Title: Letting Go
Central pairing: Jared/Jensen
Warnings: Jared/Jensen/Misha, PWP
Word count: almost 3000
Summary: Jared doesn’t feel safe enough to let Jensen in, not physically nor emotionally. Jensen and Misha help him let go of the reins enough to do that by putting him in a familiar director/actor setting.
A/N: I think this may have started out as a kinkmeme fill that I didn’t finish at the time. I’m pretty sure it’s the porniest thing I have ever written. Thanks to chemm80 for the beta, for providing the summary, and for encouraging me to avoid unnecessary wordiness and tangential backstory mid-coitus.
“I want you on your hands and knees on the bed.”
Jared’s cock, already at half-mast, hardens and curves up towards his belly. It’s the tone more than the words. Jensen-in-charge always gets him going, stirs heat up inside him, makes him want to do as he’s told. He shrugs, trying for nonchalant, thinks he manages to carry it off in spite of his body’s embarrassingly Pavlovian response to Jensen’s voice. He’s feeling casually confident, even though he’s naked and his heart’s beating way too fast. Even though Jensen and Misha are still fully dressed.
Jared likes to be naked, he does, he likes to be watched and admired, and he knows he’s looking really good, tanned after being on vacation and a few pounds leaner because it was too damn hot and humid to eat anything. He feels strong and really aware of his own body, of the weight of muscle over the supporting bones underneath, the inhale and exhale of his laboring breath. In and out. His skin feels tight and sensitized, nipples peaked, goose-bumps spreading across his skin and the hair on his body rising, a reaction to the air-conditioning. He’s simultaneously hot and cold, his sweat cooling too quickly and chilling the surface of his skin, the heated blood in his veins sending conflicting messages to his brain.
The sun is blazing behind the blinds and the smell of sweat and arousal is heavy in the room. It’s a Saturday, sometime in the late afternoon and Jared’s daytime-drunk and about to fuck Misha while Jensen watches.
Jared gives Jensen a quick, sliding glance. He’s effortlessly composed in an armchair pulled up near the foot of the bed, hands resting loosely on his thighs, eyes glittering and slightly hooded. Misha is standing across from Jared on the other side of the bed, his arms folded over his chest, a smile playing across his lips, looking like he’s in on some secret Jared’s too slow to have worked out yet, but Jared’s not going to rise to that, metaphorically speaking. Misha is full of bullshit and is trying to mess with his head. Misha does that. Jared raises a challenging eyebrow and Misha grins, lowers his eyes, tracking down Jared’s chest and lingering on his crotch.
Jared gives his cock a light stroke and Misha half-smiles, eyes bright with humor as he meets Jared’s gaze before looking down again and biting his bottom lip, making an approving sound deep in his throat. Jared wants to laugh. It’s the sound Misha adopted when he was channeling Castiel’s thing for red meat. It makes him feel like his dick is on the menu.
Jensen speaks again, voice low and quiet. “I said get on the bed, Jared.” He’s just in the periphery of Jared’s vision, a heat signature that manages to fill the whole room with his presence. It’s worse somehow when he’s quiet and serious. Jensen can suck all the air out of the room just by being in it, just by breathing. He’s so intense sometimes. Even more so since this thing started between them, since that first night when Jensen took all his clothes off in Jared’s living-room and stood there naked and waiting, so much braver than Jared could ever be.
Jared struggles to breathe. He can feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He doesn’t look at Jensen. He knows Jensen doesn’t want his focus on him. Jensen wants to watch, to direct, to be in control and Jared’s down with that idea. He really is. He’s buzzing from the beers they had earlier and the fact that they’re actually doing this.
Actually, he can’t believe they’re doing this, and if he thinks too much about it, he’ll lose his nerve. It’s better not to think.
Jared turns slightly and strokes himself again. He does it for Jensen’s benefit, waits for the words of approval from the director’s chair that don’t come.
Okay, so he’s supposed to be following instructions and improv is not part of the program. This is about what Jensen wants so Jared gets on the bed and crawls across it, slow, making it a show, focusing on Misha’s crotch, imagining the weight and taste of that cock--obviously hardening under the cover of Misha’s pants--hot and thick in his mouth.
“Not like that, Jared. Turn around. I want to see you.”
Jared bites his lip, unsure, then knowing and nervous. He gives Jensen a quick, uncertain glance.
Jensen looks back, quietly waiting and considering Jared’s face, playing the role of the patient observer.
This is what makes Jensen a good actor and a good director. The way he can switch into this persona, the way he seems to completely believe in the fiction of the performance. It can make Jared feel off-balance, too drawn into a constructed world, too un-tethered from his own sense of self. He was never the emo drama student who couldn’t draw a line between acting and real life. He wants to say, “I don’t know how to play this game, Jensen.” He wants to laugh and throw pillows at Misha and grin at Jensen as he does it. He wants to feel grounded, the earth steady beneath him. He doesn’t want to feel like he’s about to jump off the high board.
Jared knows what Jensen wants him to do. Tense, but determined to follow through with this, he turns around and presents himself, legs widened, cock and balls and asshole on display, submissive, trusting and embarrassed as fuck. He hangs his head, cheeks flushed and his heart trip-hammering in his chest.
Jared hears Misha move around the bed to get a better look and he feels the blush in his face spreading down to his chest. He’s hot enough to spontaneously ignite. Misha makes that hungry, approving sound again.
“Do you wanna taste him?”
“Definitely,” Misha responds instantly, laughing low. Jared squirms, trying not to make it obvious. Nobody’s ever done that to him. The thought of it scares him. Sex should be fun. It shouldn’t be something that takes you out to the unpatrolled borders of yourself.
Jensen pushes him out there sometimes, on set, in bed. It’s fucking irritating, if Jared’s honest. In fact, what the hell is he doing here, like this, his asshole on display, scared he’s going to embarrass himself by farting, or losing his hard-on, or coming too quickly. This is not who he is, this nervous, shivering wreck.
His dick is so hard it hurts.
He barely hears Jensen asking “Do you want that, Jared?” over the pounding rush of sound in his ears.
He tries to swallow the honest words, to bite his betraying tongue, but the truth escapes on its own anyway. “Yeah, I think so.” It’s whispered into the bed covers and he hopes Jensen doesn’t hear him.
Somebody laughs, quiet and amused, he doesn’t know if it’s Jensen or Misha. It’s a non-judgmental, sexy sound that curls tendrils of heat through his body; then Misha’s tongue, wet and probing, is at his hole. Jared jerks, tries to move away from the intrusion but Misha grips his hips and pulls him back. Jared groans and clutches Jensen’s pillow above his head. He wants to rip it apart. It’s too much. He’s too exposed, too turned-on and vulnerable. He almost comes when Jensen says, “He likes it when you touch his balls. Play with them. Put them in your mouth.”
Breathing hard, Misha moans and bites Jared’s ass cheek, does what Jensen instructs, fondling Jared’s sac before turning and lying down on the bed underneath him, his hands gripping Jared’s ass cheeks and forcing him lower so he can lick and suck at his balls.
Arms shaking to hold himself up, dick aching, Jared moves lower, angling his hips and nudging at Misha’s lips, instinct pushing him to bury his cock in wet heat. But his rational brain is still on-line and worrying about what this looks like from Jensen’s perspective behind him, hopes it looks hot, not stupid and undignified.
Misha starts tonguing at his slit, licking away the leaking pre-come, massaging Jared’s perineum with his thumb, at the same time pressing his little finger just into Jared’s wet hole.
“Fuck.” Jared hardly even recognizes his own voice it’s so raw and high.
Misha is quicker to obey the instruction, turns his head to the side, less lost in desire. Jared’s drowning in it and thrusts against Misha’s cheek, streaking pre-come over his face.
Misha digs his fingers into Jared’s hips and holds him still as Jensen says, “No,” again and follows it with, “Put him on his back.”
Jared’s still trying to register what that means when Misha grips his knee with one hand, the other hand shoving his hip, rolling them over so he’s on top.
Jared laughs, breathless and surprised at Misha’s wiry strength. Misha looks down at him, grins, friendly and familiar, just Misha. “You’re really hot when you let yourself go. I could eat you up.” He licks his lips and leans down, like he’s going to try and kiss Jared or something, so Jared turns his head away.
Misha smiles wryly.
Embarrassed, Jared returns the smile sheepishly, still boneless and compliant, hardly noticing Misha pulling his arm, shifting him to the side, then around like the hand of a clock, from twelve to six o’ clock so he’s right at the end of the bed. His head drops back and hangs off the end of the mattress, pendulum heavy, so he’s looking at Jensen upside down, the perfect symmetry of Jensen’s face more obvious somehow from this perspective. Jared swallows hard and blurts out, “You’re so gorgeous, even when you’re the wrong way around.”
He must still be drunk, although it’s been hours since he had his last beer. He feels like he’s high on something. Maybe there’s too much blood in his brain lying at this angle. Maybe Misha roofied him.
Jensen smiles, the turn of his mouth and the crinkle of his eyes a mirror reversal of his normally familiar face. “So are you, Jared. So beautiful. Are you alright?”
Nodding when you’re upside down is harder than you think.
Jared swallows uncomfortably, moves up the bed so he’s still looking at Jensen upside down but his neck is better supported by the edge of the mattress. He can feel Misha’s thighs slipping just under his, tilting his pelvis slightly, no pressure, just there.
Shifting away, Jared brings his knees protectively together. “I’m—I’m good.”
Jensen looks up at Misha, his jaw tightening. Something flashes between them and Misha responds by sliding his hands down Jared’s arms, circling his wrists and pressing them firmly against the mattress, holding them there. An unexpected wave of heat burns through Jared’s body, staining his cheeks and the tips of his ears. His breath catches and his cock twitches, blurts out precome, and his legs just open instinctively, loosely wrapping around Misha’s hips. His body is responding without his permission. Misha grips Jared’s wrists harder and makes a low, satisfied sound in the back of his throat.
Sounding strangely relieved, Jensen sighs, letting go of a pent-up breath. His eyes are on Misha. “I want you to fuck him. I want to watch you fucking him.” He looks down again and stares at Jared as he says. “I want you to —I want Jared to know that this is okay, that he’s allowed to let go. He won’t let me. He won’t do that with me.”
It feels as if time pauses, slips and slides a little, as Jared processes that. He considers his options: he could voice the sudden, prickling anger and fear that surges through him. He could reach out and grab Jensen, throw him on the bed, Misha on top of him and fuck them both senseless and in succession. These are real possibilities. He can bench-press over three hundred pounds, for fuck sakes.
Jared doesn’t get fucked. He does the fucking. What is Jensen trying to do to him?
He could cry. Weirdly, that’s another real possibility. The back of his throat is burning and his eyes are stinging. He’s agitated, on edge, so far out of his comfort zone that it’s a foreign country.
He could also get up and walk out the door.
And he and Jensen could go back to being friends with benefits that didn’t include anything really beneficial for either of them and one day very soon it would fade and they would move on to other things.
That can’t happen. Jared can’t let that happen. The ball’s in his court.
There’s a breathless moment of indecision, then he lifts his legs, draws his knees up to his chest and accepts the insistent pressure at his hole, letting go of the fear and embarrassment that holds him in its tight grip. Lets Jensen in. It feels like surrender, scary as hell, but it’s also an intense relief, like something heavy just loosened up in his chest.
Misha groans as he pushes a lube-covered finger deep inside Jared. Jensen whispers Jared’s name, his mouth open, panting. Overwhelmed by the intensity of Jensen’s heated gaze and the feeling of being penetrated, Jared croaks brokenly, “I love you,” trying to keep his eyes open.
“I love you too,” Jensen says with a smile like the first glimpse of sunlight at dawn, getting out of his director’s chair, sinking to his knees and covering Jared’s mouth with his own. Jared closes his eyes and gets lost in velvety darkness.
One finger turns into two, into three, a burning stretch, pain and a sparking pleasure coursing through his body like electricity. “Jesus,” he moans into Jensen’s mouth, opening up to his thrusting tongue as Misha’s cock nudges at his hole. “I want—I can’t—”
“It’s okay. Just let go. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
So Jared does; bucks up, wild and uninhibited, taking Misha all the way in, ripping the sheet on both sides of him and hearing it tear, biting Jensen’s lip so hard, a rush of slippery copper floods his mouth.
Misha’s cock thickens in Jared’s ass, his thrusts stutter and his voice pierces through the red haze of ecstasy in Jared’s head. “Jensen, I’m going to come. I can’t, fuck, I can’t.”
Jensen lifts his head and growls, “Not yet.” Jared keeps his eyes closed, concentrating on his orgasm edging closer and closer. Misha’s voice is a drone in the background. Some word or phrase catches Jared’s ear. “Jesus, he’s actually—”
“—quoting poetry to stop himself from coming,” Jensen finishes for him as he licks Jared’s earlobe. “Try not to lose your hard-on.”
Jared laughs and his orgasm hits out of nowhere, wet heat streaking up his stomach and chest, releasing tension and happiness equally, so he’s spent and empty, a dead weight that Misha has to ease himself out of, grumbling, “Fuck, Jared.”
Misha grips his cock and comes all over Jared, mixing their seed in the hair of his crotch and over the flat expanse of his abs. “The things I do for the two of you,” he groans as he collapses next to Jared on to the bed.
Jared and Jensen smile against each other’s mouths as they kiss, Jensen trailing his fingers through the mess on Jared’s stomach. Jared opens his eyes. Jensen’s bottom lip is puffy and rouged with blood. Jared did that, marked him like that.
“I meant it, you know?”
Jensen gazes back at him. “Yeah, I know. So did I. Been wanting to say it for a while now. Me and you. It’s something real, Jared, something you’re allowed to have. You don’t need to hold back, protect yourself all the time and pretend we’re just heterosexual buddies who happen to fuck around.”
Surprisingly, it is actually that simple.
“As touching as this is,” Misha breaks in, “I’m really starving after that. Somebody owes me a pizza. It’s tiring work being a sex god.”
“Can we make him leave now?” Jared mock-whispers loudly, rolling his eyes.
Misha hits him with a pillow. “Your ingratitude is shameful, Padalecki.”
Grinning, Jensen says, “I don’t think we can get rid of him that easily,” as he gets to his feet. “Pizzas are on me.”
Jared rolls over and looks up at Jensen. “Jensen.”
Jared sort of airily gestures in the vicinity of Jensen’s crotch. “You didn’t come. Don’t you want to?”
Jensen smiles. “Later. I don’t need that right now. I got what I wanted.”