FIC: Got Me to the Bones (1/1)

[nilchance]

Title: Got Me to the Bones
Author: nilchance
Pairing: CWRPS, JDM/JA
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not real. Not character defamation. Just fiction.
A/N: Hooker fic, d/s themes. Betaed by the wonderful maharetr.



Thursday night, late, rain lashing the lake into a lather. The storm delivered stinging kisses on Jensen's face and arms, making the path slippery. Thunder rumbled overhead, an empty threat of lightning that never came. Jensen counted the pauses between thunder, the sound of his footsteps, the rhythm of his pulse. He counted as he ran, crowding his head with numbers until there was nothing else.

The running path was empty now. Even the homeless that usually crashed in the park had found drier, warmer places to be tonight. He was alone with the pavement beneath his sneakers and the heartbeat in his head. It was simple, clean. He controlled his body. He controlled himself-

"Jensen," Yuri murmured, his smile bright as he rose behind the barricade of his desk. He looked like a business man, his accent stripped away to Midwestern blandness. He offered his hand to shake, and the chain of a necklace slithered out of his shirt to dangle over his tie. The golden cage on its chain, spinning gently in midair. "It's so good to see you. You look well."

Comparatively speaking. It had been five days since he stole Jeff's wallet, three since Yuri scheduled a meeting. Jensen had been living on coffee for the days leading up to this appointment, feeling jagged beneath his skin, too taut for sleep. Yuri had seen him look much worse; at least now Jensen didn't smell like puke and gutter water. "Thanks," Jensen said, forcing a smile as he took Yuri's hand.

There should've been some cue then, some invitation for Jensen to come around the desk and unzip Yuri's pants. Instead, Yuri caressed the back of his knuckles and said, "Adam sends his regards."

Jensen froze, but it was too late to run.

As he rounded the corner, his foot nearly slid out from under him. Jensen stumbled, grabbing for the rim of a nearby trash can to steady himself, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He pulled out of the fall and pushed himself harder, thighs burning as he broke into a sprint.

"You've done well," Yuri crooned. "Better than we could've hoped. You're gifted, Jensen. Blessed. You belong on your knees."

Jensen relaxed his grip and tried to free himself, but Yuri held on. The pressure increased by degrees until Yuri's fingers dug bruises, lighting Jensen up inside. He was reminded, perversely, of Jeff.

"Thank you," Jensen said again, because there was nothing else to say. "I'm glad I pleased you."

Yuri grinned, his eyes glinting under the horn-rimmed glasses. "You've always pleased me. You always will."

Another reminder, even with Yuri's grip like a shackle. The cage on its chain spun and spun. Jensen dragged his eyes to Yuri's. "My debt--"

"Business. I'm a patient man. We'll talk of it another day." Releasing Jensen's hand, Yuri reached into his desk drawer. "For now, a gift."

The plastic bag of powder hit the table between them. Jensen's stomach lurched; he clenched his hand into a fist to keep from reaching for it. His mouth felt dry. He couldn't breathe.

"The best," Yuri said. "I know what you like."

Jensen shook inside, but the world of Yuri's office was quiet and still. He breathed, and opened his mouth, and spoke a pretty "thank you" like a string had been pulled, and he took the heroin off the desk and put it in his pocket. It sang inside his head, the dream-memory of peace and languor, a promise to his blood.

Yuri sat and patted his knee, and Jensen went to him. He had nowhere else to go.

Jensen controlled the stretch and burn of his muscles, the tempo of his steps, the way he hurt. He controlled his thoughts, his body, his hunger. He controlled the wetness on his face and the fatigue in his bones, and he'd controlled the spiral the heroin had made as he flushed it down the toilet.

Fuck Yuri, fuck Adam, fuck this goddamn town. Fuck the wallet, fuck the company, and fuck Jeff twice for trying to--

Jensen caught sight of the public rest area, the patch of trees, the basketball court. Madison, where he'd started his run. He stumbled out of his sprint and slowed, let the runner's high fade into a golden, lingering ache. For a moment, all he felt was tired, deep and satisfying. It lasted long enough for him to reach his bag, bending to take the cell phone. Then the feeling began again, the maddening itch, the whisper that he had to move-move-move or be paralyzed by some creeping shadow.

Which was a nice way to say that he was tweaking the fuck out.

Rain dotted the surface of the cell phone, blurring the display that told him he had three messages pending. Two were from Christian, probably wondering how the meeting with Yuri had gone. One was from dispatch: an appointment time and location.

Even with water running down his face and into his eyes, Jensen could feel the grime of Yuri's touch on his skin. Better to dilute it before he even tried to go home and sleep. Besides, it was a chance to make some quick cash. The floodwaters were closing in, but he threw sandbags in their way one blowjob, one fuck, one humiliation at a time.

It was a quick walk to the hotel, his bag thrown over one shoulder. The doorman nearly greeted him as a guest and offered him a towel, until Jensen pulled the hood of his sweatshirt back. Expression flinching, the doorman went silent, then pointed him towards the service elevator.

It took a few seconds to mop up. Jensen stripped in the small concrete cell where they kept the elevator, wringing his sodden sweats out until the rainwater ran into its drains. Skin still damp, he tugged on the jeans and tight t-shirt. He didn't bother tying his boots, taking the extra few seconds to paint careless slashes of eyeliner under his eyes. The black bled down a little, following tracks of rain. Jensen tossed his bag into the elevator and followed, pressing the penthouse floor's button as he went.

As the numbers rose, his mood sank. He crossed his arms, gritted his teeth, avoided his own eyes in the mirror. His foot wanted to bounce restlessly. He held still, held tighter, breathed in slow. The walls were too close. Up and up, until the last number lit up and the doors opened in front of him.

Jensen stepped into the apartment, and the pent-up feelings in his legs just got worse. It was bad tonight, worse than usual. But what the hell else could he do, cry about it? He wanted the distraction, the choking weight in his mouth, the sound of someone nearly begging above him. He wanted somebody else to feel trapped in their own skin, waiting for him to decide when they could get off.

There were boots sitting by the door, quiet sounds of life coming from the bedroom. Jensen exhaled, then put his bag down (careful, careful, as much as he wanted to throw it) and went. Short on charm as he was tonight, he forced life into his voice as he said, "You ready to play, baby?"

Sitting there on the bed, long legs stretched out in front of him, was Jeff. He smiled at Jensen, a wolf's smile. The glass of expensive scotch (only the best for their rich johns) made an almost musical sound against the table as Jeff sat it down. "You're late."

Jensen froze in the doorway. It didn't make sense; Jeff wasn't supposed to come back.

Fine. He could handle this. He could settle and work Jeff over. But after a minute of breathing, his words still came out in a blurt. "I don't have your wallet."

"Never said you did." Jeff held out his hand, palm up, long fingers bent. "C'mere, boy."

Even from the relative safety of the doorway, Jensen wanted to back away from Jeff's hand. Which was bullshit; he had it under control, he could do this. Just another job.

Faint lines crinkled around Jeff's eyes. He got up, hand still outstretched. "Jen," he said, quieter, like he was worried.

And that? That was motherfucking it.

Jensen spun, headed for the elevator, and tripped over the loose laces of his boots. He caught himself on the wall, but not before Jeff was there, one big hand on Jensen's hip and one on his belly, pulling him up and back into the wall of Jeff's body.

"Hey," Jeff murmured, drawing out the word sweet and slow. "Hey. Steady there."

"I'm steady," Jensen bit off. "Let go. Let go or let me suck you."

"In a minute." Shifting, Jeff tried to steer him into the room with the chair. His fingers stroked Jensen, following the path Yuri had carved, or maybe Jensen was losing his mind. "I promise, now just sit down for a minute. My dime-"

"I'm fine."

Jeff stopped steering, his grip tightening on Jensen's hip. "You're shaking. Now park it."

"Fuck this bullshit." The words spilled out, off his tongue, and Jensen almost laughed. Jerking away from Jeff's hands, Jensen turned around and his back collided with the wall. As Jeff watched him, eyes narrowed, Jensen reached down and pulled open the button of Jeff's jeans. Jeff's jaw set as Jensen pressed his palm hard against the gaping mouth of the zipper and snarled, "I don't need your goddamn help. Where's the condom?"

Jeff moved; Jensen's back rebounded off the wall as Jeff grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head, leaning against him hard enough to make Jensen's breathing go shallow. Instinct more than sense made Jensen twist, struggling to get free. Gripping his wrists tight enough to make the bones creak, Jeff kicked his feet further apart and shoved his knee between Jensen's thighs. It brought Jeff close enough to rest their foreheads together, his breath warm against Jensen's mouth.

"Safeword," Jeff said. It wasn't a request.

Nobody else had asked. Jensen hadn't figured anyone would.

This was crazy. Jensen could taste fear in the back of his throat, the skitter of his nerves, but Christ, he felt like he'd tear off his skin if he left. His voice sounded strange in his head, muffled against Jeff's mouth. "Corleone. Fuck off."

Mouth curving, Jeff nosed at Jensen's cheek, weirdly intimate. "Say it, and I'll stop."

Part of Jensen wanted to snap that yeah, that's generally what a safeword meant, but the words felt thick in his mouth. He flexed his fingers in Jeff's grip and stayed quiet, panting, taut under Jeff's hands.

"Okay," Jeff murmured, and hauled him off the wall.

A few seconds of blind chaos passed; Jeff pulled his hands down between them and dragged him into the bedroom. Jensen fought, spat, cursed, and only got louder when his back hit the bed. Unflinching, his eyes black as hell, Jeff held on to Jensen's wrists with one hand and reached for his belt with the other.

Fuck. Jensen stiffened, knees locking, but Jeff just gave him an amused look and pulled the belt free. Once it was loose, he looped it around Jensen's wrists, tugged hard until it shackled them together. The stiff leather bit into the skin of his arms, twinges of pain.

"Kinky fucker," Jensen snarled. "What now? Do I call you daddy?"

Still holding the end of the belt, Jeff moved closer, and Jensen tensed to get smacked in the face. Instead, Jeff dropped onto the edge of the bed beside him and pulled at the belt.

What the hell was Jeff-- oh. Oh, hell no. Sitting back, Jensen said, "Go to hell, I'm not doing that, so you can-"

Resting one hand on the back of his neck, Jeff gripped hard and pulled Jensen over his lap. Another struggle, but his face was pressed against the mattress and his wrists were tied. Jensen growled into the bedcovers, trying to rock back on his knees, but the belt cut into his skin and Jeff just waited him out. The quiet was getting unnerving. No, fuck that, it was past unnerving.

His thighs and calves felt weak and shaky from the run; his hands were bound. Stuck, caught, pinned, Jensen closed his eyes. He wasn't yielding, not yet. He was waiting for an opportunity.

Bullshit.

Jeff gripped the back of his neck, scruffing him, then let go. There was no slap on the back of his head, no gloating; Jeff fingercombed his hair, still wet and tangled, then took his hand away. After a minute, Jeff tugged at Jensen's jeans, undid them. Jensen wheezed, squeezing his eyes shut, and muttered, "Goddamn it, I could do that."

Long, warm fingers touched his stomach, slid down the front of his jeans. Jerking against the belt, Jensen went up on his knees to avoid Jeff's hand, but Jeff followed. With a satisfied noise, Jeff nudged inside Jensen's underwear. Jensen choked back a groan but couldn't keep from shuddering, his hips twitching traitorously into Jeff's hand.

"Look at you," Jeff murmured. "Rubbing off against my hand. Pretty little slut."

"Says the guy desperate enough to pay for it."

"Yeah, you keep on fighting me, boy." Jeff petted him, deliciously slow. Jensen's toes curled inside his boots; he shifted and only managed to rock forward into Jeff's hand. "You're still all slick, just begging for it."

"I don't beg." Lewd wet noises rose from the friction of Jeff's hand. Jensen squirmed, feeling shame rise in his face, and bit the comforter as Jeff rubbed over the head of his cock.

Making a sound low in his throat, Jeff took his hand back. Jensen locked his hips to keep from following, to keep from blindly thrusting against the valley between Jeff's thighs. He snarled into his mouthful of comforter as Jeff pushed his jeans down, exposing his ass to the cool air of the room. Jensen could still feel the echoes of Yuri's hands there, imagined them blood red and feverish for anybody to see.

Jeff touched him, light fingers skimming over the small of his back and following the curve of his ass. His touch crisscrossed the places Yuri had been, drawing new patterns. Shivering, Jensen let go of the comforter and said, "You going somewhere with this, or should I nap?"

Hand covering the imaginary brands, Jeff kneaded him and dug his fingers in until it ached. Jensen felt his breath whoosh out, his spine arching into the pressure. When Jeff let go, release felt like a shock of cold water; there he was, ass tilted in the air, pissed off and messed up and--

Jensen heard before he felt it, the sharp crack making him jerk. Then the sting spread out, heat under Jeff's hand, and he yelped. "Jesus, what're you-" Another smack drove him forward into Jeff's thighs, the denim rubbing his cock. He twisted, biting back the noise that wanted to spill from his mouth. It turned his voice hard as he craned around to look at Jeff. "You hit my ass!"

"Yeah," Jeff agreed. His palm smoothed over Jensen's ass, a soothing touch. "You ready to behave?"

"Fuck you," Jensen repeated. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough, but he couldn't think of anything better.

"Boy, you'll be lucky if you even get my hand tonight. Don't push me." Jeff ran his fingertips along the hot ache where Yuri had pushed in with too much speed and too little lube. Jensen sucked in a breath, bracing for Jeff to shove inside, but his touch stayed light and clinical. Exploring. Circling, slow and maddening. "Christ, I can smell him on you."

Jensen choked and squeezed his eyes shut. There'd been a condom, he'd showered, there was no real way Jeff could-- but he felt stripped, exposed to Jeff as exactly what he was. Yuri's whore, the cage spinning and spinning on its pretty chain. When Jeff pulled back and hit him again, lower this time, Jensen was almost grateful.

There was no pause in the assault this time, a steady rain of blows. Jeff was indiscriminate, hitting every inch between the small of Jensen's spine and the back of his thigh. Jensen bit the comforter and held on, silent, silent. Control of the body, control of the mind, he would not give Jeff what he wanted. Every smack drove Jensen's hips against Jeff's thigh, rubbing him against the rough friction of Jeff's jeans, lighting up sparks behind his eyes.

Then it stopped. Jensen's body hummed in the stillness; his heart was pounding. He could feel the sluggish pulse of blood in his ass. Jeff dragged his nails lightly over the lit-up places he'd hit. Jensen could stop himself from whining, but he couldn't stop the shiver that crept up his spine.

"Sweetheart," Jeff murmured. It was a thousand times worse than being called slut. "You know I'm not stopping until you give it up."

"I don't have your fucking wallet." Jensen grimaced at the drawl that had crept into his voice. He could feel his pulse in his ears, the dull crashing thud of it. "Go to hell."

Jeff made an amused sound, and it started again.

The second pause had changed something. The sting had shifted over into a deeper ache, a heat that settled into his bones. He felt every swat drive him against Jeff's leg, the jolt of feeling barely receding before Jeff hit him again and it started over. He could feel his breathing go ragged in his throat, muffled by the bedspread. Wouldn't make a sound. Control of the body, control of the mind, he wouldn't.

Jeff spoke, his voice more vibration than sound. "There you go, baby. Starting to feel good, isn't it?"

If Jensen trusted his voice, he'd have sworn at him. As it was, he pressed his face deeper into the comforter. Jeff's other hand touched him, fingers sinking into Jensen's hair, and there was something important about that, but damned if Jensen could think what. Then Jeff's grip tightened, pulling his head back, taking away the comforter that had kept him quiet. Jensen twisted, trying to hide his face again, but Jeff didn't let up and the thorough swats of his other hand kept on coming. The only thing struggling did was grind him against Jeff's thigh, and pulling away from that pushed him back into Jeff's hand. It was everywhere, dragging him under.

He could safeword. Jeff would stop. He knew Jeff would stop like he knew gravity.

Jensen dragged in a breath, and it sounded like a gasp. He was unraveling, coming loose from the ground, and he couldn't...

It was good. Oh God, it was good.

"Come on." Jeff's voice dragged along his skin, another layer of impact. "Tell me. Tell me what you want."

Jensen barely heard the strangled noise he made. He was shaking, his thighs trembling from holding himself rigid so long, his arms threatening to go out from under him. Jeff tugged his head further back, and that was it, he had to, he shoved his hips back and tilted his ass up for the next swat. It came harder, jerking him forward, and he saw white.

The distant growl of Jeff's voice was like thunder. "You gonna come from this? Come all over my lap, boy, that's right."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jensen felt the burn in his face, felt himself bare teeth as he tensed. He made a noise, wordless, wanted Jeff's fingers, wanted his cock, couldn't come from this-- and then he took another hit, rubbed hard against Jeff's thigh and he could, he was, he was crying out and spilling over without a touch, coming out of his skin.

It took a long time to stop. He was still shivering, cock pulsing and body clenching, when Jeff rolled him off his lap. His ass hit the bed and Jensen whimpered before he could bite his lip, looked up and saw Jeff's pupils so shot his eyes looked black. The zipper of Jeff's jeans rasped down and Jeff pulled his cock out, hard and red and so wet at the tip. Jensen didn't think, just fought his jeans and the belt and the slog of his heavy limbs to spread his legs and bring his knees up. Jeff twitched, eyes widening, and Jensen found a flickering satisfaction in surprising him.

"Christ," Jeff bit off, the sound almost painful. Jeff shoved Jensen's legs up further, until Jensen's thighs protested the stretch and his cock gave an interested jerk. Kneeling close to him, so close he could push inside Jensen's exposed ass, Jeff grabbed his cock and stroked it hard, fast.

"Hn." That was supposed to be a word. The belt had loosened up; Jensen fumbled a hand up between them, shoved Jeff's away and took hold of his cock. Jeff gasped, a vulnerable noise, and thrust forward into his touch. Jensen jerked him, more clumsy than any handjob he'd even given, but he wanted the feel of it, the wet slap of skin on skin, and the way Jeff shuddered and grabbed Jensen's knee for support. "Wait," Jensen said, a slur-drawl that dragged the words out long, "gimme a minute, you c'n fuck me, want you to-"

With a choked noise, Jeff came, hot spatters of it painting Jensen's thighs and ass. His expression was nearly tortured, his grip on Jensen's leg bruising. He panted, looking as startled as Jensen was, and stared down at him.

Came on me, Jensen thought dizzily. What he said was, "oh."

Jeff laughed, his head dropping forward. Gentling his grip, he stroked Jensen's knee. It felt nice. Jensen closed his eyes, just for a minute, just until he got his equilibrium back. The stroking stopped; Jensen heard the sound of Jeff moving around, but his bones were humming and he listened to that instead.

Unfortunately, a few minutes later Jeff nudged him out of the comfortable buzz by tugging at his boots.

"'M going." When Jeff wouldn't stop poking at him, Jensen cracked an eye open, then sighed and tried to push upright. Putting weight on his ass hurt. He sat on the edge of the bed, blinking, then looked down at his bare feet. Jeff knelt between his legs, and he had Jensen's boots and socks. Jeff was also naked, an interesting fact that Jensen needed to examine once the shoe thing was resolved. "Hey. I need those."

Jeff gave him an indulgent look, then pulled at his jeans. They slid off easy, halfway gone anyway. Jeff glanced at the tag, frowned and pitched them aside. Climbing to his feet, he offered Jensen his hands. He was staggeringly hot, lean muscle and tanned skin, patches of dark hair. Apparently Jensen stared, because Jeff cracked a smile. "C'mon, Jen."

"I need those," Jensen repeated. His head felt weird, light, and he staggered when he got up. Jeff steadied him, guided him, and Jensen blinked again. "Elevator's that way."

"Quit trying to ditch me after sex, huh? It's giving me a complex." Jeff steered him into the bathroom, a glittering white monstrosity with a huge tub. The tub was full; Jeff nudged him at it and helped him in, even though Jensen flailed at him three times. When the water hit his ass, Jensen hissed, and Jeff gave him a very satisfied smirk as he lowered himself down behind him. Jeff stretched his legs out, his toes touching the other end of the tub, and settled Jensen down against him. Once they were there, he handed Jensen a cup of orange juice, and wouldn't stop staring until Jensen drained it.

It was odd. Very odd. Jensen let his head drop back against Jeff's shoulder anyway, squeezing his eyes shut when Jeff gathered up a palmful of water and poured it down Jensen's chest. The honeyed, loose-limbed feeling he'd had in the bed was starting to fade, replaced by a chill and an aching ass.

"You did good," Jeff murmured in his ear. "So good for me. Pretty ass all red from my hand."

Jensen shivered and cleared his throat, tried to shift off Jeff, but Jeff rested his hand on Jensen's stomach and gently pulled him back into place. Too tired to snap at him, Jensen let it go. In return, Jeff quit talking. He held Jensen against him with one hand, pouring the water over him with the other. The warm water rocked around them, lulling as the ache set in. Jeff hummed in his ear, aimless snatches of songs Jensen didn't recognize. Jensen closed his eyes.

After an eternity, Jeff asked, "You need more money?"

Yes. More than Jeff could give. Jensen cracked a humorless smile. His voice sounded thrashed. "No. Didn't touch your credit cards, did I?"

"Why take the wallet, then?"

Because I didn't think you'd come back. "Because I could."

"Bullshit." Jeff shifted him a little, kissing the curve of his neck until Jensen shivered. Rubbing his stubble against him, Jeff said, "I know you're in some kind of trouble. You're too goddamn smart to whore. Tell me what it is and I'll help you."

Jensen saw gold behind his eyelids, and the silver blade of the syringe. "Suits your purposes if I'm a hooker, doesn't it, Morgan? I'm fine. Leave it alone."

Jeff's arm tightened fractionally, like he wanted to shake Jensen, then relaxed. "For now. Anyway, I've got you for the night. I ordered room service. Dinner and bad movies in bed. That more acceptable than sleeping?"

Ha. Jensen could already feel the need to crash setting in, making him lazy and slow. Jeff knew that, was counting on it, but if he'd planned to kill Jensen he'd have done it earlier. Jensen had gotten sloppy, and it was a damned good thing Jeff was harmless. Mostly, anyway.

"Quit with the deep thoughts," Jeff whispered, and bit his jaw. "C'mon. Bed."

Jensen let Jeff pull him upright, and all the aftereffects of getting spanked came crashing down. His ass hurt, his head hurt, and he felt shaky as hell. Staggering a little, he steadied himself on the counter and glanced sidelong at the mirror. He looked... wanton, used, his hair sticking up and his face flushed, pupils still dilated and mouth bitten. There were bruises on his wrists and hips, his cock still heavy with blood. It was an uneasy feeling.

Worse: he felt good. The restlessness was gone. He could sleep now, warm inside, settled down. All traces of Yuri's touch were gone, erased by the heat of Jeff's hands and the spill of his come. Jeff watched him in the mirror, eyes half-lidded and predatory. It should've pissed Jensen off, and to some degree it did, but mostly he wanted to curl up against Jeff and drowse. He wanted to slide down and suck him hard again until Jeff came on his throat, his face, inside him.

You belong on your knees.

That time, Jensen's chill had nothing to do with cold.