglasses or tinted car windows, but they hadn’t prepared him for the reality of the man, live and in the flesh. All his years of training fly out the window and Jared stares, momentarily transfixed. Jensen’s gorgeous, his toned chest stretches at his dress shirt in exactly the right way, his narrow hips roll easily as he shifts his weight, he’s got a full mouth that’s parted in surprise and eyes that are the most remarkable shade of green. His short hair stands up in messy spikes, and Jared wonders what it would feel like slipping between his fingers.
“So you’re the new guy,” Jensen says, squinting at him. His mouth curls into a shape that’s almost flirty.
Jared’s attention snaps into place and he averts his eyes toward the ground, clasps his hands behind his back and quietly clears his throat.
“Yes, sir. Jared Padalecki, sir. Very pleased to meet you.”
“You can skip the sir,” Jensen says, coming to a stop in front of Jared and offering his hand. Jared takes it and feels a thrill when Jensen lets his fingers trail overlong on the inside of his wrist. “Call me Jensen. We don’t much stand on formality here, no matter what Mrs. Hopkins might have told you.”
“Thank you, Jensen,” Jared says.
He squeezes Jared’s upper arm, then spins on his heel, and Jared’s definitely not looking at the strong line of his shoulders or the small of his back or the tight curve of his ass as Jensen walks toward the doorway again.
“It’s been a long night,” Jensen says over his shoulder, even though it’s quarter past noon by Jared’s reckoning. “I’m going to bed. I’ll buzz you in a few hours. Bring coffee, if you don’t mind. Lots of it.”
“Cream. No sugar,” Jared responds.
“Yahtzee,” Jensen says. “And welcome, Jared. I think you’re going to work out just fine.” Turning back, Jensen grins at him, his smile so bright that the sunlight pouring into the room doesn’t stand a chance at keeping up.
It takes a couple of weeks, but Jared eventually settles into the rhythm of the house, or more exactly, the rhythm of its owner. His circadian cycle realigns, takes on a certain nocturnal bend. Jensen seems to run on catnaps and coffee, interspersed with day-long spouts of hibernation during which he barely emerges from his private rooms. Jensen’s behavior is irregular, eccentric, at times casually familiar and at others stiffly formal, and Jared learns quickly how to read him, knows what to expect from the tone of Jensen’s voice piping through the intercom. Jensen seems to truly value Jared’s company though, and that’s new. Jared’s not too sure what to make of it.
The work is hard and often strange, but it’s not without it’s perks, like when Jensen invites him into his rooms to discuss an article that he’s read in the paper, or all the times Jensen will call on Jared to help him chose an outfit for one charity event or another, and Jared will find himself standing at Jensen’s back, watching the water from his damp hair drip on Jensen’s bare shoulders as Jensen discusses the relative merits of one Armani jacket over another Armani jacket, all the while wearing nothing more than a towel wrapped snugly around his waist.
Jared sits alone at the kitchen table, blearily shoveling cereal into his mouth. It’s mid-morning on a Monday, and technically his day off, not that technicalities count for much around here. He rises to his feet fast when Jensen saunters in, but Jensen waves him back down, takes an apple from the bowl in the center of the table and polishes it on his sleeve.
Around a bite, Jensen says, “I was wondering if you’d run a few errands with me today. It’s alright if you’re busy, of course.” He shrugs, offhand.
“I’d love to,” Jared says, and Jensen’s hopeful expression erases years from his face. “I’ll get changed.”
Jensen looks him up and down, bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he takes in Jared’s rumpled UT t-shirt and his worn in jeans and says, “You’re perfect. Just the way you are,” then seems to shake it off, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Anyway, meet me in the garage in ten?”
“Yeah,” Jared nearly squeaks, not too sure what to make of the weird charge in the air or the sudden tightness in his chest.
The garage is more like an airplane hangar, the roof high and the automated door massive. Their footsteps echo through the open space.
“I’m such a cliché,” Jensen says with a chuckle. He gestures grandly to the row of cars. “Pick your poison.”
Jared walks past a Maserati, a Ferrari, a Bentley that probably costs more than he'll make in his lifetime, an ancient Rolls that had once belonged to grandpa Ackles, and finally lands on a convertible ‘Vette, candy apple red and pretty as a picture.
Jensen grabs the keys from a box tacked to the wall. “I do like a man who can appreciate a classic,” he says, and tosses the keys over to Jared.
“Really?” Jared asks, incredulous.
“Of course,” Jensen replies as he opens the passenger door. “It’s your day off, you’re allowed to have a little fun.”
Jared slides into the drivers seat, and the engine’s throaty purr vibrates up his spine and into base of his skull when he turns it over and taps the gas.
They’re about a quarter mile down the private road from the estate when Jensen leans over, notches his shoulder against Jared’s. In a low, intimate whisper, he says, “This ain’t your momma’s minivan, kiddo. Open her up,” his breath falling warm on Jared’s neck and his voice positively dripping sex. He presses his hand to Jared’s thigh, forces Jared’s foot on the gas and the car leaps forward, plastering Jared to the driver’s seat. Jared can’t wipe the goofy grin from his face, no matter how hard he tries.
“Thanks,” Jared says, as he slips the car from fourth to fifth gear. They’re on a straightaway, picking up speed and goddamn it feels good.
“For letting me play with your toys.”
“They’re only fun if you can share them.”
Jared nods, feeling like some small key to Jensen has just slotted into place.
”Jared, I need you. And I need some cherries. Or raspberries. Maybe strawberries. Actually, any kind of berry will do, come to think of it. But mostly I need you.”
Jared’s up and moving at the first sound of Jensen’s voice over the intercom, has his jeans yanked on and is untangling his t-shirt by the time Jensen’s finished. It’s going to be an interesting night, if the small slur in Jensen’s speech is anything to go by. He’d been going to the grand opening of some club somewhere, and Jared had been looking forward to a full night’s sleep, hadn’t expected to hear from Jensen until late morning at least, but if the last several weeks had taught him anything, it was that he should always expect the unexpected.
The house is quiet as Jared makes his way down the hallway and swings into the kitchen, blinks into the light of the refrigerator for a full thirty seconds before he remembers what he’s supposed to be doing, then grabs the bowl of cherries and puts them on a tray. He nabs three bottles of water and a pint of blackberries as an afterthought and staggers toward the stairs, trying to work the kinks out of his neck.
Jensen’s sitting room is empty and dark, and Jared dodges the furniture by memory, taps his knuckles against Jensen’s bedroom door and lets himself inside. It’s dark in here as well, lit only by a small lamp on Jensen’s bedside table.
“Room service has arrived,” Jensen says and Jared nearly leaps out of his skin, a bottle of water toppling from the tray. Jensen sits on the edge of his bed, one arm looped around the bedpost like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. He’s got his shoes off, his shirt unbuttoned nearly to his stomach and at some point he’d managed to lose one sock but keep the other.
“How was your night?” Jared says, tone carefully neutral.
Swaying a little on the mattress, Jensen says, “Boring. Same old people talking about the same old thing, everybody trying to prove how much money they have.”
Jared goes down on one knee in front of Jensen, peels off his sock and finds the other one kicked beneath the bed. “Maybe you should make some new friends,” Jared suggests, starts to stand up then freezes when he catches the way Jensen’s looking at him, his mouth slightly open and his eyes heavy lidded and dark. The liquor has left a high flush on his cheeks, a light sheen of sweat on his skin. In that moment, Jared wants very badly to kiss him, just take Jensen by the back of the neck and pull him down. It would be easy. Jensen’s already half-way there.
With a level stare, Jensen says, “I’ve been trying to. It isn’t all that simple.”
By some miracle, Jared makes it to his feet, intent on getting Jensen’s shirt off of him, pouring a bottle of water down his throat and then wrestling him under the covers. It’s not the first time he’s had to do this. Jensen rests his forehead against Jared’s stomach, fits his palm over the jut of Jared’s hipbone and moves his thumb in a slow circle. It’s the lightest possible touch and it stops Jared in his tracks, plants his feet in concrete and holds him rock steady. The muscles in Jared’s belly pull taut as Jensen pushes his shirt up and presses a kiss to his exposed skin, followed by another. There’s a hint of Jensen’s tongue on the third kiss, a spot of wet heat right below Jared’s navel and Jared should put a stop to this before it’s too late, but it feels so good, hot, and the graceful dip of Jensen’s neck is really fucking beautiful, and his hair is incredibly soft along Jared’s skin and Jared’s palm is a perfect fit against the back of Jensen’s head.
Jensen curls his fingers into the waistband of Jared’s jeans and moves his mouth lower, traces the shape of Jared’s cock through his pants, nuzzling against Jared’s crotch and he says in a harsh rasp, “Get rid of your shirt. C’mon. Wanna see you.”
The command seems to do the trick and Jared is able to break free. He takes a few stumbling backward steps until his ass collides soundly with the dresser. “No,” he croaks, trying to untangle the curl of heat in his groin by sheer force of will alone. He’s dizzy, more than a little off center, and definitely wants to screw his boss. He’s also probably unemployed at this point, and that raises a whole new set of problems.
“But—“ Jensen starts, reaching out toward Jared.
“No,” Jared repeats, louder this time and with more force behind it, regret and a healthy dose of panic brewing a wicked cocktail in his stomach. “You’re drunk and I…I’m not sure what I am.”
”I’m not all that drunk,” Jensen protests, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands.
“You’re not all that sober either. Just. Sleep it off, okay? And…and drink some water. I’ll be gone when you wake up. Don’t worry.”
“What do you mean?” Jensen looks confused, well and truly miserable, too.
Jared stops with his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll save you the effort of saying it. I’m fired.”
“No you’re not,” Jensen states. “Fuck, Jared. I’m so sorry. Go if you want to, but no one’s kicking you out.”
Acres on top of acres in this estate and this is Jared’s favorite place. He’s hunkered down on the dock, slowly sipping his way through a six-pack. His jeans are rolled up and his feet dangle in the water. Sounds of a party are audible from the house, the low hum of jazz chords punctuated by laughter.
The boards creak behind him and Jared turns to find Jensen, silhouetted by the nuclear glow coming from the house. He drops his tuxedo jacket onto the dock and throws his shoes on top of it. His bowtie is a loose strand around his neck and he bends over to roll his pants up to his knees, sinks down next to Jared and dips his feet into the water.
“A party at my own house and I have to get dressed up for it,” he says.
Jared raises one shoulder in a shrug. “Your house. You make the rules.”
“That’s not true. And if it is, I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of it.” Jensen moves his feet through the water in languid circles that send chilly eddies sloshing up against Jared’s legs. “I never wanted any of this, you know. The houses. The money. Everyone who hangs on, rides my coattails because of the houses and the money.”
“I’m sorry,” Jared says simply.
“Don’t be. I have no right to complain. Poor little trust fund baby that I am. Don’t ever be sorry.”
“Why do you hold onto it then?” Jared asks with an all-encompassing gesture.
“It took me a long time to figure that out, and in the meantime I was really fucking selfish. Rebellious. Landed myself in the gossip rags, and that’s a reputation I can’t seem to put behind me. But I hold onto it because of you. And because of Mrs. Hopkins and Chris who keeps the cars running and because of Rosie who makes the best damn blueberry waffles on god’s green earth, and because of every single person who keeps this machine grinding away, day in and day out.”
Jared’s quiet for a while, lulled by the dull slap of water against the wood. Again, he wants to kiss Jensen, and that’s something he can’t seem to shake. “I’m not leaving,” Jared says, and it comes as a surprise. He didn’t know it until now.
“Thank god,” Jensen says. “Jared, I—“
“You should probably get back to your party,” Jared points out, cutting him off.
“They probably haven’t even noticed that I’m gone. I don’t think they like me very much.”
“Of course they do,” Jared leans into Jensen when he says it, a brief point of contact. “You’re very likeable.”
Jensen laughs, inches in on Jared and knocks their elbows together. “Easy for you to say. You’re on the payroll. It’s your job to like me. Or at least be nice to me.”
Jared pauses before speaking, considers all the ways he’s overstepping his boundaries—blurry as they so recently have become—and decides to risk it anyway. “You might pay me to be nice, but I wouldn’t lie to you. Not for all the money in the world.”
“I’m starting to figure that out.”
It’s a knock on his bedroom door and not the buzz of Jensen’s voice over the intercom that wakes Jared up this time. He’s momentarily disoriented, hardly knows how to wake up anymore without the sound of Jensen calling him.
“Yeah,” Jared says, and it comes out rusty. He tries again, “Come in.”
Jensen slips through the door, latches it behind him and leans against it. They guy looks beat, eyes puffy and red, flannel pajama pants hanging low and crooked on his hips, chest bare and skin blue-tinted in the low light. Immediately, Jared’s standing, clasps his hands behind his back and stares with determination at his feet.
Jensen’s cracking his knuckles and chewing on his bottom lip, nervous tics that Jared recognizes right away. “Here’s the thing, Jared. I spend an inordinate amount of time everyday trying to figure out new ways to make you smile.”
Jared’s heart leaps and bangs hard against his ribcage, as if it’s trying to find an escape route, some sort of elusive way out. His hands are shaking and he can’t look at Jensen right now, can’t meet his gaze, because Jensen will see. He’ll know, and that will land them both in an ocean full of hot water. Instead he says, “That’s supposed to be my job,” and his voice sounds muffled in his own ears, indistinct and very far away.
“And you do it very well, you do it better than anyone,” Jensen says.
Jared’s still not looking at him, so it comes as a surprise when Jensen places two fingers beneath his chin and tips it up, slides his hand upward to cradle Jared’s jaw, his thumb drawing a line under Jared’s bottom lip.
Jared opens his mouth to speak, finally meeting Jensen’s gaze, but Jensen shuts him up with a kiss, his lips parted, tongue darting out to slide along Jared’s all at once, hot and slick. Jensen tangles a hand in Jared’s hair, shifts his weight and snugs them in tight, hips and bare chests smashed together. Jensen is warm against him, soft skin over hard muscle, strong hands that skate down Jared’s spine and back up again, and continue their restless movement as he breaks the kiss.
“God, Jared. I need you to know something. I need you to know that you are the first thing I think about when I wake up and you’re the last thing I think about before I go to sleep. And it’s been that way since the day I set eyes on you. I can’t get you outta my head and all of this is new. Really fucking new and a little bit terrifying and I don’t want it to stop. I really, really don’t want it to stop.” Jensen talks fast, like he needs to force the words out before they somehow get trapped in his throat, and Jared gets it. He really gets it.
Something huge breaks free in Jared’s chest and he gathers Jensen up, hugs him very tightly, feels the expansion of Jensen’s ribs along his own as he takes in a deep, watery breath. Jared kisses Jensen’s throat, his jaw, his temple, finds his mouth again and licks inside, tongue tracing the shape of Jensen’s teeth and the ridges on the roof of his mouth.
Jensen shuffles them backward and topples them onto Jared’s bed, and Jared’s right on board with that idea. His knees have been trembling dangerously anyhow and he’s light-headed, so wrapped up in the sensation of Jensen beneath him that he can’t quite see straight. Jensen’s panting a little now, desperate and needy if the shallow thrusts of his hips against Jared’s thigh are anything to go by, and Jared doesn’t think that he’s wanted anyone more in his life. He wants to set his mouth to every inch of Jensen’s skin. Most of all, he wants to take his time, spread Jensen out and learn what he tastes like, learn what will make him laugh and what will make him squirm, what will make him groan or beg.
There’s one thing he needs to do first. Jared angles himself along Jensen’s body and shoves at his flannel pants until Jensen’s cock springs free and lays gorgeous, swollen and flushed against the cut of his hip. Jensen kicks at them until they spill onto the floor, starts to tug at Jared’s shorts, but is pulled up short when Jared takes him by the wrist.
“Gimme a minute,” Jared says, gazing down the length of Jensen’s body. “I’ve spent so much time looking away.”
“Later,” Jensen pleads, and doubles his efforts. “You’ll have all the time you need, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” Jared nods, shucks his shorts and covers Jensen’s body with his own, lining their cocks up with a long, smooth thrust of his hips. Jensen hooks a leg high around Jared’s hips and they rock together, back arching off of the mattress and breath coming faster and faster, whistling through his clenched teeth. It wrecks Jared, the slip of his cock along Jensen’s, the heat of their skin in all the places they touch, the way that Jensen keeps his eyes locked on Jared’s the whole time. He doesn’t look away once, not even when he comes with a harsh shout that he barely manages to muffle, his nails digging into Jared’s back, hot spunk spilling in a sticky mess between them, slicking their stomachs, dripping from Jared’s cock and soaking his balls.
“Do you have something? Tell me you have something,” Jensen begs. “I want you. You have no clue.”
Jared almost shoots at the very idea of it, manages rise up on his knees, grip the base of his cock and stave off his orgasm but only barely, and nods toward his bedside table.
Jensen’s chuckle shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. “Really? I mean, awesome. But really?”
Pulling a face, Jared says, “A good manservant is always prepared.”
“I thought that was a boy scout,” Jensen teases, but grows serious when he presses a condom and lube to Jared’s chest. “Take it easy on me. It’s been a long time and you’re kinda fucking huge.”
Jensen pulls his ankles toward his body and spreads his legs wide, puts himself on display for Jared, miles of pale skin dusted with freckles, the muscles of his legs thick and bunching, his cock slowly growing soft on his stomach.
It’s too much, and Jared almost comes again at the first touch of Jensen’s rim, the give of it around the tip of his finger, sloppy with too much lube. He stretches Jensen slowly, gauging his reaction to every slight twist of his wrist and each new angle, waiting for Jensen to adjust and buck against his hand before adding another finger. Jared’s cock is an insistent throb between his legs, bobbing heavily each time Jared shifts his weight, leaking precome in a steady stream that drips down the length.
The skin of Jensen’s rim is pink, puffy and so so wet as Jared pulls his fingers out, wiping them clean on his own thigh. His hands are freely shaking as he slips the condom on and slicks himself up. He slaps at Jensen’s rim with the head of his cock, watching the muscle contract at the touch and listening to Jensen’s sudden gasp at the sensation, holds his breath as he barely breaches Jensen, slipping only the head of his cock past the resistance. Jensen’s hot inside, fucking scorching and so goddamn tight, and Jared’s trembling by the time he’s bottomed out, hips flush against Jensen’s ass.
“You feel so good,” Jared says, and he’s honestly surprised he gets that much out. His vocabulary has ceased to exist, and it’s as if he’s been reduced to sensation, nothing more than a collection of nerve endings shocked into life. Beneath him, Jensen moves, a sensual and deliberate upward thrust of his hips.
“C’mon, Jared. C’mon,” Jensen whispers into his ear and flings his arms around Jared’s neck. It’s all the permission Jared needs to drive his hips forward, balls slap against Jensen’s ass with wet, filthy sounds. Jared wants it to go on forever, he never wants it to end, but biology trumps his willpower, especially after weeks of being strung up so tight. He sinks into Jensen, all the way to the root, circles his hips and feels the clench of Jensen all around his cock. Jensen twists his fingers into Jared’s hair and smiles at him, positively fucking beams at him, his face smooth and happier than Jared’s ever seen him. That look is a wrecking ball to Jared’s stamina and his orgasm slams into him, crashes over him, leaves him breathless and more than a little devastated. A few more shallow thrusts drain him completely and he collapses on top of Jensen, hardly able to support his own weight.
Gasping through the aftershocks, Jared splays his fingers on Jensen’s chest, directly over the pounding of his heartbeat, feels it slow incrementally against his palm.
“I think I could fall in love with you,” Jared says on impulse, looking down at Jensen. He lets his hair fall across his forehead and resists the urge to hide his face in Jensen’s shoulder. He’s a fool. Nothing but a fool with a few hundred bucks to his name, two pairs of ratty jeans and no permanent address.
Jensen grins up at him, pulls him in for another slow kiss, and when he speaks it’s rough and low. “I think I already have.”
Thanks for reading.