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

fic: Goodnight, Sweetheart

Title: Goodnight, Sweetheart
Genre: Jared/Jensen AU
Rating: nc-17
Word count: 2500
Notes: written for this prompt over at spn_masquerade. Quasi-outsider POV. Warnings for parental incest of the father/son variety, underage, lactation kink. Good golly, guys, this one was weird for me to write, and not because of the kink. Many thanks to the original prompter, and more thanks to my darling, terrible co-mod tebtosca for her highly useful and immensely instructive MS Paint porn. In the spirit of the meme, anonymous feedback is welcome.

Summary: Children need consistency. Ritual is important.

The quiet, electronic chime of church bells tells her it's ten minutes before nine o'clock. Almost time. She puts her book down on the table beside her, sure to mark her place, and crosses the hall to her bathroom as she pulls her shirt over her head. A lavish, sprawling room, twice as large as her bedroom in the house where she grew up. She slips the small round pads out of her bra, which save her from ruining countless shirts and dresses then takes the bra itself off, rubs her breasts for a moment to ease the full, heavy ache of them.

It takes her a short while to clean up, remove the ointment she uses on her nipples to keep them healthy and supple. She doesn't want to leave a bad taste in the boy's mouth. A cream colored robe hangs on the hook on the door and she puts it on, ties the belt loosely around her middle, cloth like a whisper against her skin, then heads down the hallway.

The nursery is empty when she arrives, still a few minutes early, plenty of time to prepare. She bypasses the rocking chair in the corner—the boy has more than outgrown it—and instead places a receiving blanket on the arm of the couch, plumps up the cushions and creates a nest for him. The curtains are pulled back from the two large windows and the night sky is a pale purple color, says that snow is coming. She closes them, not because the room is cold but because having them shut makes it feel warmer, more sheltered and cozy.

There's the familiar thump of bare footsteps in the hall as she's arranging herself on the couch, crisscrossing her legs and putting his favorite pillow in her lap to give him a soft place to rest, the same way she's done for years. Children need consistency. Ritual is important.

The door opens and the boy steps inside. She still thinks of him that way, although boy might not be the best description for him much longer. He's thirteen, quite nearly fourteen, and in the teeth of puberty now, beginning to grow tall and lanky, thin arms and thin legs no matter how often she feeds him. A shadow has formed on his upper lip over the last few months, another one above his cock, which has started to grow long and thicker recently.

Jared's just gotten out of the shower, skin still pink from the hot water, his damp hair finger-brushed away from his face. He's taken to wearing boxers recently, and that's all he has on now, barely hanging from his narrow hips.

"You should dress warmer. Socks at least," she says as she opens her robe and allows it to pool around her waist.

"I'm fine. Besides, you always keep me warm," Jared insists with a crooked grin, his voice cracking, but just a little. It's casual, flirty without intent, a knack he's picked up from his father. "Dad just got home. He'll be up in a minute."

She holds her arm out to him and he comes to her, settles onto the nest of pillows she's made for him, his upper body resting in her lap. They fall into position easily, habitually, years of practice, his head nestled in the crook of her elbow, her fingers placed along the upper ridges of his spine. Jared bends his knees, snuggles down, noses at her breast for a moment and then latches onto her nipple.

A dull pain pulses through her as he begins to suckle and she counts to ten, only makes it to seven before the pain eases off, morphs into a comforting, low pulling sensation. He curls his hand into a fist along the underside of her breast, knuckles pressing against her, slowly and rhythmically. She feels a slight scrape of his teeth and she taps two fingers on the back of his neck as a small, gentle reminder to be more cautious.

"Sorry I'm late," Jensen says, slipping through the door and closing it silently behind him. "We sat on the runway for an hour." His dress shirt is rumpled from travelling, his tie hangs loose and his hair is sloppy and corkscrewed from his nervous fingers. The moment he sees Jared, the tension drains from his posture and his expression softens, a content curve to his mouth.

She's never met a man who loves his son as much as Jensen loves Jared. It's clear in every single thing he does for the boy, every stray touch and each lingering, adoring glance, how Jensen lights up like a firecracker whenever Jared's in the room. She accompanies them everywhere, has travelled across three continents and seen places she never imagined she'd get to see, and Jensen has always been insistent that she think of herself as a member of the family, but it's clear that it's all about the two of them, insular, orbiting only each other. Jared is the reason that Jensen's heart beats.

Jensen sinks slowly onto the sofa as to not jostle Jared or her. He touches Jared's hip, slides his hand down the slope of bone and into the dip of Jared's waist, upward again over the smooth stretch of skin covering his ribs. Jared's eyes slip closed, dark fan of lashes in the hollows of his eyes, and she can feel him relax into the touch, melt against her. He's fallen into his familiar pattern, two slow, deep sucks then a swallow and a breath. Repeat. Repeat. Jared's hips are moving in shallow bursts now as well, the outline of his cock as it grows stiff visible through his boxers, the tip damp and poking out of the slit in the front of them. It's been happening more and more frequently. She doesn't mind. It's to be expected. He's a growing boy.

Jensen's gaze ticks upward, follows the line of Jared's body up to his mouth and stays there, fixated while he drops his tie to the ground and unhooks a few more buttons on his shirt. There's a thin pale stripe of milk all around the seal of Jared's lips on her nipple and Jensen is staring right there, as he often does, tongue sneaking out to swipe at his bottom lip as if he's curious about the taste. He's never asked and she's never suggested, but if the topic ever came up, she believes she'd let him, give him the chance to have something else in common with his son, another thing to add to the list, like their similar sense of humor and intense dislike of tomatoes.

Sometimes she and Jensen talk about their days during feedings, politely solve all the problems of the world in hushed tones, discuss the headlines Jensen points out from the paper. There was no newspaper tucked under his arm when he came in tonight. He's been gone for a couple of days this time. Needs to reconnect and recharge. His son isn't the only one who requires consistency and ritual.

Jensen touches the small of Jared's back a fraction above his boxers, draws figure eights on Jared's skin, dipping lower and lower with one hand as he presses the heel of his palm to his own crotch, slow circles of his hips that match Jared's lazy movements, a deep flush spreading across his face and down his neck, the tips of his ears going beet red.

Still mindful not to disturb the boy, he reaches into the end table without looking away, fumbles around in it until he finds the small bottle of lubricant he keeps on hand. The boy lifts his hips up as soon as he feels Jensen begin to shimmy his boxers down and off, as good to his father as his father is to him. Jensen pours a puddle of lube into his palm, more than is perhaps necessary and Jared's going to need another shower once he's finished his meal, but Jensen's always overly cautious, so very careful. He lets it rest there until it has a chance to warm, then he slips two fingers between the cheeks of Jared's ass.

In the circle of her arms, Jared shivers, makes a small, happy noise, sucks a little harder. It's almost time to switch.

Jensen's rubbing faster now. His tongue plays along this bottom lip, the way it always does when he's concentrating, whether it's getting his boy ready to take him or trying to make heads or tails out of the Sunday crossword puzzle. Although she can't see it, she feels it as Jensen pushes inside of him. Jared tenses, stops feeding, his arms curl a bit closer to his body, his eyes move beneath his closed lids and his cock twitches, leaves a series of tiny clear pearls on on the cushion beneath him. It doesn't last long and within a few seconds he's back to taking long pulls from her breast, picking up his pattern where he left off. Jensen's forearm is moving faster, accompanied by damp, suction-like sounds as his fingers gradually work Jared loose.

Sweat gathers in the crook of her arm where she's cradling Jared's neck, a ticklish trickle. He's getting so big nowadays, his shoulders so wide, and soon they'll have to modify, find a new position that's more comfortable for the both of them, one that doesn't make her arm fall asleep halfway through while still allowing her to hold him close. Keep him sheltered and feeling safe.

"Switch," she whispers, and slips a finger into the corner of Jared's lips to break the seal of his mouth. Jared looks up at her, heavy-lidded and muzzy, and for a moment he looks incredibly young to her eyes, the toddler he was when she was first hired. She shakes her hand, takes the opportunity to get the blood flowing back to her fingers.

"That's a good boy," Jensen says, and slides his fingers in and out a few more times before he removes them and wipes them on the thigh of his trousers. He sits back, kneels on the sofa and unhooks his belt, only bothers to shove them down to his knees, but takes the time to pull his shirt off over his head. "Are you still hungry, kiddo?"

Jared nods and licks his lips, and Jensen helps him slide further down the couch, get him settled again with a couple of pillows to prop up his hips. She adapts accordingly, folds her legs tighter beneath her body to hold him higher. This time Jared kneads at her before he latches on, keeps his hand splayed along the side of her breast. Jensen draws one of Jared's legs up, props his ankle on his shoulder and that helps keep some of Jared's weight from making her feet as well as her hand go numb.

Jensen's hand is still slick with lubricant, so he uses some of the excess on his cock, thrusts into his own hand a few times then grasps himself at the base. The sofa dips down as he hovers over Jared, balances himself with an arm wrapped around Jared's leg and circles the tip of his cock around Jared's rim, testing to see whether Jared's ready for him.

As carefully as possible, Jensen pushes through the resistance and breathes out a long sigh. A look of pure relief takes over his expression and he glides further in, gains ground inch by slow inch until he's fully buried inside of Jared, one hand pressed hard to Jared's stomach and the other wrapped around his ankle, thumbing along Jared's instep.

A small line of concentration has formed between Jared's eyebrows, and she looks to his father to see the same exact mild frown. So alike in so many ways, in temperament and expression if not in actual appearance.

Jensen pulls back and jabs in more forcefully the second time. Jared's teeth graze her nipple again, clamp down for a heartbeat but she lets it slide. Soon enough he backs off, traces it with his tongue in a sort of apology, fingers briefly squeezing into her flesh. She smoothes his hair back, tucks some stray strands behind his ear, silently telling him that she forgives him.

Really, there's nothing to forgive. It's a natural reaction to the steady grind of Jensen's hips against his ass, the rhythmic push and pull that Jensen's established. It reverberates into her, makes Jared's pattern irregular, his sucks and swallows interspersed with sweet little whines as Jensen pumps into him, causes him to slip closer and closer to her until his nose is muffled firmly against her breast.

Bright pink color blooms on Jared's cheeks from the effort of moving with Jensen, trying to meet his thrusts from this awkward position. His cock slaps against his stomach, hard and delicately curved like his father's. He lets go of her nipple to draw in a deep breath and milk drips from his open mouth, more droplets scatter on his cheek, bright white against his flushed skin. He groans, shakes so violently that she's surprised that his bones don't rattle loose as he comes, shoots hard enough that some of it lands warm on her arm.

"Such a mess, little one," she says, hunching to bring him closer to her chest again. He must be nearly full, suckles slow and lazy and without much interest.

Sweat courses down Jensen's temples in steady streams and his whole body is taut, his stomach muscles straining under his skin. It's been too long and she knows all the signs that his stamina is running out. His jaw is clamped down tight and his breath hisses between his teeth. Blindly, Jared reaches out toward his father and Jensen's there immediately. Jared will surely be a big man one day, might even tower over his father, but for now Jensen's hand engulfs his son's. Jensen holds on tight, dives down to press his lips to the tips of Jared's fingers as he brings his hips flush against Jared's body and goes still, panting through his orgasm.

Jared weaves some when he sits up, groggy and tired from a full belly. She grabs ahold of his chin and wipes his face with the receiving blanket then stands on feet that are only now starting to regain feeling. Jensen takes the blanket from her, efficiently wipes Jared's come from her arm, shakes out her robe and holds it open while she slips into it and ties the belt.

"You're going to need another shower," she tells Jared, brushing back his sweaty hair. "And wear some proper pajamas to bed tonight."

"Yes, ma'am," Jared says, sleepy and rough.

She kisses his temple like she's always done. Another ritual. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

Tags: fic: j2, rated: nc-17, spn_masquerade
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