If I Catch You Coming Back My Way


"So," says the slimeball, leaning against the bar. "Isn't it a bit late for you to be out? On a school night?"

Jensen rolls his eyes and looks away. It's a chicken bar, fine, but that doesn't mean this guy's got to be such a hole about it. His thinning hair is slicked back, his shiny shirt is way too tight for his too-perfect chest (juice pig) and worst of all, he shows no signs of ponying up for the next highball.

The slimeball laughs. "Finicky, I see. Well, I guess you can afford to be."

Jensen feels the heavy gaze run over him like sweaty hands and barely avoids shuddering. It's been a shitty night, and he's almost decided to pack it in when this guy in big heavy boots, jeans and a bomber jacket shows up, the crowd melting out of his path. He pulls out this death glare from hell and aims it right at mister muscles, might as well say it right out loud, don't fuck with me, I can kick your ass four times before you hit the ground, one hand behind my back.

The slimeball melts away, leaving Jensen to stare after him.

The man in the bomber jacket slings a boot up on the brass rail and sets his empty glass on the counter. The bartender fills it high. Jensen stares as the man pulls out a wad of bills and peels one off, hands it off to the bartender without so much as a word.

"Hey," Jensen says, lowering his lashes and smiling. "Thanks for getting him out of my hair."

The man barely glances at him. "Go home, kid. It's a school night."

The bartender laughs and Jensen feels a slow flush crawl up his cheeks. "I'm not a kid," he says.

The man only shrugs. "Look me up when you break twenty," he says in a gravelly thick voice, the kind you get from smoking and whiskey and nothing else.

Well, thinks Jensen, that's no good at all.

Over in the corner, Jen finds a likely candidate. He's at a table by himself: big boots, black beard, tall, a pretty good match for Jensen's mark. He drags the ringer up onto the dance floor, over to the corner closest to the table where the man from the bar is sitting.

Jen's not much of a dancer, sexy like this, but he really doesn't have to be. He knows what he's got. The beat is fast and hard, pulsing over Jen's skin. He sets his arms around his ringer's neck and lets the guy slide up against him, in time to the music. When Jen turns around, gives the ringer his back and lets those hands slide over his chest, that's when he sees.

Dark eyes are glaring at him from the table. The man tosses back his whiskey, his eyes burning holes in Jensen's chest, in the ringer's hands. Jen just shoots a challenge back at him and covers the ringer's hands with his own.

Halfway into the next song, the man gets up and grabs his coat. Jen has a moment's panic, but here he comes, right up to Jensen in the middle of the dance floor, grabs his wrist and says, "Come on. Right now."

Jen aims apologetic shrug at the ringer, and lets himself be dragged out of the club.

In the parking lot, Jensen digs in his heels. "Come on, man, I don't even know your name."

"It's Jeff," the man says, letting him go. "Jeff Morgan. I'm going to my hotel now. You're either coming with me or you're staying here, but I'm gone. Make a choice."

Standing under the streetlight, watching it shine off Jeff's leather jacket, Jensen is very clearly aware that he is supposed to be drunk right now. He was supposed to go to this bar, let a bunch of desperate old queers buy him drinks all night and then ride down to the reservoir and meet up with the guys. He'd had plans. He was going to get in Kyle's Chevy, Kyle was going to blow him, and he was going to go home. It was a good plan. It was Saturday night, but it would cost him less money for booze. It was brilliant.

And now here he is, stone cold sober on his way to a hotel room with a guy he doesn't know, and…

Well.

I'm eighteen, he thinks, mutinously. I'm supposed to be stupid.

Jeff has a jeep, and the wind whips as Jen's hair as they drive. There's quiet music playing, just the radio tuned to the hippie station, some ancient rock band singing about a woman. The streetlights slide by.

They get up to the hotel room, no problem. Jensen's lived in Dallas for eighteen years and he's never been in this hotel before. Passed it by on the street, like, twenty times, but he's never seen a key card slide into a lock here, seen the little light turn green. He's never seen the door swing open, broad leather-draped back disappear into the dark.

"Take off your coat," comes the deep voice from the cavern of the room, and Jen hesitates. This is crazy.

There's the soft click of a flipping switch, and then the room's bathed in light and it all looks normal. Jen takes a breath, walks in and shuts the door behind him.

He swallows hard and takes his coat off, puts it on the chair. He watches his hand putting it down and it looks weird, his letterman's jacket in this hotel room, totally out of place. In the bar, he owned the joint; all eyes were on him, everybody wanted him. There he couldn't be dismissed as just some kid, not when he was one of the hottest guys in the room.

Here, it's harder to hold onto that.

But Jensen has never been one to let the situation cow him. He's not that kind of person, if he's gonna go to Los Angeles and make a name for himself, he's gonna have to be more than just 'that kid'. He knows that.

He looks back up at Jeff, lifts his chin, feels a little pink on his cheeks and ignores it. "Your turn," he says, and feels a little more assured.

Jeff walks up to him, slow and measured. Those dark eyes eat Jensen from the tips of his boots to the spikes of his hair, and Jeff closes the distance until they're too close, until Jen wants to make sure the curtains are closed, but he can't look away.

Jeff's hands go to the lapels of his bomber jacket, rough fingers curl in the leather and pull. The jacket slides down, down, off, and Jeff leans in further still, drops his jacket on top of Jensen's.

Jen blinks.

"Listen," Jeff says, low and measured. Jen looks up at him, instinctually, focusing his attention. Jeff meets his gaze, holds it as he digs in his pocket for his wallet, takes out two bills and drops them on the table. "Any time you think this is too much for you, all you have to do is get up, take this, and go home."

Jen looks down - two twenties. It's enough to get him any place nearby, not enough to be, y'know… payment.

"There's a phone in the lobby," Jeff continues. "Or ask the guy at the desk. That's all."

Jensen nods, keeps his feet planted squarely on the floor.

Jeff lifts a hand and cups it around the back of Jen's neck, firm and a little jarring. Jen doesn't look away, he won't. "I won't say it again," Jeff tells him. His mouth is set firm, he smells like leather and maybe some faint, low-pitched cologne.

Jen puts a hand on his waist. "Good," he says. "You talk too much anyway."

Jeff cracks a wry smile, his eyes dropping even as his hand tightens. Jen thinks he should smile more often, it makes him look… well, good.

And then Jeff pulls him forward, his breath catches in his throat, and a hard, warm mouth is on him. There's a taste of smoke, of the whiskey that filled Jeff's glass; Jen feels those fingers bite into his neck. Jeff drags his teeth over Jensen's lip, pulls his mouth away to kiss down Jensen's jaw and neck. The tension is firm and ragged already; Jen feels like they've been kissing for days. He tries to breathe, to hold onto Jeff's waist, to bring him closer.

"Shouldn't be doing this," Jeff drags out, his voice like tearing cloth. He wraps his hands in t-shirt at the small of Jen's back, shoves a hand underneath and palms Jen's skin. His hand is hot and Jen thinks it might make a red print there; he tries to edge away from it but that only brings him up against Jeff's chest, his stomach, his hips.

He pushes his hands around behind Jeff's back and pulls the shirt from Jeff's belt; he thinks that's fair. But when he puts his hand on that broad expanse of skin, it seems warm too; everything about this feels warm, like in a sauna or when a shower's just a little too hot, but the sensation's so good that you stand under it anyway. He tries lowering his head to Jeff's neck, but Jeff pulls away and lifts up Jensen's shirt. It slips out of his waistband with a thwp of fabric working itself free, and Jen lifts his hands before he really has time to think.

Jeff's back on him instantly, turning them around. Jensen tries to keep his balance as they stumble toward the bed, but the bites along his collarbone and the fingernails over his skin make Jen feel a shock of something new race through his system.

It was never like this. Sloppy blowjobs after the game, hurried in case somebody comes, no, this… this is different.

He pulls at Jeff's shirt, wants it off, even though his breath is coming a little too fast. "What do I do?" he asks quietly, and Jeff laughs under his jaw.

"You're doing fine."

They hit the bed hard and Jen feels the springs dig into his back with the force of their landing. Jeff's further down now, head in the middle of Jensen's chest. Jen's still holding onto his shirt, but it's in halfway up his back now, and he thinks feverishly, should I let go? Should I hold onto it? I don't know what, what do I…

Jeff's mouth is searing across his chest, teeth and the scrape of stubble, and Jensen feels his back arch. He's looking up at the ceiling, breath rasping in and out, he wants to do something here, but he can't figure out what's right.

And then Jeff bites his nipple, no prelude or warning, and Jen hisses out the heat of it. "Shit."

Jeff doesn't answer him, just strokes his tongue over the heated skin, holding himself up with one arm and sliding his free hand up Jen's side. He plucks at Jensen's other nipple, sucks on the one he's got, and Jen cusses again. He lets go of Jeff's shirt and puts his hands down on the covers, makes fists there because he doesn't know what else to do with his damn hands.

Jeff kisses his ribs. "Gonna suck you," he rumbles, like thunder.

Jen's hips are twitching upward automatically. When he has time to think about it, he's in full agreement with his instincts; he wants it, he wants to feel that. "Yeah," he growls, pushing down on Jeff's shoulders. "Yeah, do it."

He feels Jeff smile against his skin. "Take it that means you've had one before."

Jen scowls. "Hey, I'm not a kid."

"Yeah you are," Jeff counters grimly, and then bites Jen's stomach. "Never mind, shouldn't have talked."

"See, you're learning," Jen says, and then jumps when Jeff's big hand squeezes his nipple just a little too hard. It throbs when Jeff lets it go, Jen can feel the ghost of his fingers there as Jeff pries his belt open.

"Shut it, smartass."

Jen's about to mouth off again, but Jeff bites low on his stomach, just above his waistband, and that makes Jen's cock jump in his jeans. All he can do is groan, slap the mattress with his hands. "Shit."

Jeff plants one hand in the middle of his chest and pushes. He's got Jen's belt open, tugging the zipper down and opening the button one-handed. He makes one big fist at the waist, fingers sliding under Jen's boxers. "Take this off."

Jen's obeying instantly, hooking his thumbs in and dragging everything off. He kicks it all to the floor and grabs for Jeff. He'd sit up if he could, but Jeff's holding him down by the chest and he can't really move. He just grips Jeff's arm, reaches for his shoulder, tries to push him down, come on, come on. His dick's practically begging, he's so ready.

Jeff moves down his body and Jen spreads his thighs eagerly so Jeff will have someplace to lie while he does what Jen considers to be the highest god-given purpose of a human being's mouth.

He is unprepared for Jeff to slide a hand under his knee and lift it up, to put Jen's leg over his shoulder.

He gets as far as um, uh, just, and then Jeff's licking a long, broad stripe up his cock, and Jen lets his head fall back into the pillows with a deep groan. So there's a different arrangement of body parts. This is exactly what he wanted. Fuck, is it ever.

Jeff opens his mouth over the shaft and lets Jen feel a scrape of teeth. It's the same as before, burning hot and almost too much, but not near enough to make him say stop. Jeff lingers at the base, the middle, and Jen pushes his hips up just to have Jeff roughly shove them back down.

"Come on," Jen says, moving his hands to Jeff's head, his shoulders, trying to get him to go where Jen wants him. "Higher, come on."

"Demanding, aren't you?" Jeff wraps a hand around Jen's dick and squeezes. "Have some patience."

Jen's too busy groaning through gritted teeth to answer him. "God dammit." Jeff's mouth opening over the tip of his cock has him gripping the covers like they're going somewhere. "Son of a bitch, yeah, yeah, fuck." Jeff draws on him, it feels like nothing else, so fucking good, but at the same time it's kind of a tease - he'll never get off like this and Jeff's not moving, not exactly.

Instead, Jeff pulls off him slow, licks him right where it counts, and Jen coughs a little - trying to breathe like this isn't easy. Jeff's hand starts to move, up and down, too slow, and Jen thrusts into his fingers. He feels Jeff shifting around down there and lifts his head - Jeff's fumbling something out of his pocket, a little bottle thing. He lets go of Jen's cock and opens it up, pours it in his hand and makes a fist.

Jen peers down. "Is that...?" Then Jeff's hand is back on his cock, sliding slick and tight, and it's moving just like it should. "Aw, fuck," Jen calls, and his head falls back again.

He feels Jeff laugh, a low buzz all through him. "Keep it down."

"Fuck, fuck", Jen grits out, he's holding onto Jeff's wrist and pushing into his fist. When he feels the fire of Jeff's mouth on his balls, that's when the world sort of exits the realm of Jensen's experience and goes into this whole new place, and it's insane, it's so fucking good.

And Jeff stops moving.

Jen lifts his head, eyes wide and irate, and Jeff's looking up at him contemplatively. "You shower before you came out tonight?"

"What? Yeah, why?" Jen's up on his elbows, looking down, trying to concentrate.

Jeff looks up his body, a little smile on his face. "I want to eat you out," he says, turning his head to bite Jensen's thigh. "Can I do that, or do we have to skip to the end?"

Jen looks at him, and doesn't know what to say. "Uh."

"Yes or no."

Jen blinks. "Um. Yeah. Yeah, I. I was. I."

Jeff grins. "Don't need the details," he says, pushing Jen's legs apart, and up.

First there's fingers. Jeff's rough-edged fingers brush over him, smoothing slick over the skin. Jen was telling the truth about being ready, he really was, but he hadn't planned on this. When he'd been in the shower, pressing fingers in, he hadn't been planning to have anybody do this. It was wishful thinking, if anything.

In this, and in a lot of other ways, he's as cherry as Ben & Jerry's famous.

But Jeff's slick finger presses into him, size of fucking Gibraltar, and then there's the slip-slide of tongue and Jensen hears the little ah sound come out of his own throat, "Ah, ah, fuh, fuh, fuck." It's as hot as the rest of him, burning his skin and his brain, and Jensen grips the back of his knees hard, desperate to hold on even if he doesn't know what he wants to hold on to.

Jeff traces wide circles around his finger, pressing at the tight muscle, fluttering the tip of his tongue across. Only when Jensen's panting and breathless does he take his hand away, and then it's breathless twice over as he pushes his tongue inside. His beard scrapes against Jensen's thighs, his breath washes hot over Jen's skin and his nose pushes against Jensen's balls, and it's too much to take, too much. Jen feels his dick thump against his stomach, feels the telltale tightening, and when Jeff's lips press soft against that skin, when that tongue fucks him shallow and tight, god, Jensen can't take it. He babbles out something unintelligible, juh, I'm, fuh-uh-uhhhhck, and then he's coming before he knows it, his whole body shaking. He's going to combust, he thinks, maybe just melt right through the sheets; it's too mother fucking hot in here.

When the ringing fades out of his ears, Jeff is lying beside him. One of those rough hands rubs through the come on Jensen's stomach, painting it across his skin, and Jensen's surrounded with the scent of the man, heavy and sharp, spice and smoke. "What're you," Jeff asks softly. "Seventeen?"

"Eighteen," Jensen says, just as quiet. He feels wrecked, torn down, and if he didn't feel so fucking good, he'd hate that.

Jeff nods. "Okay. We'll give you a couple minutes, then keep going. Okay?"

Jensen can only nod. He'd like to offer something back, but he can't move his arms really, so he just nods. "Okay."

Jeff is naked now, and it's hard not to stare. There's a dusting of black hair over his chest, tightening down his chest to arrow down his belly. Jensen spots a scar or two, standing out, pale. Jensen doesn't have any scars, not that anyone could really see. Not yet. And then, pressed up against Jensen's hip, is this thick, dark cock, and it's wet at the end and Jensen knows where it's going. Fear starts to build up in Jen's stomach, heavy and tight. The minutes tick by, and Jeff doesn't say anything, so Jensen doesn't either. And it could be awkward, the scary part could get out of control, but Jeff just keeps rubbing a heavy hand over him, right up close, unhurried.

It's the time he takes that makes Jensen breathe. "Do you, um. Do you do this a lot?"

"What?" Jeff asks, his hand coming down to circle Jensen's dick, stroke it slow and firm.

Jensen feels all the blood come rushing back; makes him a little dizzy, how easy. "Uh. Pick up. Younger guys."

Jeff laughs, low and easy. "I just went into that bar for a goddamn drink. Didn't realize what kind of place it was ‘til I was in there."

"Oh," Jensen breathes, and pushes up into Jeff's hand. He's not quite there yet, not all the way hard, but it's still really good, the feeling, and he doesn't feel like talking anymore.

Jeff pushes his face into Jensen's neck, warm as he is, rubbing his beard against the sensitive skin. "Won't say it's a chore, though. You're too damn pretty to be a virgin this long."

Jensen's eyes fly open. "What?" The fluttering in his stomach turns into thumping - he never said a word about that, and nobody should be able to just tell like that.

"Don't even try," Jeff rasps, and grabs Jensen's hand. "Come on," he says, and before Jen knows it they're sitting up, moving to the edge of the bed.

"Where are we going?" He demands, resisting just out of habit, dragging his ass on the covers.

Jeff grabs a couple of pillows off the bed, tosses them on the floor in front of the closet. "Just here," he says, kneeling down on one of them and tugging Jensen after.

Jen stares. The closet door is completely mirrored.

He stumbles over and tries to lie down, but Jeff shakes his head. "No, no. Like this."

Before Jensen knows it he's on his hands and knees, trying his damnedest not to look straight into his own face. Jeff is a fucking master; he was down before he knew it. Those hands push his knees apart, press up behind him, and Jensen's arms just buckle down onto the floor. He buries his face in the crook of his elbow and pretends there's no mirror, there's no bright light, focuses on the incredible sex that's sure to show up any fucking second now.

Jeff slides his hands over Jensen's lower back, hot palms and rough fingers. When he cups Jensen's ass, spreads the cheeks apart, Jen almost loses it. He almost gets up, fuck this, not some princess you can do this to, you can't just.

And then two fingers, thick and heavy and somehow slick, press inside him slow but sure. It's a burn and stretch, and when Jeff rocks in and out, fucks Jensen with those fingers, he seems to know exactly what he's doing, so sure. Jen hears himself moan a little bit, breathy and low, and then louder when Jeff crooks his fingers against something inside.

"Christ, boy," comes that god-like rumble, down from on high. "You're made for this, you know that? "

Jensen groans again, feeling the press and twist. "Just... do it," he huffs, trying to get a little bit of power back. "Don't... need your... life story..."

Jeff laughs, right out loud, but at least he's not talking to Jensen like he's four anymore.

He doesn't say anything at all after that, not when he scissors his fingers wide and not when he pushes in three of 'em, nice and slow. Jensen pants into his arm and pushes back, tries to find a rhythm - it's hard, it hurts a little, and he knew it was supposed to but it's still hard to push the pain out of his mind and focus on the pleasure. After a few seconds of that, Jeff eases back to two fingers and leans over Jensen's back, kisses his spine and slides a hand underneath. His fingers tease at Jen's dick, light touches and soft squeezes, not enough for anything real, just enough to bring everything flooding back down where it belongs. Jensen's hard in no time, shivering, pushing against fingers on both sides, and finally he lifts his face long enough to growl out a command: "will you please just fuck me already?"

It was a mistake to look up. Jeff catches his eye in the mirror and smiles, and it makes Jen drop his head back again, blush and forget that he's supposed to be tough. "Don't worry," Jeff tells him softly. "I was just gettin' to that."

Jensen feels Jeff shift his hips, feels the press of his naked cock, and has a moment's panic. "Um. You have a condom, right?"

"Way ahead of you," Jeff tells him, and Jensen hears the rip of plastic. It takes a second, snap crack of latex as Jeff rolls it on one-handed. Jen feels himself tighten around Jeff's fingers and Jeff rocks them back and forth, keeping him open. "Easy," he murmurs once he's done with the condom, stroking an open palm over the round curve of Jensen's ass. "I'll take it slow."

"Don't worry about me," Jensen says, automatically. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are," Jeff soothes, his hand hot and sure. He draws his fingers out, then, and Jensen feels the drag of something blunt and sheathed with plastic over his entrance. Jeff wastes no time, he fits himself there and presses inside, and it's a long, heavy push of his hips that just doesn't let up until his hips meet Jensen's.

Full. Thick. Heavy. Impossible burn and throb, a buzzing in his head, and Jeff just grips Jensen's hips and holds it there, waiting. Jen wants to dig his fingers into the pillow and then realizes that he already is. He wants to tell Jeff to do it, to just move, to do something, but his mouth won't move.

"Good boy," Jeff soothes, rubbing a wide hand over Jensen's back.

It shouldn't be nice, but it is.

When he does move, when he finally pulls his hips back and draws out, it's almost unbearably slow. Jensen pushes and pulls against his grip, but it's impossible - Jeff's got him by the hips and he's braced just so, his control is perfect. Inch by torturous inch, Jeff drags out of Jensen's body, and it's too much for anybody to be asked to bear. Jensen knows full well that if he hadn't already come, he'd be a fucking disaster right now. But if he lifts his head - if he wants Jeff to hear him yell and scream and curse - he'll have to lift his head. He'll have to see, and let Jeff see.

So for now, he shivers in place and lets Jeff do what he wants.

Jeff presses back inside just a little faster, a deep drive that leaves him grinding his hips against Jensen's, hard. It sends Jensen's blood rushing through him, washing through his body like Jeff is some kind of super magnet. Jensen feels the hot flush in his cheeks, in his chest, and gulps in the air.

"So tight," Jeff murmurs, turning Jensen's ears red. One hand comes down with force on the solid curve of Jensen's ass, the smack sharp in the air, the sting making his body jerk. "God, you're so fucking tight."

Jen reaches a hand behind him, keeping his head down. He doesn't want to look, but he needs something, some kind of touch, or he's gonna go crazy. Jeff gives him what he's looking for, a wrist, and Jensen pulls hard, wanting to be covered, to bring that hand down low.

The world goes spinning as Jeff pushes it up high instead, wrapping under Jensen's shoulder and hauling him upright. Jeff's dick drives further inside him, right up as tight as it can, and they groan together just like that, Jeff's arm wrapping around Jensen's chest to hold him close.

One second, two, three, they just stay like that, kneeling together on the floor, and then Jeff whispers low. "Stay up," he says. "I'm gonna give you what you want but you gotta stay up for me, just like this."

Jensen nods, whatever, already pushing Jeff's hand down, please, yes.

The blissful pressure, when it comes - the tight circle of Jeff's fingers, the heat of his palm - is such a relief that Jensen almost falls right back down. He loses his balance, yes, and his eyes fly open as he grips Jeff's wrist.

Instantly, his eyes are full of the mirror, and what's reflected in it.

His thighs are spread wide, his whole body on display. Jeff lets his hips roll down and Jensen can see the slick glisten of his cock, right there. He can see the red tip of his own dick peeking in and out of Jeff's fingers, see his balls gathered up tight. Jeff's hand comes around to cup them, hold them while he starts in again, fucking Jensen's ass. Feeling it happen and watching it are two different fucking things, and Jensen can't tear his eyes away from himself in the mirror, from the dark skin that supports and surrounds him and opens him up.

It's a little awkward like this, though. Jeff's still going too slow and Jensen winds up squirming on his lap, trying to shove his dick up into that grip, grind down on that lap. Jeff sinks teeth into his shoulder, roughs out a warning. "Don't do that. I'm trying to take it easy."

"I'm sick of easy," Jensen snarls at him, gripping his wrist hard, trying to move it. "Come on."

"You sure?" Jeff asks, and grips Jensen a little harder, pushes up a little more. "Once we start, it won't be long till it's - "

"Just fuck me," Jensen says, halfway between a growl and a whine. "Do it, just do it..."

Jeff wastes not another second. Jensen goes sprawling forward, catching himself on his arms as Jeff kneels up. His hips pick up speed, just like that, and the thick smack of skin on skin starts to fill the air. Jensen puts his head down as the heavy thump rattles in his bones, thick washes of pleasure skidding over his nerves and into his stomach. It's only a second before Jeff's hand finds his hair, grips it hard and lifts it, forces Jensen to watch. His face is dark in the mirror, shadowed and intense. "Take that dick in your hand," he instructs, and Jensen shivers, tries to fall to his elbows. Jeff won't have it, holding him up by the hair, a rough burn. "Do it, I wanna see you fuck your hand when I'm in you. I wanna see you come - come on, do it..."

Jensen blushes to the roots of his hair. There's no way, there's just no way, he must mean something else. Just tentatively, he reaches a hand back, sure Jeff will stop him.

"Good," Jeff husks, gripping Jensen's hip with his free hand, shoving his hips harder, stronger. "That's real good. God, you look so hot."

Jensen can see the flush on his cheeks, feel the urgency in the way he thrusts, and god, yeah, okay, if Jeff thinks it's hot then maybe it's all right. He grips his cock hard, starts to jerk it the way he likes it, tight and hard and mmm, so good. He closes his eyes and digs his fingers into the carpet, tries to press back against Jeff and take more, take what he wants. It's not hard once he gives over - Jeff's ragged groans shiver up his spine and down into his belly, the heat and friction on his dick is just right, and it builds up hot and tight in his belly, his head, his balls, so perfect and right and hot, hot, yes, god, yes.

Jeff's hand grips that little bit tighter in his hair, his hips slam hard against Jensen's own, and then he grinds and throbs right there, and that's it, it's done. Jensen wrings his cock hard, collapses into the pillow under his head and shouts his fucking head off.

It seems a long time before he comes back to himself, before the stars fade from his eyes and he can lift his head. He collapses to the ground, slow and pained, and Jeff slips from him with a muttered curse. Jen lies on the floor while Jeff disappears into the bathroom. He's the only person Jensen's ever seen be cool while naked, and he wonders how it's done.

When he comes back, he has one of the hotel's white robes on, and a towel in his hand. He tosses the folded terrycloth at Jensen and collapses on the bed. "You can have the shower first," he says, his voice somehow even deeper than it was before, even scratchier.

Jensen sits up, unfolds the towel and wraps it around his waist as he stands. It's a little awkward; he feels like he wants to lie down for a while, definitely sleep for a week. But Jeff says shower, and Jensen is kind of sticky, so he shuffles into the bathroom and gets into the unfamiliar tub. It's beige and sleek, nothing like the deep-bottomed green-tiled monstrosity they have at home. The showerhead has a whole bunch of settings - at home, there's on and off. In the end, Jensen decides it'll be enough just to make it good and hot, and he scrubs down.

As the traces of their night wash away, Jensen figures it's probably a good thing. Can't go home smelling like some other guy, can't shower this late at night. His parents will wake up, they'll want to ask questions. This is good, it's a good idea.

Out in the hotel room again he feels a little more normal, and he picks up his clothes from around the room, shakes them out. "Shower's yours if you want it," he says, and tries to sound casual.

"You sure you didn't use up the whole reservoir?" Jeff smiles. He's laying on the bed, his ankles crossed. "You were in there for a half an hour."

Jensen sticks a leg into his jeans. "I'm pretty sure," he says.

"All right," Jeff gives in, and swings his legs over the side. "Don't go anywhere."

Jensen looks at him, a little startled. "Really?" He asks, before he can think.

Jeff rolls his eyes, but he smiles. "I'll be out in a bit. Stick around."

"Okay," Jen nods, hiking his jeans up his hips and carefully buttoning them together. His shorts are fucking ruined, so he shoves them in his pocket and pulls his shirt on. The shower's still running, so he pads around to the bed and sits down on it, sorting out which sides of his socks are right side out and which aren't. His hair drips onto the beige bedspread, totally unlike his own green patterned thing that's seen better days.

He wonders what Jeff's bathroom is like, wherever he's from. What his bedspread looks like. What he does for a living. He thinks he ought to ask, he ought to know those things about the first guy to ever have sex with him like that, but he can't think of a way to ask that doesn't sound awkward. Besides, if Jeff had wanted him to know, he probably would have said so. Jensen pulls at a stray thread on the bottom of his jeans and thinks about Jeff's bomber jacket, about the deep, serious scent in that part of his neck.

The shower turns off and Jeff comes out. He's wearing fresh clothes, jeans and a concert t-shirt, a band Jensen hasn't heard of but memorizes the name of, to look up when he gets home. Jeff sits down on the side of the bed and grabs his socks, tugs them on. "You ready?" He asks. "I'll take you home."

"That's okay," Jensen says immediately. "I can find my way."

Jeff turns to look at him. "Sure you can," he says. "But I wanna take you."

Jensen looks at him for a second, deciding, and then shrugs. "Well. Okay. If you want to."

"I do," Jeff confirms, and pulls on his boots.

The jeep ride is cool and nice. Jeff stops off at a 24-hour McDonald's drive-thru and gets a bag of burgers. He and Jensen split them, and when Jensen finally walks down his driveway, he's got the receipt carefully tucked into his pocket.

~

It's a good eight years before he sees Jeff again.

He's met his co-star, Jared; he's a good guy. They get along already, both Texas boys, you'd figure. Jensen adjusts the collar of his jacket - he can feel this Dean guy slipping on like a second skin. It's easy, like breathing, like an old friend, and he can't put his finger on why, but he doesn't want to examine it, really. It just works.

And then they bring in dad, John Winchester - they introduce them just like that. "Jensen, this is Jeff Morgan. Jeff, this is Jensen Ackles. Jeff's gonna be playing John, the father, and Jensen as you know will be playing Dean. "

They stare at each other for a long second, and Jensen suddenly knows exactly where his second skin comes from. He recognizes a little too much in eyes that have softened over the years, in a frame that's missing the defensive, irritable stance that Jensen's wearing on his own shoulders. Jeff starts to smile, and Jensen can see the flush rising in his cheeks, the sparkle coming to light in his eye. It's all new, it's all some creation that he never saw, and he knows where all that balls out, both-guns-blazing bluster went. He knows exactly who has it now.

Jensen puts out his hand. "Hey, Jeff," he says, smiling his biggest studio smile. "It's nice to meet you."

Jeff takes his hand in a firm, easy grip. "Hey. Good to meet you too."