stripytights

Title: A Close Shave
Fandom: Supernatural RPF
Pairing: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padaleci
Rating: NC-17
Length: 7312
Kinks/Warnings: shaving, crossdressing (both), fingerfucking, blowjobs

Summary An unfortunate bet has college footballers Jared and Jensen obligated to wear cheerleading uniforms for a day (and a night.) Jensen is grimly determined to go the whole hog, and Jared? Jared is following where Jensen leads- and hoping it'll lead to more.

Jared watches in fascination as Jensen with careful precision draws the razor across one outstretched hairy leg, balanced on the edge of the bath, leaving a swath of hairless skin in his wake. Jensen grins at the sight, and dunks at the water with the razor to clean it, before he goes back for another run, leaving that patch of skin oddly light. More worrying than the fact that Jensen is shaving his legs for this debacle, is that Jensen has insisted that Jared follow suit. Jared is currently perched on the loo as he tries to argue Jensen out of such rigid adhesion to the deal.

"Dude," he tries. "We don't actually have to shave our legs y'know. They just said, that if we lost the bet that we had to wear cheerleading uniforms for the whole of the day and of the night."

"And go clubbing," Jensen cheerfully supplied the rest of the deal, not at all downcast it seemed. "Jared, get your head in the game. This is meant to shame us. We're meant to scurry around campus, tugging our barely existent skirts down to cover our thighs as we imagine huge menacing men leering at us. I'm not playing their game. If we do this, we do it loud and proud, we go all the way. In fact, we fucking saunter. We may even twitch those skirts. We'll be better at being sexy cheerleaders, than the actual sexy cheerleaders who put us in this position."

Jared had to concede that Jensen had a point. As a last ditch attempt, he moaned once more. "Do we have to get ready in the same bathroom then? I'm getting grossed out by the sheer quantity of hair coming off you."

Jensen glanced upwards, reprovingly at Jared. "Man, like I'm trusting you to shave your own legs without cutting an artery, and bleeding out all over the room. Seriously, you barely need to shave your face, you overgrown man-child."

"Fuck you," Jared said amiably. They'd had this argument at least once a week since they'd become room-mates at college. "You're just jealous that I don't have to write begging letters to Gillette, asking them to lower their prices, so I can afford to eat as well as shave."

One of Jensen's legs was almost done by now, and he gazed at the smooth skin with a great deal of satisfaction. "Now that," he said, "is a job well done. In fact I'd go so close to say perfect. Pass me the moisturizer." Jared chucked it over and Jensen caught it without looking. Perk of being on the football team Jared assumed. Though he had to stare in horrified fascination, as Jensen lathered it on and rubbed it well in.

"You're not putting that shit on me," he said. He might have given into the shaving, but no way was he putting on the jasmine scented moisturizer that Gen had lent them. If nothing else, jasmine reminded him of his granny.

Jensen shrugged, and rubbed it in some more. He was naked apart from the boxers, and it was making for an uncomfortable thirty minutes for Jared, who was living in dread of dick-slippage. This entire scenario was weird enough as it was. "Then Jared, you will itch," Jensen said, in an uncanny mimicking of the TA of their one shared class, whose tag-line as he made the rounds and saw people not studying was, 'then, Jared, you will fail.' He glanced at Jared again. "Make yourself useful while you wait," he said. "Get your hair done."

Jared half-heartedly flipped him the finger, and turned to stare in the mirror. His definitely woe-begone face stared back at him, the corners of his mouth downturned. His hair on the other hand was positively perky. Jensen had forbade seeking the advice of any girls on the transformation, his idea being that they would burst like shameless stars onto campus. Jared had rifled through the girls hair products and gone for whatever smelled the nicest, which had left his hair almost silky and decidedly more full of volume after use of a blowdryer. Looking at it, he decided that his dad might be right. Time for a haircut. First though, the brush. He ran a brush through it, then looked at himself. It didn't seem to have made any difference. Not even a little.

Obviously practice made perfect, because Jensen had already finished his other leg and was moisturizing up, as he laughed at Jared. Legs dried and bare, he swung them over onto the ground and walked the three steps to where Jared was still staring in the mirror. "Braids or bunches darling," he said, snickering as Jared swung an arm at empty air. He handed Jared the hairspray. "Try that," he advised.

Jared took a cautious spray. Mmm grapefruit and chemicals. Enough of that and he might get high enough to survive this disaster. "What's it do?" he asked.

"Not a clue," came the cheerful reply, and Jensen was suddenly there, right in his space, thrusting in three coloured clips into his hair, and Jared sort of forgot to breathe, because this? This was not part of their routine. Really not part of it, he amended glumly, as he got pulled over to the bath. "Lather up," Jensen said sounding unfairly malicious. Jared did as instructed, got himself appropriately covered in suds, and was faced by Jensen wielding a razor. He didn't even try protesting, not that he'd ever admit this to Jensen or to anyone else in the world, but he'd tried shaving his legs in high-school when a girlfriend had asked him to. It had not been a success, and he'd had to buy a new box of band-aids before his mother noticed every one of hers had gone.

He propped a leg up on the bath as he sat on the loo, and watched Jensen perch on the edge of the bath, and then with a stroke so light Jared barely felt it, run the razor down his leg, taking off the suds and the hair with it. It was like an itch crawling across his skin, not exactly uncomfortable but not relaxing either, and Jared focused on Jensen's head, bent in concentration as he worked, bottom lip sucked in and bitten, and wondered if Jensen had done this for his girlfriends. Cradled their leg, and shaved it for them, warm firm hands touching lightly, as they sat there so still. He shifted uncomfortably, and Jensen stuck the blunt handle of the razor into his leg. "Hold still," he said. "I'm not getting charged with manslaughter thanks to your restless ass."

It wasn't his ass that was the problem, Jared thought. It was his dick. Whether it was the half-pressure, half-release of the razor, or Jensen biting his lips like that, he was getting hard, and his boxers hid almost nothing. He clenched his fingers into his hands, half-moon nails digging in hard. It seemed to work before Jensen glanced up, and Jared sagged back in relief.

He'd realized after about a week of knowing Jensen that he fancied the other man, but it was a low-level attraction, pretty much constant but never disabling. He'd be perfectly happy if it didn't go anywhere, but it didn't stop him from appreciating the fact that Jensen was hot, and funny and a really good friend. So Jared was happy just to be a good friend back. Besides Jensen knew Jared sometimes batted for the other team, and it didn’t seem to bother him in the least- he’d gladly moved in with Jared, and two of their other friends, and it’d never really come up in conversation. Still no matter how open-minded Jensen was, there was a difference between knowing your friend liked to date men, and having him get hard while you shaved his legs, and Jared wanted to stay on the right side of that one.

When his legs were done, Jared felt weirdly, oddly naked in a way that he hadn’t when he’d just been wearing his boxers. And cold. “Quit yo internal bitching fool,” Jensen said with a grin, and passed him the moisturizer. “This job I can trust you not to mess up I know. You know your way around sticky stuff,” he gave an exaggerated wink, then waited until Jared had finished rubbing it in under duress before he unleashed the next bombshell. “Arms up.”

Almost automatically Jared put his arms up, a reflex he blamed on football. Jensen was the quarterback captain, and Jared was pretty used to getting peremptory orders from him on the pitch, and apparently that carried on to off the pitch as well. It wasn’t until Jensen attacked him with scissors, that Jared managed to get his brain back into gear.

Jensen was half kneeling on the loo seat, one leg bent, the other bracing himself as he tidied up Jared’s armpits, and then wielded the familiar razor. “Dude,” he said, unpleasantly aware that his voice was squeaking like he was fifteen again. “My pits were not part of the deal.” Jensen didn’t bother even replying, just finished off briskly, and got to work on the other one, and really when Jensen got an idea in his head there was no point trying to dissuade him. “How did you even learn to do this shit anyway?” Jared asked.

“Swim team in highschool,” Jensen replied. “Wasn’t always a college football type.” His face was so close now, that Jared could see the tiny smile pulling at his full lips, and almost feel the freshly shaved smoothness of his face. “Some of the guys preferred wax, but I was afraid I’d rip the skin off my legs if I tried. Girls went mad for it though. Thought it was sexy that I did it,” and Jared doesn’t wonder about that feeling at all. “All done,” Jensen said. “Smooth as can be.” He got up, and it was only then that Jared realised, yeah he’d been holding his breath. The first rush of new oxygen back into his air starved lungs was pretty exhilarating, and Jared waited a moment before following Jensen into the bedroom where the appointed instruments of torture waited.

Two cheerleading uniforms were laid out neatly, courtesy of the tallest girl on the team- Adrienne Palicki, who was only an inch and a half shorter than Jensen. Unfortunately that was still a lot shorter than Jared who picked up the miniscule clothing with a despairing look. “How the fuck am I even supposed to squeeze into this?” he asked helplessly. “Seriously, I’m not going to be able to fit in it.”

Jensen did look a little unsure. “Let’s give it a go,” he said. “And if I can suggest to sir, that he opts for some tight briefs, you may find that of use.” He politely turned away to let Jared struggle into said briefs, and then as the lesser of the two evils, squirm into the skirt first. His waist was slim enough that it didn’t constrict too much, or at least enough that he could breathe without too much difficulty. The sticking point was the length. What had been a respectable below mid-thigh on Adrienne, barely covered Jared’s ass.

“Jensen, I am not wearing this out,” he said. “Seriously, fuck guy-pride, I’d cause a riot.”

“A sex riot,” Jensen said with a grin. “Come on, stand tall and proud.” He dropped to his knees, to tug at the skirt in a vain attempt to stretch the material, and that had to be the moment that Misha walked in. From the door Jared was pretty sure it looked like Jensen was sucking him off while Jared wore a skirt, and if there was one rumour he didn’t want to have spread around campus, that was the one.

Luckily though it was Misha, and he didn’t seem to find anything unusual about the situation. “Gen sent me,” he said by way of explaining his appearance. “Wanted to see if you were dead or just too scared to come out.” They didn’t get off scot-free though; he looked them both up and down and turned to go, “I’ll tell her Jensen’s well on his way to coming out.”

Jensen stood up and threw a book at him. “Misha, stop chatting shit,” he said. “Now come in and help us, or go away.”

Misha advanced into the room. “What on earth are you trying to do?” he asked.

“Cover Jared’s thighs so he doesn’t break any indecency laws,” Jensen replied.

“Or cause a sex-riot I guess,” Misha added. He surveyed Jared for a long second, then knelt down, fingers sliding under the skirt. “There’s a sewn-up hem under here,” he said. “Get me a pair of scissors Jensen.” Scissors were duly supplied, and with careful snips Misha freed a good two inches of material, a little crumpled looking and not much in itself, but enough to change the skirt from utterly indecent, to ‘still can’t bend over in it, but at least my balls are covered,’ as Jared eloquently put it. It was kind of weird that that felt like an achievement.

“Thanks Misha,” he said, and Misha smiled at him.

“Always happy to help a lady,” he said with a grin, and Jared swatted at him. Misha ducked away, and came back with the skimpy top. “The one comfort you should have,” he said, “is that you can show off your stomach and still have it look a bit authentic.” As it turned out that was necessary, the top sat comfortably and snugly on his waist, stretching to its limit around his pecs, but with just enough space for non-existent breasts as to render it wearable. There was still an expanse of skin between the top’s end and the waistband of the skirt, but not quite enough to render it a crop top, and Jared turned to survey himself in the mirror.

The result wasn’t as frightening as he’d expected, and that was probably the most frightening thing yet of this whole debacle. The top looked like it’d been designed to fit like that, designed to show off his flat stomach, and the skirt hugged his waist, and swept down to the tops of his thighs like some really really obscene invitation to touch. If he’d seen him in a club, he’d probably hit on him. And now he was perving on himself in the mirror. Jensen had been right, he decided. The legs really were the finishing touch. He was actually sort of hot. (If he ignored his aghast face at the top of it.)

When Jared had finished staring at himself, he turned to Jensen, and nearly doubled over with laughter. One of the things in the world that most pissed Jensen off was being told he looked pretty. He’d nod and laugh if you said it to his face, but Jared knew his friend, and knew it was years of being told ‘don’t rise to it’ that was coming through. It pissed Jensen off something wicked, and he’d made up for it by being ridiculously into sports, and taking up martial arts so people at least thought twice about stereotyping him. However not even his worst enemy could’ve called Jensen pretty in a cheerleading uniform. The sweep of the material, that for whatever fucked up reason suited Jared’s shape, just looked stretched and ugly on Jensen, his shoulders too wide and set for the top, his waist not as defined, and his legs quite definitely bowed a little.

Jensen was looking down at himself in horror. “This is fucking awful,” he informed the room at large. “How does he-“ he gestured to Jared with one hand, “look fuckable, and I look like a really really cheap stripper?”

Misha was still laughing helplessly as well, sinking down onto the bed so he didn’t fall over. “You look,” he gasped through the laughs, “you look like you’re in the Rocky Horror Show.”

“As one of the horrors,” Jensen grumbled. He tugged at the skirt ineffectually, and ran a hand through his hair. “This was supposed to help me find a new girlfriend,” he complained. “Women like men who are comfortable enough with themselves enough to take a joke.”

“I don’t think that generally extends to sleeping with dudes who look like they belong in a freak show,” Jared pointed out, secure in the knowledge that for once he was not the worst-dressed man in the room. “Anyway what was it you said Jensen? Join the cheer-army, be the best cheerleader you can be!”

“And I will be.” Jensen’s face was set in grim lines of expectation. “I’ll show the world what sort of stuff I’m made of.”

“Just don’t bend over,” Misha advised. “Or they’ll get the literal interpretation of that.” He clapped them both on the back. “I’m going to go prepare the girls for the shock.” He left the room, thumping down the stairs, no doubt to cry with laughter some more, and Jensen frowned at himself in the mirror some more.

“If this is how girls feel all of the time, fuck that for a game of soldiers,” he said. “Seriously, next time a girl asks me if she looks fat in something, I’m not going to roll my eyes once.” Turning, he gave Jared one more critical look. “At least one of us is holding up our pride,” he said with mournful satisfaction bleeding through. “Hang on for a second.” He burrowed through the drawer and came out with a tube of sticky gloss. “Juicy Tube,” he read off the side. “Mm sounds like the good stuff.” Taking Jared’s face in one firm hand, he pursed his lips, and Jared almost fainted. How the fuck had Jensen known? Then he realised Jensen was about to apply the gloss to him, and submitted with only a faint sigh of resignation. It felt sticky and cold on Jared’s lips, and he had to fight the urge to bite his lips to get it off. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t taste as good as it looked.

Then like the genderswapped cast of ‘Bring it On’ they trooped on downstairs, steeling themselves for the ordeal that no doubt awaited them. Sure enough catcalls, wolf-whistles, and Adrienne shaking the table greeted them. Jensen in true Jensen fashion, sailed on in, ignoring the …limitations of his costume, bowing with a regalness while still remembering not to bend at the waist, and posing until someone whipped out a camera at which point the room degenerated into a scuffle. No way was Jensen letting photos of this exist where his face could be seen. Jared, suddenly unsure once again, slinked in behind him, fighting the urge to tug down the top and the skirt at the same time, remembering what Jensen had said. Tall and proud.

Gen and Danneel and Adrienne had been the ones who’d forced this to become a reality (though only Adrienne actually cheered for the team). It was a reminder to everybody in the room, not to trust incredibly cute girls who offered high stakes in games of poker. It looked like they and Misha were the only ones there for the grand unveiling, but that meant nothing. They had the rest of the day to get through, and oh Christ, clubbing that night.

Gen was the first to react, squeezing through the room until she could look at him properly, then leaning up and brushing a kiss on his cheek. “You went through with it!” she said with a delighted grin, “and I probably shouldn’t say this, but that is really weirdly hot on you.” They’d dated for three weeks, six months back and although it hadn’t worked out, and she had the most devious mind for devising forfeits that he’d ever met, Jared still couldn’t resist her smile.

“’Course I did,” he replied. “Wasn’t going to chicken out was I?” Well he had been, but Jensen would never let him tap out when it came to a matter of honor, no matter what the cost. He looked over to where Jensen was making coffee now, one leg hitched idly round the back of the other as he leaned on the counter, the skirt too short to conceal the smooth backs of his thighs, and kinda wished he’d stopped this in its tracks. It was all just a little too weird for comfort, and just because Jensen was wearing a skirt didn’t mean he was going to be any more receptive of Jared’s crush.

Gen’s eyes followed his, and she raised her eyebrows. “It’s like that?” she asked.

He shrugged, reluctant to say too much in here. “Yeah it sort of is,” he said, and hoped that didn’t sound too creepy. It wasn’t anything big, just something he’d felt for a bit.

She nudged him in the side. “It’ll be okay,” she said, with no fuss or frills, and she was right, like she generally was. “I’m not being your relationship counsellor though,” she said with a grin. “No hard feelings or anything, but picking up Danneel after her on-again, off-again thing with Adrienne is more than enough work.” That last bit was whispered in his ear.

Then Jensen was there again, bizarrely masculine looking in his feminine clothing, as he handed a cup of coffee to Jared. “Drink up,” he said. “We have an afternoon ahead of us to get through. And if I know our darling friends, they’re not going to let us hide out in the house all day.”

Turning to look at the rest of the people in the kitchen, Jared had to admit they didn’t look like they were going to let a single moment of this pass without commentary. Adrienne appeared almost out of nowhere. “You let down the skirt?” she said, and he wasn’t sure if there wasn’t a slight air of disappointment there. He just raised his cup in reply and drank it back, willing himself strength for the rest of the day.

Before long both of them were regretting that there was no class on Saturdays. Then there’d have been a five minute sensation as everyone stared and got their eyeful at once. As it was, they kept walking past people they knew, with the attendant hooting, cheering and whistling. If there was one small mercy in the world, it was that there was no football practice today. Now that would’ve been shitty, Jared found himself thinking. It wasn’t that the guys weren’t mostly decent people, but tackling in a skirt was not on his to-do list ever.

After a while though he became less self conscious about it. Most people instantly assumed as soon as they saw him that it was a bet, and the remainder of the ones who didn’t know him personally were soon convinced as soon as they saw Jensen. Nobody would dress like that willingly after all. In fact after an hour or so, his legs didn’t even feel cold anymore, and he was even used to the truly hideous white pumps that Danneel had acquired from a charity shop for him, which had the backs cut off and looped round with elastic to keep them on his feet. They were walking as a group to Chad’s house, which was a fair distance away (Jared suspected the whole aim of the visit was to show him off to as many people as possible.) When he noticed Jensen slinking behind the group, he dropped back to join him.

“Flaunt it,” he reminded Jensen. “That’s what we agreed to do.”

Jensen stared at him in disbelief. “Forget flaunting it Jared, I just don’t want to show my ass to every single person on campus. My skirt keeps riding up, and I need every inch of this fabric. Plus these shoes are killing my feet.” The rest of the group was pretty far ahead now, and Jared pointed out the bus-stop which had a bench, and raised his eyebrows. Jensen sunk gratefully down. “I have never been so glad in all my life to sit,” he said.

Jared sat down beside him, and stretched his legs out. “I know how you feel,” he said ruefully. “We’re never playing cards with the girls again.”

“Or ‘never have I ever,’” agreed Jensen. “I thought one of the good things about leaving high-school was never having to play another stupid game again just to have an excuse to make out with somebody you like.” He toed off the shoes and stretched out his feet for a second. “Let’s run away,” he suggested. “They can’t make us come back.”

“We live in the same house as them,” Jared reminded him. “They can make our lives a misery if they want to, I know that much.” He stood and offered a hand to Jensen to tug him up, and with a moan, Jensen accepted and stood. “Not far now,” was the only thing Jared could offer in consolation. In the distance, the rest of the group was standing there and waiting for them to catch up, and driving past was a woman who Jared was fairly sure was one of his professors. Fighting the urge to bow his own head, he forged onwards.

Luckily the cruelty seemed spent for the afternoon, and it was mostly spent outdoors in Chad’s garden with a few beers, which gave them the chance to stretch full-length and soak up for a bit. A few more people trickled in as the day went on, and it became a party in its own right. Chad even supplied suncream, pointing out that they were going to burn their legs if they didn’t put some on, which ended in him confessing that he’d done exactly what they were doing in highschool, though in Chad’s version it netted him the hottest girl in the school which was a detail that had most people shouting him down.

Jensen slathered some on, then Chad being a dickhead shouted. “Give us a show Jensen; rub some on Jared. I’ve always wanted to see two hot cheerleaders get it on in front of me, and I’m not picky.” Adrienne kicked his leg hard and this was a girl who did competitive netball as well as cheering, Chad swore loudly and clutched at it. Jensen grinned at Chad, and obliged, squirted some on his hands, and smoothed it onto Jared’s leg which couldn’t help jerking away at the coldness. Jensen gave him a lewd wink, and licked his lips.

“Just us girls,” he cooed, and Jared wasn’t sure he should find that as hot as he did. The combination of the dirty grin, and Jensen leaning over him in a cheerleading uniform was proving irresistible though, and he wasn’t sure exactly what was showing on his face when Jensen caught his eye, but whatever it was prompted a spark of something in Jensen’s face, like it had leapt between them, invisible but there, like a tiny thread of awareness. It lasted less than a second before Jensen blinked away, and Jared would’ve bet money that no-one else had noticed, because there was Jensen again, clean cut and untouchable smiling at him, as he rocked back onto his heels. “Satisfied Chad?” he said, but his gaze was intent on Jared, searing into him like he was trying to figure out what made him tick, and Jared couldn’t stand it.

Getting to his feet, Jared waved his beer bottle at everyone. “Getting one from the fridge,” he said. “Anyone else?” Most people declined, but Jensen looked at him steadily.

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, and Jared wasn’t entirely sure it was the beer he was talking about. He walked inside, and when he’d secured three cold beers from the fridge, he pressed one against his forehead, relishing the coldness. When he turned round, Jensen was standing there, one hand outstretched. “I couldn’t wait,” he said, and whoa Jared’s getting signals here that he’s not entirely sure to interpret. He settles for neutral, sticks a beer in Jensen’s hand, and levers himself up onto the countertop, setting the third one aside.

“How’s the skirt?” he asks, and Jensen makes a face as he shoves a hand under it to adjust himself.

“Itchy,” he said. “And the grass was prickling me in places no man should be prickled.” He leans against the counter as well, takes a long smooth swallow of his beer, and looks at Jared assessingly. “Do you…” he tailed off. “Actually never mind,” he said abruptly. “I’ll see you outside.”

Jared can’t let that happen. He’s not going to let this sit between them, heavy and awkward and ruining their friendship. If he gets it out in the open, they can move past it. In a month, they’ll be laughing at the time Jared thought he had the hots for Jensen. With no further thought, he grabs Jensen’s wrist, pulls him closer. He’d meant only to stop him, but Jensen isn’t shifting away or punching Jared, and he can’t help converting the touch a little, sliding his fingers over the skin of Jensen’s wrist, gaining confidence. He’s not actually sure things like this happen to people like him.

Jensen’s not pulling away, but not making any move either, looking at Jared with a look he can’t quite parse. Then Chad’s clattering in, and the moment is well and truly broken. With a movement so smooth it’s not quite real, Jensen’s tugged away, and picked up the second beer, clinks it with Chad in a loud cheer and heads back out into the sunlight. Jared wants to follow, but his heart is beating so fast he sort of thinks everyone would hear it, and Chad is rifling the cupboards for the chips. “Take-away, or kebabs after clubbing?” he asks, and it takes Jared a moment to realise Chad’s asking him, and really what the hell kind of question is that anyway- who the fuck ever actually plans to eat a kebab? He doesn’t even know what he answers but Chad seems satisfied.

When he’s calm again, he heads back outside to where people are already more than a little drunk, and the sunlight is dying away. Jensen is on a chair now, and he’s forgotten to cross his legs, which makes Jared laugh. He’s greeted with a drunken hooray, and Jensen glances up and smiles at him, and like that Jared feels at ease again. Whatever happens, they’re going to get through this okay. After that it’s only a matter of time ‘til the first fucker suggests clubbing, despite the fact it’s going to mean taking a cab from there. Jared doesn’t bother arguing since he’s not going to prevail anyway, just downs another beer, enjoys the way the world is going a little bit hazy around the edges.

Then Jensen’s giving him a hand up, steadying him with a warm touch, telling him “apparently it’s club time now.” Jared groans in reply, feels the prickle of sun-heat on his skin even through the layer of cream, wants to protest but can’t raise the energy. When he’s in the cab, thigh pressed against Jensen’s, heat between them where their skin is touching, he lets himself hope a bit, because without hope man isn’t anything but an animal. It says a great deal for how much Jensen is on his mind, that Jared’s kind of forgotten about the cheerleader costume he’s wearing, and only has it brought back to mind by the raised eyebrows of the bouncer as he checks their IDs.

“Free entrance?” Jensen tries.

The bouncer clearly has a sense of humour, and jerks his chin at Jared. “For him maybe,” he says drily. “You’re paying full charge.”

Inside the club is like most cheap clubs- faintly sticky floors, too many mirrors and an honest to God disco ball over the bar. Since it was Tom’s choice the music was by turns terrible and awesome, like the eighties drank a techno milkshake and was sick all over the dancefloor. It had actually been Misha’s turn to choose, but his suggestion of jazz-fusion had been roundly shouted down as impossible to dance to, and the choice had defaulted to Tom who was taking full advantage of it. Still it’s music to dance to, and everyone in the room is pissed already and flailing along. Jared can’t dance, not properly, but here with a few beers down him, and Jensen within arm’s reach it’s easy to fake, easy to pretend he knows what he’s doing (which is ringing more bells than one.)

Jensen hadn’t been wrong about people hitting on them both, even in the skirts, and Jared tries as best as he can, not to watch Jensen dance with a couple of girls, because he’s not going to be the weird one who starts building something out of nothing, and going crazy when it doesn’t work. He doesn’t need to worry though, Jensen is friendly and charming and completely hands off in an anything but neutral sort of way. When Jared glances over for the fifth time, Jensen’s looking right back at him, and it’s anything but coy when their gaze meets. The next moment Jensen disengages himself from the girl he’s dancing with, and moves over to Jared.

Jared’s just got time to feel a huge swoop of relief, when Jensen’s got a hand on his neck and is pulling him into a kiss, that’s anything but shy, and Jared can’t focus on anything but this, on Jensen’s mouth against his, so sticky and sweet from whatever shot Jensen had just had, teeth closing on Jared’s bottom lip, tugging it, and if Jared had known Jensen kissed like this, he’s have given this a go before. When he surfaces from the kiss, he realizes that their friends are looking at them both quizzically, feels the blush crawl up from his chest.

Chad breaks the atmosphere, holds up two fists, presumably for both Jensen and Jared to fist-bump at the same time. “Score,” he shouts at them. “I bet your bucket lists are one item shorter now.” And like that, everyone’s dancing again, and Jensen’s shoulders are shaking with laughter. Jared’s not letting this slip though, pulls Jensen against him, feels the slippery slidiness of the nylon top and skirt against his hands, the firm, solid muscle of Jensen underneath and all of a sudden, he doesn’t want to be here, he wants to be back home, next to Jensen, and from Jensen's decided tug on his hand, he thinks Jensen might want that as well, so he stumbles after him out of the entrance, and hopes like hell they can find a cab quickly.

Jared vaguely remembers tipping their cab-driver well over the odds in apology for having had to watch their fairly shameless groping. Everything else is a haze until they get to the bedroom, and then it's like this whole thing has come into sharp focus, like there's a certain clarity and truth to the proceedings, and he can't stop wanting, wanting so much, in a way that he hadn't even realized. It's not good enough to just have Jensen now, he wants him for so much longer, and midway through a drunken hookup with his room-mate (who also happens to be wearing a skirt) is possibly the worst time to realize it.

Then Jensen's crawling on top of him, pressing kisses to his face, and Jared gives up on thinking for a while, lets himself touch Jensen, run his hands down his back, and up his skirt, and his dick gives a helpless twitch at that thought. Jensen is a heavy agreeable weight on top of him, and Jared bucks upwards at the sensation. One thing he's quickly realizing is that there's a lot of very very handy things about skirts, and one of them is easy access. One hand's already on Jensen's thigh, smooth skin under his fingertips, and he goes down so easy when Jared pushes, helps push down his briefs, his dick flushed and hard against the navy blue nylon of the skirt, thrusts a hand in his mouth to stifle the moan he makes when Jared goes down, lets the heavy weight of Jensen's dick slide into his mouth, takes as much as he can, as deep as he can. He can't stop touching Jensen, all of him that he can reach, running his hands up smooth legs over slightly crooked knees, until he gets to the curve of thigh joining ass, runs a finger along almost in wonder, feels Jensen buck against him, and he wants nothing more than to stay on his knees, find out everything there is to know about what Jensen likes and to do it to him as much as he wants.

He lets Jensen's length slide from his mouth, then goes right back down again, tongue flickering against his head, cheeks hollowing as he tries to make this the best blowjob that Jensen's ever had. He can't believe how into it, he is himself, his own dick is so hard that he feels like he could come in his pants just from this, from the taste and touch of Jared against him. Jensen's got other ideas though, squirms out from under his mouth, scrambles up, and he's clearly been biting his lips. Jared can't resist another kiss, lets Jensen in without protest, thrusts his hips against him, separated from his dick by three layers of fabric, which is three too many at this point in time.

Jensen breaks the kiss first, fumbles in the bedside cabinet for a quite clearly used tube of lube, gives Jared a raised eyebrow. "You okay with this?" he asks, and that sort of helps anchor Jared in reality once again. He doesn't know how to say that he's okay with whatever Jensen wants to do with it, figures a nod will do just fine.

"You done this before?" he asks against Jensen's neck, sneaking a kiss before he lies back on the bed.

Jensen tugs Jared's briefs down over his legs, and looks at him with intent. "Yeah," he admits. "A couple of times. Not often." And while Jared's still trying to figure out what exactly that means, Jensen's flipping open the tube and coating two fingers with the lube. Everything in Jared goes tight at the thought, like he's on the edge of coming, and Jesus. He shoves the thought right back down, and seconds later that's where Jensen is, and regardless of how many times he's finger-fucked another guy, this is quite clearly his first blowjob, too much spit, and just the right amount of enthusiasm. Jared wants to bite into his hand- he knows there's no-one in the house, but he kinda gets the feeling that if he makes every sound he wants to he might scare Jensen off, and right now there is nothing Jared wants more in the entire world than for this to continue.

When Jensen pushes one lube slick finger into him, even though the angle is awkward, Jared does actually bite his hand, and jerks his hips up a little in a desperate attempt to get more, to feel more of Jensen next to him and in him. He's always been a big fan of this, not so much a fan of actually getting fucked which he can't quite figure out, but thinks might be a result of feeling so much closer like this. He's a little bit shaken by the thought that he'd let Jensen do that though, he'd let Jensen do whatever he wanted right now, because this feels so amazing. He’s arching into it, and Jensen’s pushing deeper, uncoordinated around Jared’s dick now, like he can’t quite do the two things successfully at once. Then a second finger slides in far as it will go, and Jared can feel Jensen’s knuckles pressing at him, holding him open and it’s all too much suddenly. Something of that must have come through, because Jensen stops, breathes in deep around his dick then pulls off, and the loss of that is driving Jared mad.

“What do you want?” Jensen says, and it’s not porn dialogue, it’s him actually asking, not just a quick fuck, but Jared’s friend, and Jared again wants it all. Settles for dragging himself upright, and enjoying the sight of Jensen, ruffled and sticky, far too small skirt over an erection that looks painfully hard, and it all feels so debauched that he just wants more. Jared presses them close together, holds both their dicks in his hand and begins to jerk them together. It’s not exactly what he wants, but its close, feeling Jensen shudder and move against him, then Jensen’s fingers slide back in, awkward again, the angle shallow but Jesus, Jared’s being finger-fucked under his skirt, the mental visual of that is enough to give him fantasy material for years. He can’t hold himself back, jerks them both faster, slippery from the pre-come now, and Jensen is almost sobbing against him, over-sensitized now, until he finally comes, finishes and spills over Jared’s hand and over their skirts. The sight of that, his fingers round their dicks as Jensen comes between them, sets Jared off, and for the longest amount of time they’re poised like that, holding each other up, and that was the most awesomely bizarre sex that Jared’s had in a long time.

After they’ve cleaned up the worst with tissues, they lie there in the dark, and listen to the others come back in, stumbling around, trying to be quiet, plenty of giggling, and hear the kettle start to squeal on the stove top. “That’s Gen,” Jared whispers, and Jensen nods against him.

“You do realise we’re still dressed in these,” Jensen whispers back, and even in the dark Jared can tell he’s gesturing at the cheerleading uniforms.

“We did promise to wear them all night,” Jared replies, smiling at the ceiling, and throws a leg over Jensen’s, relishing the soft slide of shaved leg against shaved leg, foot rubbing against Jensen’s calf. He’s beginning to ache now between his legs, not used to the sensation of fingers with too little lube pushing into him, and he squirms a little to get more comfortable. Feels Jensen run comforting fingers down his side and stills. He’s not sure where they go from here, not certain if this is even what Jensen wants.

“We didn’t just do it because of them did we?” Jensen asks, and there’s something Jared can’t decipher in his voice. It’s an out though. They weren’t drunk enough to blame the drink, but it would give them an excuse, would let them pretend that it was the exciting novelty of new sensations rather than anything else. Jared doesn’t want the out though.

He screws his courage to the sticking point. “Not for me,” and the words fall into a silence that seems to go on forever.

Jensen breaks it finally. “Me neither.” Then he’s up, struggling out of the top, kicking off the skirt, all Jensen, all over, and Jared’s never been so grateful for Jensen’s boundless self-confidence in his life, or his seemingly limitless ability not to sweat the unusual. Jensen’s hands are on him now, tugging off the top, and unclasping the skirt, letting it slide down, and Jared’s beginning to feel traces of getting turned on again, at being stripped in this peremptory fashion.

“We’ll have to get them drycleaned,” he says, and hears Jensen snort.

“They’re 100% nylon. Give them a shake and the come’ll probably slide off,” Jensen says, and throws an arm back over Jared on their too small for them both bed, and Jared is torn between disgust and laughter. Good to know Jensen is as gross as usual. He turns into the arm, slides his own one across, nothing between them now, though he has the presence of mind to pull a cover across them, before they both drop off to sleep.

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