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Title: Something Borrowed
Pairing: J2 (implied JDM/Jared, JDM/Jensen)
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~2,000
Summary: Ever since JD Morgan moved into Arundel Heights, the whole town has known about his...special parties. Not everyone knows about his special boy. Written for [livejournal.com profile] salt_burn_porn.
Warnings/Promises: I feel like there should be lots but I'm having trouble articulating. Ummmm, infidelity kink? Mild BDSM?

Everybody knew about Jeff Morgan's parties. Everybody: clean cut high school seniors in letter jackets, young mothers with little kids, old ladies with their faces laced tight in disapproval as they gossiped in the corner store. A guy like Jeff Morgan couldn't just up and move into a mansion like Arundel Heights in a little town like this, and then start throwing parties like that, without everyone eyeing him like he was Howard freakin' Hughes (near the end).

Jared, though. Not everybody knew about Jared.

This was Jensen's second trip to the Heights, and although he'd known for a while that Jeff was actually not a crazed weirdo, but a pretty hot ex-army dude with a salt and pepper beard and an ass that didn't quit, he'd only just found out about the boy. Jeff's boy.

"You can borrow him," Jeff said, voice low and rough in Jensen's ear, "if you want." He took a long drag on the burnt-down spiff between his fingers, then blew out the smoke in a curling plume. "That's what he likes."

"Is that what you like?" Jensen asked him, as Jeff inhaled again.

For answer, Jeff just caught Jensen's jaw, turned it, pressed their lips together. Exhaled. His mouth had the familiar green-tea taste of good weed, tongue slow and clever as it crept into Jensen's mouth, and Jensen knew without doubt that the answer to his question was yes.


Arundel Heights was a sprawling warren of a place, built more like a fancy boarding school than a private residence. Jeff led Jensen to Jared's room by the hand, and though Jeff tried to keep track of their twists and turns, the staircases they took, by the time they reached it he had no fucking clue where they were, other than in the very bowels of the house.

"Baby," Jeff said, voice soft, as he opened the door, "Jared, baby, you decent? I brought you a visitor."

The room was dimly-lit when Jensen peered hesitantly inside, heart pounding, but the small lamp by the bed was enough to illuminate the long-limbed figure sprawled on it, all tawny golden skin. At Jeff's words, the figure shifted, and a voice returned, "Hey, Jeff."

"You all right, boy?"

The boy -- Jared, Jensen reminded himself -- nodded; leaning a little further into the room, Jensen saw now that he was blindfold, naked but for a pair of black boxer-briefs that concealed nothing. "Thanks, Jeff."

"No problem, sweetheart." Jeff's hand fell heavy on Jensen's shoulder, and his voice dropped as he murmured into Jensen's ear, "All yours, kiddo, but no permanent damage, you hear me? Don't break the skin."

"Dude, I wouldn't --" Jensen broke in immediately, but Jeff shushed him, finger to lips.

"Keep him guessing," he said, his eyes warm, "and you'll keep him happy. I'll come back later to get you."

When the door closed behind him, Jensen felt the slam of it resonate all through him, holding him still, petrified. He wasn't sure what the hell he'd expected, but it hadn't been this. Sure, the boy was a fine fucking specimen all right, six and a half feet if he was anything, all lithe muscle. But Jensen wasn't used to this kind of scene -- swinging was one thing, but this -- this was...

On the bed, the boy pushed himself up from the pillows, held out a hand like a blind man, palm up. "Well?" he said, imperious as a Maharajah. "You just gonna stand there, or are we gonna fuck?"

The tone of his voice shot jagged through Jensen's chest like shrapnel, leaving a fierce, knotted ache behind. Clearly, he'd done this a thousand times before; maybe he'd done it already today, even. For some reason, the thought made Jensen's stomach dip hotly, propelling him a step towards the bed, and another. Jared's dark hair was shaggy, longish, curling behind his ears. Jensen didn't know he meant to reach for it until he'd already done it, fisting his hand in the thick of it at the base of Jared's skull and tugging.

"Mmm, more like it," Jared told him, tongue catching briefly between white teeth as he grinned. The tendon pulled long in his throat with his head at this angle, crying out to be bitten. He looked cocky, like he thought he was king of this little palace, and Jensen remembered what Jeff had said: don't break the skin.

Abruptly, he twisted his wrist, jerking the hair in his fist; let go and smacked the boy hard across the side of the face. "Who the hell said you got to tell me what to do?"

The hitch in Jared's breath told Jensen immediately that his instinct had been right; this was what the boy wanted, clearly. Hell, of course he did; he was Jeff Morgan's fucking kept boy, whored out to all and sundry 'cause he liked it. This wasn't a kid who wanted to be in control, cocky little shit or not. He wanted breaking down, and now, seeing the way his bare chest heaved, the hot bloom of blood in his cheek, Jensen thought he could do that. His cock, swelling in his pants, seemed to agree.

"Take those off," Jensen said.

He didn't really have to specify further than that. There wasn't much ambiguity about it when the kid was already in nothing but underwear, and Jared's thumbs went to his waistband immediately, shoving his shorts down over the jut of his cock, down his strong thighs. Kicking them off. Jensen swallowed at the sight, the fat dick red against the shallow dip of Jared's stomach, its tip slick. He felt his own cock fatten further, reached for Jared's hair again. Now he thought he saw why Jeff (and of course it would be up to Jeff) kept it long.

"Come on, then," Jensen said, low. "Suck my dick."

Jared moved like a whore, a good one, Jensen'd give him that. He'd seen plenty, in LA in '71 when everyone was stumbling drunk into the new decade, long-legged boys with their sure mouths and too-wide eyes. He couldn't see Jared's eyes, but he could see from the way he handled Jensen's belt, yanked it open, fisted his dick, that he'd done this a lot, efficient and quick. There was more than efficiency, though, in the way Jared leaned forward blindly to press his face to the bared spine of Jensen's cock, the way he parted his lips over the head, sucking at the crown for a moment before pushing on. The way his breath caught. Jared loved this, Jensen recognised dimly, through the flare of pleasure. Jared's mouth opened easily, sheathing Jensen's dick almost into his throat in one downward push, and it was instinct alone that made Jensen push at the base of his skull, shove him down, yank him back up again.

"That's it, sweetheart," Jensen told him, hips starting up a steady, incremental motion back and forth over Jared's wet tongue, into his mouth. "That's it, baby. You want to be treated like a back-alley prostitute, you better be a fuckin' good one, you hear me?"

Christ, but he was good. His mouth was hot and wet and clever, tongue finding all the right spots, licking up the underside of Jensen's dick and then nudging at the place below the ridge that made his thighs spasm hotly. He knew just how to suck, how to hold his breath as Jensen pulled him up, how to bob his head; knew how to open his throat and swallow so the muscles fluttered around the tip of Jensen's cock at just the right moment, and fuck --

"Enough." Jensen was panting, close, and Jared was breathing heavily too when Jensen hauled him up and off, shoved him backward onto the bed. His pink mouth was shiny with precome and spit and part of Jensen wanted just to thrust right back in between his lips, fuck him till he came all over the kid's face. But the rest of him -- the rest of him remembered the way Jared's pretty mouth shaped the word fuck. The rest of him wanted to have Jared, while he could, in every way that was allowed.

"Wanna fuck you," Jensen said shortly, kicking off his shoes, then stepping out of the tangle of his pants and undershorts. "Get yourself ready."

"No need," Jared said, and Jensen's breath caught again on a low groan as the kid spread his thighs to show the square base of a plug between, holding him open.

"Jesus Christ," he said, throat dry. Then, in a rush of daring, "Get on your hands and knees for me, Jared. Let me see you."

The plug, when Jensen got hold of the base, came out easily, the plastic slick with lube, and there was Jared pink and already wet for him, Jesus. Jensen's fingers found his hips, steadying himself; he thrust home in one slow, firm stroke that made Jared's back arch and Jensen's own body clench up everywhere at the shock of it, the sheer blazing heat.

"C'mon," he panted, fingers digging hard into Jared's hips, "c'mon, kid, you wanna get fucked or not?"

Jared groaned, shoved back, and that was it, that was all Jensen needed. He was already close, coiled up like a tensed spring, and the rhythm was easy enough to fall into, Jared pushing firmly back against him as he thrust forward, Jared's low groans and the catlike arch of his back amping up the hot pressure between Jensen's legs.

"Fuckin' Christ," Jensen ground out, hand curving around to press at the flat of Jared's abdomen, to encircle the fat length of his dick, "fuckin' Christ, Jared. Come on, kid." His hand slid wetly up and down Jared's cock, jacking him sticky-slick and rough. "Fuckin' get there, I know you can. I know you love this."

He felt it from the inside first when Jared started to come, his muscles clenching. Then Jared cried out, hard and hoarse, and started to spurt in deep pulses, over Jensen's still-moving fist, over the bed beneath them. Jensen's own rhythm had gone sloppy now, his thrusts erratic, but if Jared had felt good before he felt unbearably so with his body rippling around Jensen's cock and Jensen -- Jensen --

"Fuckin' hell," Jensen spat, releasing Jared's dick to take hold of him again with both hands, pounding into him as hard now as he could get, practically hauling Jared back onto his cock. He shoved home, hard and deep as he could, and that was enough; he squeezed his eyes closed as he started to come, filling Jared up, getting his use out of him. Mess could always be cleaned away and the borrowed thing returned good as new, after all.

After, they didn't speak. Jared didn't even move except to collapse onto his front on the bed, roll onto his side. Jensen wiped himself awkwardly, heart still pounding. Dragged his clothes back on. Stumbled out of the room.

Jeff was there waiting for him, heavy-lidded as he glanced at Jensen sidelong, held out the remains of a new joint.

"Good 'un, isn't he?" he said, as if remarking on a new car or a favourite horse.

Jensen swallowed hard and took the joint. "I need a shower."

"That makes two of us," said Jeff, and grinned.
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