Author name: herminekurotowa
Artist name: m14mouse
Genre: RPS, slash
Pairing: Jensen/Jared, Jensen/OMC
Word count: 20.000
Warnings: Hooker!Jensen, discussion of suicide, blow jobs, bloodplay, facial, handcuffs, BAMF!Jensen, naked!BAMF!Jensen, hurt!Jared, drugging, attempted non-con, schmoop. And no porn, earnestly.
No bunnies were seriously harmed in the writing of this fic.
Summary: Jensen is a nice guy. He's kind and attentive, and there's a room in his apartment for his cats and bunnies he's occasionally feeding from. He works as a hooker for Frederic Lehne though he's badass when it comes to defending his ass against sleazy clients. That's one of the secrets he wants to tell his boyfriend Jared but he never has occasion to do it before he gets seriously hurt. A furious Jensen - even when naked - is something you better don't want to witness.
A little wooden toy cowboy is all Jared has left from his family. He falls for Jensen head over heels and even comes to terms with him working the streets - it makes for the best blow jobs, after all. Unfortunately, he will not get to know his other, bigger secret in this story - being shot at and lying in a coma is pretty obstructive.
Finally, at five a.m., Jensen is home. At half past five he comes out of the shower wearing sweatpants and his favorite t-shirt.
On his way to the living room he hears some scratching in his guest bedroom and makes a mental note to buy cat food and hay on Monday. He also needs more cat toys and maybe a larger cage for the bunnies.
The new member of his little family is still in their box that's sitting on the sofa where he dumped it. He had to hide it in his locker at Lehne's Heaven on Earth because he didn't make it back home before work.
Jensen hates that name but it is his place of work. Officially, it is a gay strip club but everybody and their mother know it's a whorehouse. Formally, Jensen is hired as a busboy but, again, every customer knows about his actual job description. He hates what he has to do to bring home some bacon – he snorts at that thought because bacon - and he knows he doesn't have much time left until Lehne promotes him. He knows what the promotion will include.
Jensen may hate his job but he is good at it. Blow jobs and hand jobs alone make him more money than some of his co-workers offering the whole nine yards. It's his specialty that makes him unique, it's only a matter of time before Lehne will ask for more.
Sitting down on the sofa, Jensen puts the box on his knees and lifts the lid. The bunny inside is brown, asleep, but it wakes up when Jensen takes it in his hands and pets it.
It's cute. It's a cute tiny animal. Jensen can smell the source of its body heat, the blood beneath. His teeth are aching. He has to hold tight onto the squirming bunny, lifting it to his lips, nuzzling the fur.
It smells clean, pure.
He bares his teeth, and with a sigh of contentment, sinks his fangs into the warm meat. He gulps the blood welling up, three gulps, then he licks the wound. The bunny is alive, though trembling.
“I'm sorry, little one,” Jensen says, putting it back into the box. He keeps on petting it, feeling self-disgust and shame. So this is what he does: hurt innocent creatures.
Jensen's after-work party starts at about three a.m. on a Sunday morning. He likes the club, Lido Nights, it's right next to a really good if not a bit fancy restaurant called Lido which he has only been to once.
The club is crowded with drunk men and naked girls. He even knows two or three of the girls working for Lehne in one of his other nightclubs. They are clad in tight skirts and high heels, make-up covering their faces in red and black and glitter, but Jensen can see the hollowness behind their smiles. He doesn't feel like staying once he realizes that work followed him.
On his way to the exit work has completely caught up with him when he's stopped by a hand on his forearm.
Jensen looks up to the young man the hand belongs to, and in the back of his mind, this nagging feeling of almost recognition evolves. He sees the bloodshot eyes, that are blinking slowly, and the longing in them and remembers – Steve.
He was a john, a few weeks back. It was his first visit to a brothel, a present from his friends, and he tasted like wood and clouds. A good guy.
That's why Jensen stops. That's why he agrees to a blow job – “I'll pay you double, dude.” – and that's why he's on his knees in one of the stalls in the restroom a few minutes later.
Steve is a good guy, he tries not to thrust too deep when Jensen takes him in. It doesn't matter but the effort is rewarded with a long swipe of the tongue around the head of Steve's dick. When it's time, Jensen's fangs elongate and nick the skin at the base. It is enough for Steve to shoot his hot load deep into Jensen's throat, moaning loudly, and then collapse in a heap.
Jensen spits into the toilet. Now it's his turn.
Steve's barely conscious, blissed out, and Jensen takes advantage, going for the jugular without a second thought. When his fangs pierce the skin, Steve comes a second time, though his dick is limp.
Jensen drinks greedily. It's the first blood of the night, he hadn't wanted the other johns' disgusting smelling blood but this, Steve's, tastes like clouds again. He won't need his pets tonight to get the putrid taste of his clients out of his mouth. After drinking his fill, Jensen licks the little punctures and a few seconds later, it has disappeared, gone.
Quickly checking and pocketing the wad of cash Steve gave him, Jensen leaves the restroom and the club, heading home.
Jensen hates his work. Most of the johns are old, fat, wealthy but disgusting, sometimes, on a good day, they are only one of those things. They smell and taste like cardboard, or mold, and once, there was this guy who tasted like blood. Jensen almost threw up that night. He has seven, eight or more clients each night and they are selfish, hypocritical, bigoted, dumb. They are so wrong and fake, Jensen can taste it.
The ones that are good enough to taste so are few, and Jensen is pleased to see them keeping coming back.
Today though, it's Senator Thomas' turn. He's a dick - really, he is – who is whipped by his wife and five kids and lets off steam with Jensen and his co-workers. Maybe they are hookers and whores but they gossip and psychoanalyze the clients.
Jensen's on his knees – again, as he is for half the night -, his hands cuffed behind his back, his face and chest stained with Thomas' - “Call me senator.” - jizz. He already came twice but he paid for three times. Unfortunately, his client is an impotent old dick, and Jensen has to slave for his money. He could make the senator come anytime, with just a scratch of his teeth, but he knows what happens when his john thinks it was not long enough. Jensen sucks and licks, swirling his tongue, gagging because Thomas likes that, his hands in Jensen's hair, tugging at the strands.
He's exhausted when he finally feels the senator's balls getting drawn up. Releasing the dick from his mouth, he starts nibbling its base. He has to nick it a couple of times for Thomas to come and is just glad it's over.
Jensen is huddled on the floor, eyes closed, hands still cuffed. He doesn't want to see the senator cleaning and dressing himself after a recovery phase. When he can feel fingers patting his hair, he opens his eyes. Thomas is leering at him.
“Well done, my pretty toy,” he says. “Next time, I'm gonna pay so much Fred won't refuse me. I'll fuck your tight little ass open. I'll pound in that tight hole of yours, and you'll love it!”
His parting gift is a punch to Jensen's face.
Jensen slumps to the ground. He hates his job. If he knew another way to get the blood he needs, he'd leave this – everything – behind in no time.
He's still cuffed and huddling on the floor when the door opens and Frederic Lehne enters.
Fuck, that's not good. Lehne never comes into his work room. He has his goons for delivering messages, staying in his office almost the whole time. If he chooses to leave it, the shit has hit the fan.
“Sam,” he says by way of a greeting.
“Mr Lehne,” Jensen answers, getting clumsily to his knees. He's always wary of his boss, but right now, there are alarm bells ringing in his head.
“It's good to see your dedication to your clients.” He sits down on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. It looks as if he is talking to a petulant child. Or a dog. “But I think the dedication to your employer significantly leaves a lot to be desired.
“Sam, I know you can take a lot more than this.” He gestures with his hand towards Jensen. “I want to offer you more. More money, less work, better clients. You can easily make three times more money when you start working on the stage and catching.”
There it is, the dreaded code word. It means: Go on the stage, show your naked flesh, get fucked and fucked up by the men paying Lehne to use you.
“You're very generous, Mr Lehne. I'm sorry to decline your offer though. I don't mind getting dirty as a busboy but I don't want anything up my ass that doesn't belong there.”
Lehne's eyes are narrowing to slits. His voice is cold when he answers.
“I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. You don't get to say no to me. If I want you to get fucked by the senator, you will. I don't think you would like the consequences of a refusal.”
Jensen snorts. Rising to his feet, he's tensing his muscles, and with a crack, the chain on the cuffs breaks. Standing in front of Lehne, he's looking down at the blanching man. His smirk is not boding well.
“Mr Lehne, I think you don't understand.” He cracks the manacle on his left wrist. “When I say I don't want to catch-” There goes the manacle on his right wrist. “I won't catch.”
With a clanking sound, the pieces of the cuffs drop onto the floor.
Tucking the box with the bunny safely under his arm, Jensen makes his way home. His head is spinning because Lehne backed down. Sure, he was pissed as hell, but he backed down. Maybe Jensen now has enough time to think about alternatives.
If he worked as a nurse in a hospital... no, there's no appeal to sucking blood from sick people. And it wouldn't be fair to them. He tried to get blood from the blood bank a few times but it didn't work, damn safeguards.
If he moved to a really big city, like New York or LA, he could bleed random hook-ups. He'd need a lot of money, though, for his living expenses, those cities aren't cheap. Finding a decent job wouldn't be easy as a high school dropout though.
Jensen sighs. Alternatives aren't easy to find.
When he enters the backyard of his apartment building with the withered flowerbeds, there's someone sitting on the old stone bench. A young man, almost a boy, tall and lean. His brown hair is windswept, and he's only wearing jeans and a t-shirt though the morning is chilly. The early morning sun bathes his face in an orange glow.
He looks so young and sad, and he smells like snow, and the sun.
Jensen doesn't know why he stops.
The guy, hearing Jensen's footfalls, opens his eyes. Perhaps they're brown, maybe hazel. But there are definitely some flecks of blue.
“Hey”, Jensen says. “You live here? I thought I'd be the only one awake at the ass-crack of dawn.”
“Hey”, the guy answers, sitting up. “Yeah, in 3C. Just couldn't sleep, that's why I came down here.”
“It's nice and quiet here at this time. By the way, I'm Jensen.” Holding the box with the bunny in one hand, he reaches out with the other one.
They shake hands. Jared's skin is calloused and chilled, wrapped in a soft cocoon smelling of a winter day.
“What's in there?” Jared asks pointing to the box.
Just a little snack.
“Hmm? Oh. Nothing, it's.. nothing.”
The damn bunny chooses this moment to scratch at the box. Jensen can feel a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.
Jared grins, his face kind of lighting up. “You know that there are no pets allowed?”
There's no way for Jensen to keep his own grin in. “There are no dogs allowed. It says nothing about bunnies.”
“You have a bunny in there?” Jared sounds quite surprised, spreading some scent of cinnamon with the smell of snow and winter.
Crap, he can't say what he needs that little animal for. “Uh, yeah. It's a, uh, birthday present. For my little sister.” Sometimes he wishes he had one.
Jared smiles. With dimples. “She'll love it.”
“Yeah. Uhm, you know. I gotta go. I just got off work, I'm ready for bed. See you next time!” Jensen can't risk letting those dimples get under his skin. With a little wave, he's bolting, heading for the north wing's backdoor.
Jensen is leaning with his back against the apartment door that he just closed after Jared. He is rubbing his hands over his face because he can't believe what he just did.
He – the overcautious lonely man – invited a more or less stranger into his home, drinking beer, eating sandwiches. All of that due to that stupid, wonderful scent that made all those images of winter, of building snowmen and drinking hot chocolate rise out of the deep. If it was possible Jensen would roll in it.
Low in his belly, there's a need and want. The need to taste Jared, to bite into that golden flesh, suck on it, swallow just one drop of delicious red blood. The want to cherish that scent, to comfort Jared, holding him tight until the world ceases to exist.
Also, Jared is a nice guy. And incredibly hot.
Jensen is so doomed.
When it comes to work, life is getting harder. His co-workers know that there's something going on between Lehne and Jensen, and they're maintaining a low profile, but Lehne's goons bully him whenever they can.
Then there's this new guy, Tahmoh. Jensen hates his guts. It has nothing to do with him being the new rising star of Lehne's whorehouse, Jensen just can't stand the smell. The guy reeks of self-satisfaction and danger. Every time they meet each other in the lounge or the break room, there's a smug grin on Tahmoh's face, smug, arrogant and all-knowing.
The senator's attention is getting more painful because Jensen keeps on refusing to get fucked by the old fart. That's why he has a bad feeling when he has to put the handcuffs on. It's not unusual for Thomas to want his boys in restraints, but there's a glint in his eyes and a shade in his smell that makes Jensen wary.
Taking the familiar dick – and that's a thought Jensen hates, being familiar with other guys' dicks – in his mouth, he starts slurping and sucking, just the way his client likes. Squinting up, he sees the senator sneering.
That's a sight Jensen doesn't like. At all.
He unbends in order to ask what is wrong, but the movement makes his head spin. The room is tilting on its end, his head is too heavy to stay upright. Suddenly, he's lying on the floor, and when did that happen?
Jensen's tongue feels too big for his mouth, the world is starting to turn gray, and that's when he knows what's happening.
“Ye roof'd yer digg,” he slurs, and he gets his answer when Thomas is crouching down in front of him, patting his cheek.
“My gorgeous little boy,” he coos. “It's the only way to have a taste of that pretty ass of yours. I told you repeatedly that I will fuck you, and now it's happening.”
When he opens his eyes again, there is water running in the little en-suite. Obviously, the senator is cleaning his dick – but honestly, what kind of sick fuck puts drugs on their ugly appendage? Another blink and he's on the bed, lying on his stomach. What the...?
He tries to break the cuffs, but neither his arms nor legs won't move an inch. They don't feel like his own though he's feeling like he's flailing around on the bed. No way is he going to get rid of his restraints any time soon.
There are hands on him – short, fat fingers – stroking and petting, and maybe he is getting goosebumps, but he can't be sure because he also thinks that Thomas has at least fifteen hands. His skin though is crawling in the wake of their touches, and that's what goosebumps are like, aren't they? He doesn't know for sure because there's only molasses left where his brain used to be, slowly leaking through his ears onto the pillows.
With the next blink he wakes up to two fingers in his ass, and that's enough!
Jensen's seething with rage. He won't let his own rape happen, just lying there helpless like a newborn kitten. His arms tense up, and that's something he loves to feel. Just a little bit more, and the cuffs crack.
The fingers disappear from his ass. Sitting back, the senator is visibly shocked.
“What? How are you...? You should be drugged for another two hours!”
“Surprise, bastard!” Jensen's arm dashes forward, grabbing Thomas' throat and squeezing.
“I told you, you sick fuck, my ass belongs to me. This is the last time you try to put your filthy hands on me!”
Standing and dragging the helpless man along, Jensen is on the way to Lehne's office. In the face of his naked rage - and naked ass -, the guys in the hallways move wide-eyed in order to not be run down.
It is a sight to behold. Jensen in all his glory, emanating fury in hot waves, storming along the hallways of Frederic Lehne's strip club, hauling an equally naked senator Thomas who is spluttering unintelligibly, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge Jensen's fingers from his throat.
The office door bangs against the wall when Jensen throws it violently open. Lehne is sitting behind his desk. Looking up, he comes face to face with a trembling and gasping senator.
“I know it was you,” Jensen growls, voice dangerously low, “who told this bastard to use roofies. And I know he paid you a lot of money. This is the last time either of both of you laid a hand on me. Consider this my resignation.”
Shoving Thomas unceremoniously onto Lehne's desk, Jensen glares defiantly at his ex-employer and leaves.
“The mighty Sam Winchester.” Tahmoh's voice is derisive. “You caused quite a riot up there.”
Jensen shoves his locker door closed. “That was me. But it was time to cut those assholes down to size.”
He stuffs t-shirts and a pair of flip-flops into his bag. Why does he have so many clothes in his locker when he spends most of his time half-naked anyway?
Tahmoh is leaning against the lockers, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “You're quite arrogant, aren't you? Thinking you can impose the working conditions, but you're just as mediocre as the rest of us.”
“Listen. I'm good at what I'm doing. If I don't go the whole nine yards, that's my choice, and nobody can ever force themselves on me if I don't want them to. I've had it up to here with assholes like the senator thinking they can buy anybody, and when money doesn't work, they resort to violence.”
“Now I'm out. I'll get the rest of my stuff and my money later. You can have my clients if you're keen on them.”
Grabbing the bag and his keys, Jensen shoves the door open, striding out of the building. He so needs to see a friendly face now, someone who isn't being an asshole. Unfortunately, he doesn't know many people outside of work and even fewer are actually decent.
Jared. That's who he needs now.
Later that afternoon, they are both sitting in a nice little coffeehouse near the grocery store where Jared works, drinking coffee and eating sandwiches and éclairs. This is exactly what he needs – normal, a date with a cute boy, and maybe even more, so long as this actually is a date.
Jared is apologizing for his co-worker, Felicia, and then he uses a phrase that touches a chord in Jensen. Me and you.
He has been alone for a long time now. Ever since Ty, there has been no other person in Jensen's life. And Ty... was a mistake, the biggest possible mistake a person could ever make. Yes, it's melodramatic but true. Ty robbed him of the chance to lead a normal life.
It hurts deep inside Jensen.
“Would you like it if there was a 'me and you'?”
He trusts Jared, needs to. It's deeply engrained in him that Jared won't betray him, not like Ty did. Hell, nobody could betray him like Ty.
Staring at his mug, tracing circles on the tabletop with his finger, Jared shrugs with one shoulder. “Well... yes. I think.”
Taking a deep breath, Jensen leaps.
“That's good. Me too.” He puts a hand on top of Jared's, and when Jared looks up, smiling uncertainly, Jensen smiles back.
“Uhm.” Jared clears his throat. “I'm... I need to...” He sighs. “I just ditched my girlfriend a few weeks ago. I still am not quite sure about... my sexuality. About being gay. I mean...”
Jensen grins. He knows those feelings. “It's okay. We can take it slow. One step at a time, okay?”
Sighing with relief, Jared nods his head. “Yeah, okay.”
Jensen squeezes Jared's hand momentarily. “Now I want to be honest with you, too. I have some secrets. Actually, pretty dark ones. Not a serial killer, but I can't spill the beans yet.”
Jared's odor peaks a little with cinnamon. God, how Jensen would love to wear it like a cloak.
“That's alright. We just met, I think we both need some time to get to know each other. I don't expect you to tell me everything right now.”
Jensen grins. “Great. Now, do you want another éclair? My treat.”
The smile on Jared's face is all Jensen needs for the rest of his life. At this moment, he's happy.
Working freelance sucks. Yes, admittedly, his previous gig sucked – no pun intended – in a general sense, but freelancing is worse than working in Lehne's club. Standing on the street in the cold and rain, fighting with other hookers and pimps. Sometimes, Jensen thinks he would rather be an accountant.
He remembers some of the hookers, he thinks, though he never knew their names when he worked on 10th Street. It's been a good few years – four, maybe five – since he left 10th in order to work in the glamorous world of Heaven on Earth, since he decided to never let anybody pay for a piece of his ass again.
It's his first night back on the street, and he's incredibly lucky. He got into a fight with two pimps, resulting in broken bones on their end and a black eye on Jensen's. In the two hours it took to heal, he had five johns, looking for that vulnerable beauty. After that, he had another five more.
He is twenty-five now, but still looks like a teen. Most of the guys in search of male hookers prefer the young ones, so it's easy to act as jailbait. Besides, he is kind of new on the street, fresh meat on the market. Without his special skills, he would go down before long, though.
Most of the hookers smell sick, addicted. The johns' smell less bigoted than the ones at Lehne's, more needy, often stifling like in a closet. Still, Jensen can drink his fill.
He is glad when the night is almost over and he can go home.
Then he's meeting Jared in the backyard – seriously, what's with the backyard all the time? – and they are having a heart to heart, telling their life stories. It's a contest for the saddest biography, and Jared is the winner.
Jared is exceptional. He works as a general drudge – the right-hand man – in Kim's grocery store, as a waiter in a restaurant and occasionally in a club, and a part-time janitor in their apartment building, just to pay for his father's hospital bills. He's kind and cordial, radiating a sense of calm Jensen never experienced for himself.
There may be the slight possibility that he is falling for Jared. There is this warmth spreading through him whenever he thinks of the other man – boy, Jared's just twenty-one. It's the same feeling he experienced when he met Ty, but now Jensen knows that Ty never loved him back. There have been hints but Jensen never saw them or was in denial about them for a long time.
Jared is in no way like Ty – sweet, innocent Jared, blushing when touching, threading their fingers, exchanging small kisses. He is genuine reliable, and that's why Jensen is getting nervous about his non-appearance on a Tuesday evening.
When he can't get through to the grocery store's phone line, Jensen calls a cab – because it would take too fucking long to walk.
The store is closed though. The building smells of smoke and soot, and its backside and the adjacent alley are wet with water. A neighbor tells Jensen that there is a gang war going on, and someone set the store on fire, but no, they wouldn't know about casualties.
It's a couple of miserable days. Jensen can't get a hold of Jared's employer or his co-workers, hence he doesn't know whether Jared is hurt or... worse.
Jensen is going mad, slowly but surely. Staring out of his bedroom window down onto the garden, he has been waiting for his boyfriend to come home since six a.m., only leaving the window to take a piss. Finally, a little after noon, he can see movement in Jared's apartment on the other side of the garden.
It was a surprise realizing that he can see the apartment windows from his bedroom. During the past weeks, Jensen was standing in his dark room, gazing through the blinds, imagining what Jared might be doing – and maybe, if he jerked off to those images, it was only for him to know.
Now he's just grabbing his keys and darting out the north wing, through the neglected garden, and into the south wing. Three minutes later, he is knocking on Jared's door.
When his boyfriend opens the door looking tired and unkempt, his first words are, “Are you alright?”
Jared laughs low. “Yes, I'm fine. Come in.”
The story is told in the living room on the couch. Jensen can't keep his hands off Jared, needing to reassure himself that he really is fine. He can't believe how lucky Jared was.
Jared apologizes for not contacting him. When his friends were visiting, he forgot to ask them to let Jensen know what happened, and his phone was stolen along with his wallet.
“And my bike!” he says angrily. “Those fuckers stole my bike!”
Jensen wonders why he's so upset about his old, scratched up bike being stolen. Then he remembers that Jared saves all his money for his dad's care. There is no money left for a new, even cheap bike.
“It's okay,” he says, taking Jared in his arms, rubbing soothing circles onto his back. “It's okay.”
Looking into his eyes, he sees angry tears. Jared is... hurt, vulnerable. Lost.
“It's okay. I've got you.” Cupping his face, Jensen brushes his lips over Jared's who is hesitant at first, then opening up, drinking Jensen in like he is dying from thirst.