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Sinful Desire
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Published:
2007-02-13
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2007-02-13
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12,645
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4/4
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'til you're old enough to know things ain't as they appear

Summary:

Jensen dives into the seedy underbelly of Pledge Week at UT for a news article and gets more than he bargained for. Completely cliche and totally AU, but y'know, it could've happened. If the universe was, like, alternate.

Notes:

Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at Sinful-Desire.org. To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on Sinful Desire collection profile.

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Title: 'til you’re old enough to know things ain't as they appear
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: R [NC-17 overall]
Word Count: 3, 410
Summary: Jensen dives into the seedy underbelly of Pledge Week at UT for a news article and gets more than he bargained for. Completely cliché and totally AU, but y’know, it could’ve happened. If the universe was, like, alternate.
Notes: This story’s going to be told in a non-linear fashion, therefore things will not unfold chronologically. So basically, pay attention to the timeframe at the beginning of each section, and you’ll be able to follow along just fine. You don’t need to know everything that’s going on just yet.




University of Texas.
Pledge Week.
Day 4.




A dog collar. A fucking collar. He guesses he should be glad Jared went for a simple blue ribbon instead of a glittery pink fiasco like he’d seen a few of the other pledges running around with. Chad’s little Brother is wearing spikes, so there is that.

It’s just. It’s just feeling the damned thing stretched tight against his throat, and then seeing the leash in Jared’s hand…it’s just seventeen different kinds of fucked up, is what it is. And way too fucking hot for Jensen’s peace of mind, as he’s basically dragged through the east quad, head bowed, enduring the pointed stares and cat-calls and feeling his cheeks flush from the sun and his own confused excitement.

Christ, he should not be getting off on this. None of it’s real; it’s all some stupid power play by a bunch of idiotic fratboys to initiate whomever they deem worthy into their weird, sycophantic society. Jensen knows this. He does.

It’s just that none of his research, none of his notes ever prepared him for Jared -- for this fucking kid with ridiculous dimples and floppy hair. He isn’t prepared to deal with heavy-lashed, slanted eyes that belong on a fucking cat, or a puppy, or someone sucking Jensen’s dick. Oh, yeah, that last one especially.

To make matters even worse, or better depending on just how fucking screwed Jensen wants to let himself be, he doesn’t think he’s imagining Jared’s reaction to him, either. The quick looks and coy smiles whenever he doesn’t think that dipshit Chris is looking, the way he’s unnecessarily up in Jensen’s personal space every damn second of the damn day. Fucking touching Jensen, teasing him, when he knows – he knows -- Jensen can’t do a damn thing about it. Because it’s Master and Servant Day, and Jensen can’t afford to say what the fuck, Jared? because he can’t blow this. He won’t.

Fucking fraternities and their sick, twisted mindgames.

His erection just pisses him off, just solidifies his intentions. He hunches his shoulders and grits his teeth, determined to ignore the pulsing, demanding call of his dick -- c’mon, Jen, just look at his mouth! -- and to concentrate instead on the article he’s gonna write that’s gonna expose Delta Sigma Pi for the hazing jackasses they really are.

So he doesn’t let himself think about Jared, or the warm curl in his belly when Jared suddenly stops, spins around and pins Jensen in place with the force of a quick flash of teeth.

“We’re here.” Deep, provocative voice that Jensen most definitely has not been jerking off to every night since he was assigned to the overgrown, ridiculously sexy man-child.

Jensen opens his mouth, then remembers his role when Jared’s eyes narrow. He lowers his gaze and simply nods his head. Hopes that Jared misses the subtle curve of the sneer on his lips.

There’s a beat of silence. “Well, come on then.” Jared tugs on the leash and Jensen’s dragged a few inches forward. He blinks, looking up and sucking in sharply at the curious gleam in Jared’s eyes. “Something you wanna say, pledge?” Jared asks, too softly, and Jensen’s not sure if it’s an invitation or a threat.

He just shakes his head, blood thundering in his ears and cock thick and swollen in his pants. Follows Jared inside of the house, down the hall, meek and obedient like a fucking slave, and God, why isn’t he completely disgusted yet?

A part of him is, of course. And he’s pretty sure that if he’d been assigned to Chad or any of the other Brothers, he’d be having a hard time not outing himself and punching all of the smug pricks in their Greek noses.

With Jared, his problem’s not falling so far into the game that he doesn’t want to stop playing.

“Turn left,” Jared says, even though he’s the one leading Jensen around by the collar. His voice takes on a crooning softness that has a hot shudder starting deep in Jensen’s bones. They stop in front of a door, and Jared lifts a brow. “Go on in, I’ll be there in a second.”

Jensen swallows back the questions his reporter’s instinct screams, just pushes open the door and walks inside. He knows it’s Jared’s room even without seeing the pictures decorating the walls, the baseball bat in the corner of the room, the Cowboys poster on the ceiling. He knows it’s Jared’s room because it smells like clean soap and musky spice and everything else that’s been haunting Jensen since the beginning.

If he wasn’t hard before, he’s aching and ready to burst now.

A minute later the door shuts behind him, and he startles a bit before Jared’s warm hand closes down over his shoulder, those long fingers curling practically into Jensen’s collarbone. Jared’s other hand settles on Jensen’s other shoulder, and Jensen finds himself pressed up against the wall before he ever sees Jared move.

There’s a faint warning in his head, a dim wail of, oh shit, what’re you doing, Jensen? Mayday, mayday! but goddamn, Jared’s seducing him with his eyes and his mouth and the cock of his hips as he brushes close and hums just under his breath.

“Did you learn the Creed, Jensen?”

Jensen can’t look away from the gleam of saliva on Jared’s wide mouth. Realizes Jared must’ve licked his lips, and oh, God.

“Y-Yes.” He struggles to get his bearings, barely recognizing the husky-raw sound of his own voice. “I studied it.”

“Good.”

When Jared turns around and walks away, Jensen slumps against the wall and wonders what the hell he missed. Disappointment is a bitter tang on his tongue, frustration chasing sour that he’d been about two seconds away from grabbing Jared by his shirt and dragging that pouty, smirky mouth to his own. Fucking tasting what’s only been a tease for too damn long.

Then Jared’s reaching for his shirt, pulling it over is head, and Jensen’s mouth drops open and a strangled sound thickens the air when Jared nods. “Say it for me.”

I want you. It’s the first thing Jensen thinks to say, but he swallows it down, not missing the knowing flash in those dark, watchful eyes. “Okay,” he says instead, and searches his brain for anything other than thoughts of Jared, naked Jared, naked horny Jared, naked horny Jared licking a naked Jensen…

“You gotta tell me, Jensen,” Jared’s smoky voice sounds just beside him, punctuating the slip-slide of palm on Jensen’s shoulder, and when the hell had the fucker moved? “I’m not gonna force you. I wanna hear it from those mmm-pretty pink lips first.”

Oh, God. Jensen squirms, heat spreading through his belly. More than likely, Jared’s just fucking with him…testing him. Seeing how easily Jensen’ll break. The Deltas sure as hell were pulling out the big guns with this guy.

A soft noise comes out of Jared’s throat, and he walks around and kneels in front of Jensen. Brown-green eyes are hooded and glittering, lips pursed, and it’s all too easy for Jensen to imagine them bite-swollen and come-slick as he swallows a groan and lifts his lashes to meet Jared’s consuming gaze.

“To believe in what my Brothers hold True,” Jensen recites, voice husky-rough, cracking a little when those long fingers reach for his belt. That same something flashes through Jared’s eyes, his lips curving and tongue swiping the edges -- oh, goddamn -- and Jensen cants his hips, lids falling half-mast. “To walk…walk in the way of Those Before Me.”

“That’s good.” Jared croons it softly, working leather through silver. Shaggy curls fall across his eyes, and Jensen’s fingers itch to brush them back, twist and hold. He curls them into his palm, nails biting skin, and Jared chuckles low like he knows. “Keep going.”

Aw fuck, what even comes… “To serve…to serve…” He trails off, a sob catching in his throat when Jared leans forward and snags the hem of Jensen’s threadbare cotton shirt in his teeth. “Oh, God.

Just like that, Jared pulls back and moves away. Something like regret shines in his eyes before his voice hardens, going impersonal and flat. “Spoken out of turn, pledge.”

Shitdamnfuckinghell.

“Turn around.” Soft, commanding, and Jensen closes his eyes, lurches his hips, and tastes excitement rich on his tongue. Followed by slightly bitter uncertainty when denim’s tugged down past his ass, a callused hand brushing along in its wake. He shivers, drawing on his bottom lip, and pushes back just enough into Jared’s touch.

Please.

When it comes, Jared’s voice is almost apologetic. “Gonna have to punish you, Jensen. I need you on your knees for me, your hands on the floor. That’s right…just slide on down right there.” He hums under his breath, hands shaping Jensen’s hips and helping him into position.

Jensen can feel his legs shaking, wants to look over his shoulder but doesn’t dare. Just stares down at the carpet in Jared’s bedroom, ass up, hands down. Waiting. There’s a part of him that feels like he’s standing off in the corner, seeing all of this go down with not a little fascination and disbelief.

He doesn’t do this. Doesn’t submit himself to this kind of bullshit. Ever.

He’s so caught up in that thought, the crack of wood against palm makes him flinch, and his gaze snaps to Jared, dropping and freezing on the vaguely intimidating paddle in those large hands.

Oh. Fuck. His fingers are already curling in the too-long carpet fibers, throat clogging with pleas and protests, and then Jared quiets him with, “Eyes forward, pledge. Trust your Brother to take care of you.”

It’s totally fucking twisted, but Jensen’s dick is hard and ready to go, ass almost twitching in preparation for the first solid smack of the paddle. He hangs his head between his shoulders and swears to God Jared won’t hear him whimper.

“To believe in what my Brothers hold True.” Jared’s voice is grainy and filthy-low, almost like he’s trying to soothe Jensen’s frazzled nerves. Although Jensen knows damn well the last thing Jared’s there to do is make him feel comfortable. Sure enough, the paddle comes down, branding Jensen’s ass, and he bucks back into the sharp throb.

“Mmm. To walk in the way of Those Before Me,” Jared continues, purrs, stroking the edge of the paddle along the fiery patch of skin. “To serve with Honor.” The second bite of the paddle drags out a groan from deep in Jensen’s chest. He blinks heavy lashes and breathes a soundless curse, which Jared echoes into the thick silence. Then, “Ready to tell me the rest, pledge?”

For the first time all week, Jensen doesn’t want to talk. Just wants to stay there, bent over and taking it from this goddamn kid who’s got him by the short and curlies and fucking knows it, too. But his pride’s too much to swallow, and he hears himself saying, “This is the Belief, the Way, the H-Honor of Delta Sigma Pi.”

“What’s your name, pledge?” Another smack, softer and lower against Jensen’s left cheek.

Jensen hunches his shoulders, feels the burn and rides with it. “I have no name until I’ve earned the name of Brother.”

“And do you think you’ve earned it?” Soft breath, slurred vowels right in Jensen’s ear -- Jensen licks his lips and tries to ignore the thrum of blood in his veins and cock. There’s a test somewhere in here, and he can’t go letting his dick get the better of his brain.

“Not my decision to make,” he forces out, sweat starting to gather at his temples and the base of his spine, and Christ, but he can fucking taste the cologne flavoring Jared’s skin.

Jared’s quiet for a long moment. And then, “Very good.”

Jensen goes nearly limp with relief, blowing out a heavy breath and squeezing his eyes shut. It’s okay, you’ve still got a chance with this. Just keep playing the game.

“You’re very good, Jensen,” Jared repeats, husky and approving, and then his hands are sliding down Jensen’s hips, smoothing over the welts from the paddle. “You’re trying very hard, aren’t you? Wanna make your Brothers happy?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to correct Jared -- not the Brothers, just you -- but he can’t afford to be thinking those thoughts, much less saying them out loud to some guy he barely knows. Whether or not said guy makes his dick fly like a flag in a stiff breeze.

He’s silent for so long that Jared sighs, the sound amused and just a little annoyed. “You can speak, pledge. I’m asking you a question.”

Jensen flicks his tongue, wetting his lips. He’s unable to meet Jared’s gaze when Jared’s finger curls around his chin, tilting his face toward his own. “I just wanna…” Jared’s nose brushes his cheek; a soft tongue laps at the corner of his mouth. “Fuck. Jared.”

Everything goes still the second he whispers it, and horror mixes with anticipation. You’ve blown it, fucked it up, idiotidiotidiot…

“Yeah.” Jared’s voice is a growl against Jensen’s neck, sharp teeth sinking in. Marking, and Jensen groans and arches back when Jared’s hand slips down to rub at his dick. “Yeah. Say it again, wanna hear you—”

A loud knocking interrupts whatever Jared’s about to say, and Jensen’s first impulse is to leap away, pull his clothes on and deny, deny, deny. His trials in accepting his own sexuality taught him the importance of privacy, if nothing else, and he’s not about to let it get out that he likes being held down and spanked, for chrissake. Although really, it’s news to him as well.

“Don’t move.” Jared’s cursing and stomping toward the door, and Jensen hears it swing open, squeaking on its hinges. “What the fuck, man?”

“What’re you doing in there?” comes an obnoxiously familiar voice, and Jensen winces and tugs his jeans up, ignoring the sore scream of his ass. The absolute last thing he wants is for Chad to see him like this, to have it come back and bite him in the ass when this is all over.

Jared doesn’t sound too thrilled, either. “Dude, seriously. Go away.”

“What’re you…you got someone in there, Jay?” Jensen sees a head of dirty-blond hair bouncing over Jared’s shoulder, and contemplates diving behind the bed, despite the punishment he might receive from disobeying orders. “Who is he, you dog?”

Jared splutters out a breath, scratching the back of his neck, and Jensen can see the flush painting Jared’s skin pink. “He’s a pledge, dillhole.”

Chad’s whistle is knowing and sly. “Oh. Nice. You scored good on yours, man. Mine’s a lost fucking cause.”

Jensen practically hears Jared’s smirk, and shifts his feet, feeling a bit weird about standing here listening to Jared and Chad discuss him like he’s…like he’s fucking cattle or something. Which, technically, he is. At least for this week and under the eyes of these people.

And ain’t that a bitch?

But Jared only says, “Get lost, fucker. I’ll see you at dinner” and slams the door in Chad’s face, turning around and pinning Jensen with a single look as Jensen comes to his feet. “I told you not to move.”

Jensen’s jaw goes tight, and suddenly it’s all too clear. This kid is years younger than he is, doesn’t know a damn thing about what life’s like outside of the protective circle of college and the Delta Sigs, and Jensen can’t fucking believe he’s gotta accept that.

Something softens in Jared’s gaze then, and he steps forward. “Look, Jensen…I know this is all a little weird.”

You think? Jensen stays silent, tries not to think about the burn of the paddle on his ass or his own damned reaction to it.

Jared huffs out a breath, rubs the back of his neck, and looks Jensen up and down until Jensen’s ready to give up and glance away. “C’mon, Jen.” It’s so soft, Jensen almost wonders if he imagines it. Then the deliberate shortening of his name hits him, and he stares at Jared hard, trying to read whatever emotion’s shining in those green-brown depths.

“I.” He swallows, cuts himself off and bows his head. Then lifts his chin and stares Jared straight-on. “I have no name until I’ve earned the name of Brother.”

Jared’s throat works, his mouth opening and closing. The next time it comes, his voice carries a thread of disappointment that wasn’t there before. “Very good, pledge.”


 

xxx




University of Texas.
The Cactus Café.
Two weeks earlier.



“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Jensen smiles, wiping his hands with a questionably stained rag and tossing it on the counter. “It’s true,” he says, voice a low drawl that can barely be heard amidst the clatter of the Friday night dinner crowd and the wailing bluegrass band onstage.

Steve’s expression remains uncertain, and Jensen can practically read the baffled thoughts his friend’s projecting like a cartoon bubble over his head. Hell, he can barely believe it himself.

Jensen Ackles: Greek brother and alumnus has never been one of his life goals or aspirations, but all the same, when the call had come from The Daily Texan, he’d jumped at the opportunity and signed on for Rush Week with the notorious Delta Sigma Pi’s. It’s their own damn fault for sending him an invitation in the first place, and he’s not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth.

“But I thought…” Steve gets interrupted when a pretty blonde co-ed stumbles up to the bar, batting long lashes at his friend and begging for another Jack and Coke. Jensen just smirks, adjusting the ties of his apron and watching his friend assemble the drink, before Steve turns back to him and finishes his previous thought. “I thought you hated all that prissy Greek bullshit. ‘Solidarity’,” he mocks, gesturing with two fingers.

“I do.” Jensen snorts. “But man, you just have no idea…the shit you can get being Greek. With that kind of backing, I could probably get any internship I wanted.”

“And what makes you think they’ll choose a wannabe massage therapist-slash-busboy-slash-bit reporter when there’s plenty of aspiring doctors and lawyers waiting in the wings? Money likes money, Jen.”

Jensen’s smile becomes a smirk, knowing, and he bites his bottom lip before slanting Steve a look from under his lashes. “They’ve already invited me to join,” he points out. “Must’ve seen something they liked.”

Steve’s voice is less than impressed. “Yeah. I’ll bet. Just…just watch out, okay? I’ve heard some crazy shit, and I just. Just be careful.”

“Dude, seriously.” Jensen laughs, clapping Steve on the back as he comes around the bar counter. “I’m like three years older than most of these guys. I’m not scared of some little rich punks, and if I don’t like what I see, then I’m outta there before they can do a damn thing to me anyway.”

He’s not about to admit that the only people with something to worry about are gonna be the damn Delta Sigs when Jensen’s through with them.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious?” Steve presses, scrubbing a bit harder at a dirty glass. “I mean, why you? Why not Tommy? That guy’s been hot on the heels of every damn fraternity on campus and he’s got the family connections to back it up. You’re from fucking Richardson, and your dad sells used cars, man.”

Jensen lets the insult roll off his back, well used to the derogatory comments about his hometown and upbringing amidst the money and prestige of the Austin college scene. He knows Steve doesn’t mean anything by it; his home life’s almost as pathetic as Jensen’s, anyway.

“Sure, I’m curious.” He leans on the bar, ignoring the interested look from a vaguely familiar redhead he thinks he might have a night class on Thursdays with. She pouts, full lips sulky and pink, and Jensen thinks it’s a damn shame that the rest of her comes with the wrong equipment. “Why do you think I’m gonna show up there tomorrow?”

Steve’s watching him with narrowed eyes now, and damn, but the guy’s always known Jensen just a little too well. “What’re you up to, Jensen?”

Jensen grins, shrugs his shoulders and pushes back from the bar. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”