stripytights | Fic: Stroke Number Seven

stripytights

Title: Stroke Number Seven

Fandom: Supernatural RPF

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Wordcount: 3300 words

Content notes: fingerfucking, exhibitionism, gratuitous rowing

Summary: Jensen and Jared row for the same club. A breakfast after a practice turns into something more.

A/N: written for salt_burn_porn for juice817’s prompt of ‘you can’t do that’

"I fucking hate this," Jared moaned, and Jensen rolled his eyes.

"No you don't," he said, "you love it. We all love it. We're gluttons for punishment."

"Why not do rowing, they said; it'll be fun, they said," and Jared levelled an accusing look at Jensen in the hopes of provoking a reaction. "Well not they, more specifically, you."

"Hey, you love it," Jensen said with an easy smile. "I've seen you circling meets on the calendar. You set that alarm clock with truly loving care."

"I love rowing," Jared corrected him. "Rowing is great. Rowing makes my knees go all wobbly. Waking up at five o clock in the morning so I'll be showered and ready for a tiny person to shout at me, isn't so great."

"I wouldn't let Gen hear you calling her tiny," Jensen said sensibly. Their training cox was pocket-sized but also ferocious.

Jared lowered his voice, "you have a point there," he said. "But it's so cold," and he elongated the last word until Jensen shoved his arm.

"Shut up," he said, following the path along the river to the boathouse, "or I'll give you something to complain about."

"Ooh," Jared said with a smile in his voice. "What's that," and he lowered his voice to a breathy tremble. "Would that be your huge cock?"

"Yeah right," Jensen with friendly rancour, "you wouldn't complain about that. I was thinking of ringing your family and letting them know when the next race is. You know, so they could all come and support you."

Jared groaned in horror. "You're fucking evil Ackles," he said, but he piped right down as they walked through the early morning grey mist, water settling cool and damp on their skin, beading in Jared's hair and sparkling on the thick cloth of Jensen's hoodie. Jared, who'd only just rolled out of bed in time to meet Jensen to walk down to the river at all, was just in a thin t-shirt and biking shorts as he couldn't find his gear without waking up everyone around him. In a spirit of friendly co-operation he wasn't bitching about this at all, and he thought Jensen should be slightly more grateful for that.

The rest of the crew were waiting for them, and friendly jeers greeted their late entrance. Gen got them all down to business though, and ran them through the schedule for that day's training. When that was finished, Jared looked out over the river and squinted up into the clouds above. The day felt like it might turn to rain, something in the tang of the air, and he crossed his fingers against the possibility. Jensen stripped off his hoodie, and stowed it in the club house.

"Breakfast afterwards?" Jared said to Jensen.

"Sure thing," Jensen said easily. "Though stay off the chocolate croissants. You're in training."

Jared gave him a long, long look. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response," he replied. "Now get in the boat, if you don't think it'll capsize under your massive weight."

Jared settled in behind Jensen comfortably. If at some point he'd kind of envied Jensen for being stroke, he was pretty happy as seven now, not just because it suited him technically, and because Jensen was a fucking amazing stroke, but because the view wasn't half-bad most of the time. It didn't hurt that most of the time it was Jensen who was getting spit in his face when Gen got overly enthusiastic with her feedback.

Getting started reminded him of exactly why he'd taken up crew in the first place. Jared had always been a team-player, and being able to bend every bit of his strength to the speed and movement of the boat while moving perfectly in unison with every other member of his team suited him down to the ground. Moving over the cool water in the early morning, feeling the burn of his muscles in both arms and legs, the deepness of his breaths, he could feel every bit of college stress draining from his body. This was why he didn't (usually) begrudge the obscenely early starts. He kept his eyes fixed on Jensen's feedback, regulated himself in time, and tried not to get distracted by the flex of the muscle in Jensen's shoulders, because he'd lost stroke last time that happened and Gen had given him a tongue lashing he wasn't eager to repeat. They had a quality boat this year and actual chance in competition, and Jared could admit he was looking forward to that.

Training went better than it had in weeks, a spirit of renewed quiet determination amongst the crew, and it felt like everyone could have stayed out on the water even longer than they were booked to, but aware that over-practicing wouldn't achieve anything in the long run, people split up and headed off. The sun was fully up now, though it was still early, as Jensen and Jared walked back together, and Jared made a face at his soaked t-shirt. Jensen gave him a grin and pulled off his hoodie. "Cover yourself up," he said, handing Jared the warmed cloth.

"I'm not going to fit in this," Jared said just for the kicks of it, and hugged the hoodie defensively to his chest as Jensen made an effort to snatch it back. "No, no, you've given it to me now. It's mine, all mine."

"Your precious?" Jensen asked.

"I knew you'd read those books," Jared exulted. "All of that, no, I'm much too good for such trash. I bet you've got a stash of elf-porn under your mattress and everything." He struggled into the hoodie, which must have been too big for Jensen, because it fit surprisingly well, and shivered, reminded suddenly of the cold, and emerged from it just in time to hear Jensen's reply.

"Keep your sick fantasies to yourself Padalecki. We weren't all masturbating to World of Warcraft figurines during our adolescence."

"But you do know what World of Warcraft is," Jared teased. He wasn't surprised at Jensen knocking his shoulder against his, and amiably rammed him back. "Breakfast?"

"Sure thing," Jensen said. "Your place or do you want to go out?"

"Why not yours?" Jared demanded

"You offered the invitation, man. You provide the food."

"Fine, we’re going out," Jared said, and tugged the hood of his hoodie up, not really caring how stupid he looked, especially since Jensen seemed to appreciate the view. He was still kind of feeling his way through this potential. He'd known Jensen for long enough to know that Jensen was interested, but it felt like it'd gone past the time he could make a move and straight into awkward territory. He liked to think it was thoughtfulness that held him back but was beginning to suspect it was cowardice. Jensen on the other hand seemed no more inclined to make a move, even though it should have been the simplest thing in the world. Jared wasn't entirely sure he could take much more of what he didn’t think he was wrong in calling sexual tension though.

By the time they’d got to somewhere that was open and serving actual food that wasn’t going to make Gen give them a cold look, the day was distinctly bright and sunny, Jared’s earlier fears of rain completely dissipated. A booth was free and without a second thought, Jared slid in after Jensen rather than opposite him, thighs pressed close together and scanned the menu despite knowing exactly what was on it. “Toast and eggs,” he said, and Jensen nodded. “Same. And orange juice. And coffee. Get me coffee stroke-slave,” and Jared gave him a look of his own, but gave the order to the bleary-eyed waitress.

All the muscles in his bones ached at this moment in time, not badly, just a reminder of a good work out and sitting in the warmth, letting himself steam gently, Jensen beside him was a surprisingly good way to spend a Saturday morning. He didn’t realize he was sort of half-stroking Jensen’s knee until a strangled cough alerted him to the fact that his fingers were resting there. He snatched them away with an apology leaping to his mouth, because that was inappropriately touchy-feely even for him, and especially without the aid or excuse of alcohol, until he realized that Jensen was flushed red, high color in his cheeks that rowing hadn’t put there and that unless Jared was mistaken, and that was just some weird fold in Jensen’s sweatpants, he wasn’t exactly hating it.

Torn between the weird swoop in his stomach that said that this might be happening, and amazement that Jensen was reacting so quickly to his touch, he caught Jensen’s eyes and looked at him steadily, resting his hand on the same place and shifting it a little higher. Jensen nodded once and shuffled forwards a little bit on the bench. Jared looked around him quickly, at the completely empty cafe and the waitress who’d disappeared somewhere in the back, and chanced it, ran his fingers over the bulge of Jensen’s dick, half-hard under his sweatpants, warm to the touch even through them, and tried not to freak out because this wasn’t how he’d thought this would happen.

He’d assumed that it be on an off-period when they were out on the sort of binge Jensen usually avoided, that they’d probably sleep together and it’d be awkward for weeks until it wasn’t. Or that he’d finally man up and ask Jensen on a date, or that Jensen would man up and ask him out, and that their future would be filled with sex and happiness. In an empty cafe, about three seconds from outright giving Jensen a handjob was not how he’d thought it would go down.

At the thought of going down, his mouth was suddenly flooded in a way that he couldn’t blame on the smell of the coffee now in the air, and as his fingers gripped over the curve of Jensen’s dick, he couldn’t stop thinking about crawling under the table, getting Jensen’s pants down and going to town on him. Thought about Jensen tugging fingers through the hair he kept mocking Jared for, holding him there and shoving down his throat, using the same sort of voice as he used to get the crew organized - and how he was ever going to shake that mental image so he wasn’t doomed to perpetual hard-ons during practice, he didn’t know. Thought about sucking him off while the waitress came and went, not knowing that Jared was getting Jensen off like this, and apparently today was an all round day of surprises because Jared was rock-hard without even touching himself, and Jesus, bike-shorts were the worst things possible to hide that.

Jensen didn’t seem to have noticed though, color still high in his face, leaning on the table while Jared felt him up, and Jared was starting to think, screw first dates, this was awesome. He took his hand away briefly, yanked off the hoodie Jensen had lent him and draped it awkwardly over his lap, just in time for the waitress to return with the coffee and an apology that the eggs were going to be longer than expected, which seemed like a heaven-sent opportunity to Jared. He was about to get back to getting Jensen off, when another thought occurred to him, and he slid his hand over the curve of Jensen’s ass, squeezed it for a brief second, every sense alert to Jensen’s reaction. He was flying by the seat of his pants here, flickers of half-remembered TMI conversations they’d had while drunk, something he thought Jensen might be into.

Given that Jared had spent the last few months thinking wistfully and idly of Jensen fucking him, and of him fucking Jensen in every possible combination and in every possible way to an extent that he thought might possibly have become creepy, he wanted to squeeze as much into this encounter as he possibly could in case it turned out this was a once off, or that he was dreaming. Jensen didn’t swat him away though, just leaned forward another inch, and let his own hand drift into Jared’s lap. Jared tried not to make a too obvious show of sucking his fingers into his mouth until he noticed Jensen’s eyes fixed on them, and made it a little more obvious before he slipped his hand between the waistband of Jensen’s pants and his ass.

“Commando? You can’t do that.” he said, genuinely surprised out of the haze that this whole business had put him in. Freeballing it while rowing was a surprising choice.

“Laundry day,” Jensen gritted out and the subtext was obvious. Fucking get back to the fucking. Jared was happy to oblige, curved his fingers over Jensen’s ass, his own dick aching since Jensen had stopped touching him and got his hand back onto his own dick, movements obscene and restless beneath the fabric, and Jesus they were doing this here. Jared felt a momentary surge of guilt that was subsumed by the fact that Jensen was leaning forward again, giving him more room to move, to slide his fingers down the crack of Jensen’s ass, slowly and surely, spit-slicked fingers pressing deep between his cheeks, curving until they could press close against his hole, and Jared felt like he might choke at the thought, come in his own pants, at the thought of finger-fucking Jensen. The angle was entirely wrong, he could press only shallowly in, tip of one finger sliding in to the first knuckle, Jensen hot and impossibly tight around him, and Jared wanted more. Wanted to bend Jensen across the table so he could get the rest of his finger in and give him two more to keep it company, maybe spread him open and wide enough that he could get his tongue in on the party, until Jensen lost every bit of the iron self control he was still exhibiting - not a sound, not a murmur as Jared pushed inside him. He knows he’s not gonna get Jensen’s prostate at this angle but that didn’t seem to bother Jensen who might not be making any distinct sounds, but was definitely breathing in more heavily, small wet noises that Jared wanted to hear more of.

He was demonstrating the exceptional coordination skills that made him such a loss to the baseball team when he took up crew instead, by groping his own dick under shield of the hoodie, and keeping his eye both on the swing-door to the kitchen and the door to the outside world. He wriggled a little bit and manages to get his finger further in, and Jensen did sigh then, half-caught breath and Jared pulled out and pushes back in with two fingers, ignores the awkwardness, wanting Jensen to get off exactly like this, Jared’s fingers in his ass, Jensen’s own hand on his dick, out here in the open.

Jared’s dick was so wet from pre-come - the amounts he only got when he was so aroused he was about a hairsbreadth from coming, and it’d take a couple of good strokes to make him shoot - that he was soaking through his underwear and through the ridiculous bikeshorts (despite their slightly water-resistant material) in a way that was making him really regret not taking more time to dress that morning. He licked dry lips and tried to think about that and not about the way Jensen was split open on his fingers, ass spread by Jared on one hand, so caught up he couldn’t even say anything, sarcasm swallowed back. He tried not to think of doing this after he’s fucked Jensen, of pushing two fingers straight back into the come he’ll have left behind, getting him so messy and stretched that Jensen won’t be able to articulate anything just push back onto his fingers to get Jared to give him more.

He was staring at Jensen’s face again, at his parted bitten mouth and the sweep of his eyelashes as he remembered to blink, so he only saw the door in his peripheral vision. Jensen was faster - the reflexes that make him stroke, made him tuck in close to Jared’s side and lean himself right back as the waitress approached, so she couldn’t see what’s going on, just that Jared’s got his arm around Jensen and they’re sitting really close together. She set down the eggs and smiled at them, offered a refill of coffee that Jared declined for them both, though he didn’t know how he got the words out - Jensen moving had shifted Jared deeper in him and it’s all he could think about, how full Jensen must be feeling. Jared wanted that as well, in a sudden shocking clench in his belly, wanted Jensen’s thick capable calloused fingers fucking him exactly like this. Wanted to feel what Jensen’s feeling in this second, as though that was the only way he could get close to him. The waitress headed back to the kitchen, and Jared realized that he’s got this ass-backwards in a fairly literal sense. He still hadn’t kissed Jensen.

Jensen solved that one for him, leant in and with firm finger tugged Jared’s face in for a kiss that is so light and painfully first-kiss-like (or so Jared thought, his first kiss was in the rain and introduced tongues faster than he cares to remember) that Jared’s brain short-circuited at that, especially since Jensen clenched down on the fingers in his ass at exactly that moment.

“We should stop,” Jensen said, though the way he was rocking still on Jared’s fingers seemed to put the lie to that statement. Jared pulled out though, watched Jensen’s face change as he did, astounded that he could’ve done that, punched through that barrier between them, entirely by accident. He was uncomfortably aware again of how hard he is, but Jensen’s right, going any further is stupidly risky.

They ate the eggs, and Jared tried not to think about what’s going to happen after this. Was it a one-time thing, some sort of post-great-practice madness, never to be replicated? Determined to get it over with, he swallowed the last mouthful, drank his coffee and turned to Jensen with determination.

“Jensen,” he said, “the most important issue here is that you’re paying.”

“What?” Jensen said, his voice surprisingly hoarse. “I thought we’d agreed you were.”

“Well I would, if I hadn’t left my wallet at home, along with my hoodie, sweatpants and possibly my house keys. Don’t forget to tip the waitress really well.”

“Bastard,” Jensen said without a change in expression. “Cheap bastard, that’s what you are Jared.” he finished off the last of his breakfast, and dug through his wallet. Jared was pleased to note that he had indeed tipped extremely well.

Outside, hoodie tied discreetly around his waist, and thanking God that there was still hardly anybody about, Jared looked at Jensen and found that the words had dried up in his mouth. “Well,” he said uncertainly and tried not to let the rest of his thoughts escape, the jumbled up mess of them that was panicking that this was going to fuck things up, some momentary madness that they’re going to agree to forget, and he’ll have thrown everything away for nothing.

“Well what,” Jensen said. “All I can say Padalecki is that if you’re going to cheap out on me like that, the least you can do is suck my brains out through my dick, and then buy me dinner.” There was a smile on his face, shy but there, and how Jensen could ever look shy again after that exhibition is beyond Jared. He’s kind of certain Jensen had just made a date though. Rowing rocked.

Feedback appreciated.

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From: (Anonymous)

WHAT PERFECT EARLY MORNING ROWING DUDES. what an amazing first date. oh man like everyone tries to do "banter" of some description in fanfiction but it is really rare for it to (a) sound like things actual people ever say and that the characters in that situation *would* say and (b) be hilarious and this is both. Also glorious surreptitious cafe-set fingering, yes yes yes. ...that will be *such* an awkward walk home in bike shorts, my sympathies.

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Fic: Stroke Number Seven

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