Work Text:
Title: Come, He Told Me (Pa Rum Pum Pum Pum)
Characters: Jensen/Jared, Tom Welling, Michael Rosenbaum
Rating: NC-17.
Word Count: 3, 684
Disclaimer: These things are kind of silly on RPS, aren’t they? Oh well…I don’t own Jensen (damn it) or Jared (DAMN IT!) and this never happened. Ever, even.
Summary: Jensen’s unhappy with certain Christmas arrangements, and Jared makes a bet with Rosenbaum. How’s that for foreshadowing?
Notes: Written for the fantabulous 
veronamay on the occasion of her birthday, based (loosely) on the following prompts: Christmas, phone call, and chocolate.
“You’re never allowed to answer my phone again.”
Jared flashes him a shameless grin, all bright eyes and teeth, and Jensen glares so that he doesn’t freaking smile right back. He wants to be pissed off at Jared right now, needs to be, because this shit is just so not on and he could’ve been at home right now; watching basketball and making plans to rob Jared of house and home come championship time. Instead, he’s stuck outside in the freezing Canadian air watching hordes of people enter and leave the Pacific Centre. Knowing he has to go in there himself…eventually.
Jared’s still watching him with that meaningful smile, head cocked. “It’s for a good cause,” is all he says, voice soft and pointed. He claps a hand on Jensen’s shoulder, squeezes in a warm gesture that goes a long way to thawing Jensen’s irritation. “C’mon, Jensen.”
Jensen glances over, sees the flush highlighting Jared’s cheeks. Jared looks completely happy and in his element, and yeah, it’s easy for Jared to be excited. His co-star gets to be Santa Claus, right down to the furry white beard and bowl full of jelly belly. Jensen? Well, Jensen’s feet have bells on them. And the goddamn tights are making his ass itch.
Jared laughs quietly and Jensen hears his words echoing in the air before he even realizes he spoke out loud. Arms crossed tightly against his chest, he refrains from making a scene and just stomps toward the mall, determined not to wince at the musical accompaniment of his pointed shoes.
Not for the first time since receiving Eric’s message via Jared, Jensen makes plans to maim and destroy his boss and so-called “friend”. He knows it’s the giving time of the year, or whatever, but hell…hasn’t he been giving himself? Every week? Long hours, bumps and bruises, late nights and early mornings…he gives more of his damn self to this show than he’s ever given to anything in his life. But apparently that’s not enough for Eric Kripke and the fucking network suits.
“Hey.” Jared pulls him to a stop, eyeing him from beneath ridiculously snowy-white eyebrows, and Jensen’s teeth grit together. Jared’s watching him with familiar affection, reaching up to flick his finger down the slope of Jensen’s nose. “Jen, you know…you know this is the right thing to do. Right?”
And the thing that pisses Jensen off the most? Is that he does know that. Of course he does. But still… “Couldn’t we have just volunteered at a soup kitchen instead?” he asks, voice dangerously close to a whine as he picks at the stupid stupid row of holly adorning the green-velvet vest stretched tight across his chest.
“Probably, but this is what they asked us to do.” And for Jared, it’s always just that simple. Sometimes Jensen envies Jared’s ability to just put himself out there and not give a damn what anyone might say or think, but mostly it just frustrates him to no end.
When he doesn’t answer, Jared bumps his shoulder with his own before continuing, “Besides, it’s kids. Would you rather deal with dozens of screaming girls instead?”
Jensen gives him the stink-eye. “I hate you.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Jared says, turning to walk backward and grinning wickedly. “Because I was gonna let you pick your own name, but now I think I’ll just call you…Hermey.”
“You are a fucking bastard.”
“Why am I such a misfit? I am not just a nit-wit. You can't fire me, I quit,” Jared sings the classic off-key, and Jensen punches him in the stomach. “Ow, hey!” Jared rubs at the swollen prosthetic masquerading as his belly, eyes sparkling and intimate as he leans in to tsk, “You’re on my naughty list now, Hermey.”
This time, Jensen shoves him right into a pole, smirking when Jared’s breath whooshes out and he teeters over, arms flailing comically while he struggles to regain his balance. Jensen lets out a cackle before grabbing Jared’s arm and righting him again. “And my good mood is restored. It’s a Christmas miracle.”
Jared glares at him, but there’s no real heat in his gaze when he rumbles, “Scrooge.”
Jensen snorts, tugging at his collar and eyeing the mall with narrowed eyes. “Let’s just get this shit over with so I can go home and start denying it ever happened.”
They head into the mall, immediately finding Santa’s Workshop set up just where Eric said it would be, and Jensen’s eye twitches a bit at the sight of all the kids bouncing and lingering around the grotto. He doesn’t realize he’s frozen in place until there’s a tug at his elbow, and he looks over to find Jared quirking a brow at him.
"You ready?" Jared angles his head toward Jensen's left, and it sounds like it's not the first time Jared's asked. “They said the changing room should be back around that corner.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” Like he’s getting to change anytime soon.
He follows Jared, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible despite the forest green tights and the motherfucking bells. When they finally, blessedly, enter the small room, he’s accosted by the scariest sight since the fan who’d shown up dressed to marry Eric Brady during a Days of Our Lives event.
“Honey, our backup is here,” a familiar voice chortles, and Jensen learns what it feels like to die. Slowly.
Jared’s hooting and clapping, grinning from ear-to-ear as Mike pulls down his own snowy beard and takes a bow. “How’d you guys make out?” Jared asks, and Jensen resists the urge to rub his forehead when he sees Tom tugging at an elf costume that perfectly matches Jensen’s. And looking just about as miserable.
“We spread our share of Christmas cheer,” Mike drawls, sprawling back in a chair and folding his arms over his now flattened belly. He shakes his had in mock-sadness. “You boys are but pale imitations.”
Jensen glares, but Jared just laughs more. “Dude, I can out-Claus you any day of the damn week.”
“Kid, I knew about Santa while you were still just a thought in the back of your Mama’s head. Way, way in the back.” Mike looks over at Tom, flutters his lashes. “Besides, my elf is the prettiest little elf in all the land.” Tom flips him the bird, and Mike chuckles. “Fiesty, too.”
“Oh, please.” Jared looks bored now, going so far as to blow on his nails. “Jensen is so prettier, dipshit. I got pages and pages of online debate that say so.”
“Yeah, prettier than you,” Mike cracks, and Jensen decides it’s a good time to step in before things get ugly. Or Jared and Mike bond or something equally frightening.
“What the fuck are you two doing here?” He gets the necessary question out of the way, narrowing his gaze on Tom, who’s yet to speak since they came in. At the sour look he gets in response, he suddenly understands and can’t deny getting a bit of perverse enjoyment out of it. “Oh. Network got to Superman, too, huh?”
“Fuck you,” Tom drawls, and Jensen meets Jared’s eyes and grins.
“Well, Tom, look at it as a character study,” Jared suggests, all earnest expression and mischievous eyes. “You’re gonna have to get used to those tights.”
Tom’s cool as ever, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Remind me to have you fired later, Padalecki.” It's a running joke among the four of them because of the rumored clout that Tom has with the network. Although if he’s here and dressed like one of Santa’s little helpers…Jensen has to wonder just who’s influencing whom.
“Okay, but seriously?” Mike leans forward, eyes gleaming, and Jensen swallows a groan because he knows that look and what it means. The loosest definition would be Trouble. Sure enough…“Let’s make things interesting.”
Jensen and Tom both open their mouths as one chorus of “hell no!” but Jared – of course – looks interested. Jensen’s already mentally facepalming even before he hears his co-star say, “What do you have in mind?”
Mike all but rubs his hands together, and with all the red adorning his body, Jensen thinks he looks more like the devil than any version of Santa. “I’m thinking this occasion calls for a little wager.”
“What doesn’t?” Jensen mutters, sinking back against the wall in defeat and surrender.
Jared’s brow furrows. “I already told you, Jensen is way prettier—”
Mike walks over and whispers into Jared’s ear, and Jensen watches with horrified fascination as Jared goes red, then laughs and looks delighted before slapping Mike on the back and saying, “Oh, that is on, dude.”
Mike looks way too smug, and Jensen knows that Mike doesn’t make bets he doesn’t plan to win, or cheat to win, and he wants to drag Jared somewhere dark and strangle him. Tom’s still trying to look impassive, but he’s darting worried looks at Mike every few seconds.
“We gotta go,” he finally grumbles, taking Mike’s arm and all but dragging him from the room. Jensen barely hears him add in a low growl, “Before you do something entirely fucking stupid.” And then Mike’s laughing, “Relax, Tommy. It’ll never happen. He’s too much of a tightass.”
He turns back to find Jared watching him, expression unreadable even with the huge grin on his face. “Well?” Jensen asks after a beat of silence. Jared cocks his head, questioning, and Jensen refuses to raise his voice. “What the hell was that all about, Jared?”
“You’ll find out later,” is all Jared says, sending him a wink and brushing past. Jensen jumps at the ghost of Jared’s palm against his ass, and glares after him before sucking it up and following.
***
It only takes about an hour of passing out candy canes and hefting small children up onto Jared’s lap, watching his co-star bellow out “Ho, ho, ho!” and promise footballs and Barbies galore before Jensen realizes that they’re the center of attention…and not just from the line of present-hungry kids and mamas. There’s a small group of teenage girls loitering on the outskirts of the grotto, pointing and staring, and Jensen wants to hang himself with one of the curling branches of ivy dangling from the ceiling.
He tries several times to catch Jared’s eye, demand a break, but Santa is too busy whispering and giggling with a little girl in a pink dress. Jensen can barely make out the exchange – something to do with a My Little Pony tea set – but he doesn’t have to hear what’s going on to know that Jared’s attention is supremely captivated, so he clenches his jaw and turns back to the line.
He manages a smile, listening to two boys around the age of eight or nine excitedly discussing the merits of a paintball gun, and almost blurts “You’ll shoot your eye out!” from sheer boredom. Instead, he waits for Jared to finish, then helps the little girl down and sends her back to her mother before glancing – again – at the clock. This time, he feels Jared watching him, and meets the shadowed gaze with heat in his own. Jared’s mouthing something to him, but Jensen can’t understand through the beard, so he turns back to dig into the bucket of candy canes and tries to remember that stupid song about peace and goodwill to men.
Another hour later, the candy is gone and so is any goodwill Jensen has left. He and Jared are back in the changing room, alone, and he’s fumbling with the buttons on his vest and muttering under his breath about a hot shower and gluing Eric’s toilet seat down.
“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Jared says, beard-free and fake belly deflated on the floor at his feet. The suspenders holding up his pants are loose and lax, allowing for a gap from his navel to just below the curve of his hips. Jensen blinks, tries not to stare, and shoves a candy cane in his mouth before he does something to totally blow his righteous indignation, like walk over there and—
“And we kicked Mike and Tom’s asses,” Jared continues, oblivious of Jensen’s sharp consideration, teeth flashing as he slants Jensen a quick smile. “Not bad, Hermey.”
“Shut up,” Jensen mutters, licking his lips as Jared chuckles and slides one suspender down his shoulder. “And I wanna know what the hell you bet Rosenbaum about,” he adds as an afterthought.
At that, Jared almost imperceptibly freezes, and then turns with slow purpose toward Jensen. And Jensen knows that look all too well, too, and his blood starts churning a little faster, wilder, an answering surge deep in his balls as Jared backs him up against the sink.
For a long moment Jared just watches him, and then he moves so quick Jensen doesn’t have time to suck in a breath before he’s being spun around and pushed up against the counter. His hands grip the edge, an excited hitch to his voice when he asks, “So, you get off on impersonating a childhood figurehead, huh, Jay?”
“You know, maybe I should have a little talk with wardrobe when we get back,” Jared murmurs, voice grainy and soft as he reaches around to cover Jensen’s white-knuckled hands with his own. This brings them closer together, Jared’s hips pressing against Jensen’s ass in a dirty-slow grinding that has Jensen biting down on his tongue to keep from giving into a groan. Jared brings his mouth close, breathing the rest of his thought right into Jensen’s ear. “I could get used to these tights.”
“Son of a…bitch,” Jensen manages, teeth clenched as he bucks back against Jared and feels heat and hard, purposeful dick. His mind’s all fuzzy and out of focus, sweat’s beading across his brow as he lets out a soft sound and pushes back again. “Jared, whu—”
“We’re off duty and all, but Jen?” Jared’s voice is filthy with promise. “It’s not too late to sit on Santa’s lap.”
Jensen wants to laugh; the line’s so cheesy and Jared, which is probably exactly why it’s also so fucking hot. He makes a sound he’s not entirely sure is human, head lolling back against Jared’s neck as he opens his mouth against the salty-sweet skin and tastes. It’s a bit of a victory to feel Jared shudder, and then Jensen’s shoved up harder, hissing out in excitement while Jared’s hand comes down and around to toy with the button of his waistband.
There’s a moment of prolonged suspense while Jared tries to undo Jensen’s tights, both of them panting and rubbing, and then Jared mutters a curse and tugs. “It’s stuck,” he whines deep in his throat, and Jensen’s eyes squeeze shut in frustration.
“Just fucking rip it.” His throat works, voice husky and desperate, and he feels Jared growl against him as he braces himself just in time for large fingers to take hold and jerk. His button flies off to clink somewhere against the floor, and then Jared’s shoving the tights down Jensen’s hips and Jensen chews his lips helplessly. “Yeah, Jared, c’mon…”
“Been a good boy this year, Jensen?” Jared laughs low, nose nuzzling Jensen’s neck as Jensen groans and shakes his head. “Think you deserve a…stocking stuffer?”
“Oh, God, please shut up,” Jensen chokes out, but can’t deny the rush of blood to his dick at Jared’s ridiculous lines. He rocks back pointedly. “Just fuck me.”
“I will.” And now Jared sounds completely serious, voice catching at the end as he grinds up against the crease of Jensen’s bare ass. “Good and hard, and you won’t have a damn thing to complain about when we go talk to Eric later.”
Jensen’s fingers curl against the counter; he throws a pouty look over his shoulder and finds Jared’s dark gaze snagged on his lips. “You gonna keep tellin’ me about it, or am I gonna start feelin’ it soon?”
He barely gets the words out of his mouth before Jared’s got two fingers in his ass, and Jensen startles a bit at the unfamiliar feel of slick heat. “Jesus, what is that?” he manages, blinking slow and unsteady. A small tube is thrust in his line of sight, and he reads the label with a dazed sense of hysteria. “Chocolate boy butter?”
“I got it from Mike,” is all Jared says, rough and rumbly, twisting his fingers until Jensen’s laugh dissolves into a drawn-out moan and he fucks back onto Jared’s hand. “That’s it, baby,” Jared purrs, using his free palm to stroke Jensen’s hip. “Open up nice and pretty for me, okay? Wider.”
“Trying,” Jensen grits out, rolling his hips and dropping his head between his shoulders as his lashes flutter and his ass stretches around Jared’s persistent thrusts. The slick-slide of the lube and Jensen’s soft panting are the only noises in the small room.
“A little more, can you take a little more?” Jared murmurs, begs, dropping a kiss on the apex of Jensen’s shoulder and sliding his fingers in and out with a slow and dirty rhythm. He slips in another, and Jensen gurgles a bit at the length of that single digit. “I wanna make it feel good, Jen.” Jared mouths Jensen’s skin, making throaty sounds of encouragement. “I’m a lot bigger than those candy canes you’ve been passing out all day.”
Jensen barks out a laugh. “I think I remember.” And then Jared brushes something so sweet inside him and he jerks back in blinding surprise. “Christ.”
And either that’s exactly what Jared’s been waiting to hear, or he’s not as in control as Jensen had thought, because those long fingers slip free with a squishy pop and there’s the distinct sound of heavy clothing hitting the floor before something huge (and definitely bigger than a candy cane) is pressing inside of him.
Jared’s a dirty talker at the best of times, and he lets loose with a husky string of filth that has Jensen’s ears burning and his cock twitching as Jared’s dick settles in deep. Those big hands are molded to the curve of Jensen’s hips, fingers squeezing what Jensen knows will be colorful bruises in the morning, just like he knows Jared will lick and suck every mark he made with appreciative apology until Jensen’s begging him for more. The invisible spots are already dancing like fire across his skin, and he rocks back and up on the tips of his toes to give them both better leverage and get as much of Jared’s cock as he can stand.
Jared groans low, seeming to read Jensen’s mind as he bends closer to slur, “Fuckin’ hungry for my dick, aren’t you? Never seen someone so fucking starving for it.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jensen swallows, not even caring how frantic he sounds. “Get it deeper. God.”
“Mmm…” And then Jared slows a bit, and Jensen whines a protest. “That what you want for Christmas, Jensen? My dick buried so deep in your ass you can taste it?”
“Fuck,” Jensen’s voice catches with a burst of Jared’s hips, “you.” All he can taste right now is his own sweat, bitter and salty on his tongue, and his hips tilt slightly as he reaches back and curls his fingers around the tight curve of Jared’s ass. “Thought I was on your naughty list…and you’re giving me what I want?”
Jared’s laugh is strained and amused. “I make exceptions,” he manages, driving in, out, pounding Jensen into and against the counter with steady strokes. “Better than a lump of coal, right?”
“Who’s Cole?” Jensen tries to deadpan, but Jared swirls his hips and it sends a flare of heat ricocheting from Jensen’s balls to the head of his cock. He grits his teeth and tries to hang on, reaching down and squeezing the base of his dick, but it has a mind of its own and all it takes is another shallow thrust before he’s spilling and splashing across his fist and stomach, Jared’s name a curse and a blessing on his lips.
“Love watching you do that,” Jared’s saying in his ear, voice thick and slow, and Jensen squeezes his eyes shut, turning his head just enough so that Jared nudges their lips together. It’s a sloppy, wet, open-mouthed kiss full of spit and tongue – Jensen can taste something sweet on Jared’s tongue, knows his co-star was probably pilfering from the kid’s candy jar all day – and when Jared wraps his tongue around Jensen’s and strokes velvety-soft, Jensen’s hand milks another creamy burst from his dick before Jared stills behind him, jerking once. Jared lets loose with a guttural growl, sucking Jensen’s bottom lip between his teeth and driving in shallow thrusts that barely drag his dick along Jensen’s insides.
The sweat rapidly cooling on their skin feels like glue, and when Jared finally pulls away Jensen winces a bit at the subtle shift and tug. He catches sight of them both in a mirror hanging across the room, unable to keep from blushing a little at the image of himself; flushed and wrecked. Bare-assed with come drying in sticky trails down his lower belly. His eyes travel over Jared’s similarly debauched form, lingering to watch his friend remove the condom with ease and a wrinkled nose, tossing it into a nearby trashcan.
“Gross,” Jensen sneers, because God knows he feels too damn comfortable with all of this, with Jared. He always has, and doesn’t see it disappearing anytime soon. And yet, he’s not all that upset about it. Maybe because Jared looks over at him, goofy grin on his face, and Jensen knows the feeling’s mutual.
“Gotta make a pit-stop, and then we can head home,” Jared says, bending over his duffle bag to drag a pair of clean boxer-briefs over his hips with a snap. Jensen leans back, appreciating the view with a sexy smirk before Jared’s words sink in.
“Pit-stop where?”
Jared doesn’t quite meet his gaze, but the lazy, satisfied look on his face tells Jensen everything before he opens his mouth to add, “Just gotta settle a bet.”