theatregirl7299 (theatregirl7299) wrote,

The Appointment

Title: The Appointment
Author: theatregirl7299
Fandom: SPN RPS
Characters/Pairings: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2083
Spoilers: None
Beta Credit: embroiderama
Warnings: Bondage
Summary: Jensen has an appointment…

A/N: My first entry for smpc. All the usual copyright disclaimers.

Today is the day.

The hours pass as I fight with myself – one part of me determined that I’ll go through with this, the other part convinced that the best option is to have Clif take me home at the end of the shoot.

It throws off my concentration and I flub lines that I should be able to deliver in my sleep. Dean’s voice is in my head telling me to man up, motherfucker, what the fuck’s the problem? Jared looks at me with a question in those puppy dog eyes.

I don’t have an answer for either of them.

Why did I agree to this? What in God’s name made me think that this was a good idea?

Maybe it’s a dream – a drunken thought after too many beers. That’s it. Not real. Once I talk myself into believing that, the day becomes infinitely easier.

Those rose-colored glasses shatter the minute Sid, one of the PAs, hands me the envelope. I quickly detour to my trailer, locking the door behind me. I look at the packet for a moment. Creamy linen weave, no other identifying marks except my name typed on the front. I tear it open and scan the contents.

An address, a keycard, a time and an amount. One thousand dollars. The price of sin. My hands shake as I stuff the envelope into my messenger bag. I take a shuddering breath, gathering my emotions and shoving them down deep.

They swirl together in my chest – reluctance and anticipation in equal measure. Because coupled with the dread and hesitancy comes eagerness and arousal.

I want this.

Damn me, but I want this.

My hand drifts to my cock, my imagination taking flight as I cup myself through my jeans. I lean against the trailer wall and close my eyes as I lose myself in the feel of denim and cotton rubbing against me. The whisper inside my head coaxing me to the edge sounds a lot like Crowley. I curse Mark for being the perfect devil and giving my hunger a voice as I let my hand fall away. I need to wait.

Hurrying to the sink, I splash cold water on my wrists and neck, taking care not to smudge my makeup. The girls know me too well and I don’t want to come up with excuses.

I hear Jared outside, his laugh loud and carefree. I need to be near him, to stand in his bubble. To feel protected. I exit the trailer, determined to focus on my craft.

Hours pass, until the day is over. My scenes are finished, the crew closing down the set. I shower, sloughing off Dean Winchester and pulling myself back into my own skin. Dressing quickly, I call the car service.

Thirty minutes and an ATM stop later, I’m in front of the hotel. Stalling, I study the décor. Nice yet nondescript. A perfect location for what I’m about to do. The only person in the lobby is the desk clerk, but I pull my ball cap lower through habit.

The elevator doors open onto the fifteenth floor. My knees are weak, my steps slow as I approach the hotel room door. I pause, keycard in hand. I know how Julius Caesar felt when he stood on the banks of the Rubicon. Breathing deep, I slide the keycard into the slot and hear the door lock disengage with a click.

The room is dark, a low light casting shadows across the bed. I shrug my coat off and toss it on a chair. There’s a notecard and a splash of black on the nightstand. Flipping the paper over, I read the typewritten note.

Put the money in the drawer. Once you do, take off your clothes, put on the blindfold, and lay on the bed.

A shiver runs through me. I follow the instructions. Slipping the money into the drawer, I quickly strip and leave my clothes with my coat. The blindfold fits over my eyes, surprisingly comfortable. I climb on the bed and lie on my back, waiting, for what I don’t know.

Time passes. Five minutes – fifteen? I can’t tell. The room is warm but the quiet unnerves me. I can hear sounds from my surroundings – the elevator pinging, muted sounds of people walking down the hallway, but nothing from my room. I’m alone. My courage deserts me. This was a mistake. I move to get up when I hear a door open.

It’s not the door I entered. This sound is from the other side – the bathroom. My muscles tense. There has been someone here all this time. I feel a breeze – a figure moves past the bed.

“Hello?” My voice cracks. I pretend it’s because it’s dry, but the reality is because I’m anxious. I’m met with silence. So that’s how it will go.

The bed dips and I feel a hand on my wrist. Silk wraps around it as it’s brought up to the headboard and secured. My anxiety increases and I need to tell myself that this is what I paid for. A hard body leans
across me, fixing my other wrist above my head. Any ability to remove the blindfold is lost.

Without sight, my other senses heighten. I feel water drops on my face and smell citrus coupled with an earthier scent. My visitor has showered. It makes me want to taste their skin. Testing my range, I lean forward and stick my tongue out.

A low chuckle followed by a tap by my lips lets me know that I’m not in charge right now. I sink back into the pillows and wait.

But not for long.

The fingers that tapped my face move feather-light across my cheek. Tightening the blindfold, then caressing my jaw before they disappear.

Something is placed on my lips – a strawberry. Instinctively I bite down, the flavor exploding across my taste buds while the juice dribbles down my chin. My mouth is captured before I can take another breath.

We share the fruit, our tongues battling together before the lips follow the sweet trail down my chin and suck droplets from my neck. I know I will have bruises tomorrow, but tonight all that matters is my need to feel this mouth on me.

Again, I hear that low, dirty laugh as I hiss when teeth nip my Adam’s apple. My cock jumps at the sting, already hard and aching. We haven’t even begun and it’s all I can do to not to come.

I buck my hips, trying to feel any sort of contact, but I’m stilled by a solid frame that pins me to the bed. Gasping, the sensation of thumbs brushing against my chest, teasing my nipples, sending waves of need to my dick. That cursed mouth follows, licking and sucking, torturing me. I can’t see, I can’t move – all I can do is feel.

Talented fingers caress my chest, my stomach. My skin is on fire and my breath stutters. Kisses find their way to my hips but it’s not enough now. I want those lips wrapped around my cock.

“I want you to suck me.” My voice is hoarse. All movement stops and I feel soft lips curve into a smile – waiting, silently prodding. “Please, God. Suck me,” I beg, knowing that’s what he wants to hear.

Hands engulf me, squeezing and stroking and Oh God! I arch off the bed, chasing the pressure on my cock and balls.

”Pleaseohpleaseohgodyes...” The mantra spills from my lips, whispered sobs as I feel the heat and the wet surround me. “Oh God, please…”

I don’t know how long it lasts. I just know I’m brought to the edge and back multiple times by tongue, teeth, lips and hands. My cock aching, my balls soaked in spit, drawn up tight. My throat sore from my curses and moans of pleasure.

A hand glides down behind my balls, caressing the skin before circling my hole. The pressure increases, asking tentative permission for entry that I give by widening my legs.

That first finger breaching me sends electricity straight to my dick, making me harder than I thought possible. The muscles in my ass tighten, pulling the lube-covered digit in deeper, the movement stroking me, opening me.

“More. Please more.” I am begging, I know. I don’t care.

I whimper as a second finger, then a third are used to stretch me, scissoring. God, I love the burn. “Yes, yes, yes. Right there,” I gasp as they crook and press into my prostate, sparks shooting throughout my body.

“One more.” The words slip out as I shudder in ecstasy. The hand pauses, drawing a whine of protest from my mouth. Gently, the fingers pull out to the tips, leaving me empty and needy. Slowly, they return, four fingers this time, stretching me wider than before.

My world narrows to that hypnotic rhythm – the in and out of fingers, the suction of lips on my cock, escalating my arousal up, up, then slowing to bank my desire.

I’m ripped from my carnal reverie by the sensation of loss – fingers withdrawn, mouth disappearing. Blearily, the sound of a condom packet tearing registers in my brain. Oh, God. Finally!

My legs are lifted and tossed over broad shoulders as if I'm nothing but a ragdoll and I can feel a cock lining up in preparation.

The first thrusts are almost brutal – no gentle slipping in. Splitting me open, deeper each time until I feel a body against my thighs, balls against my ass.

Then nothing.

“Oh fuck no!” My voice is guttural, my hips rising, trying to get friction. “You are not gonna stop on me. I didn’t pay for that.”

I hear that laugh again, dark and debauched, right before he begins again. The slap of skin against mine, the rain of sweat, the squelch of lube as I’m being impaled over and over. My skull plays a counterpoint to the sounds of the headboard slamming against the wall. It hurts but it doesn’t matter.

This is what I want. What I need.

“Fuck me…fuck me…” I chant, my hands gripping the silk bindings so I can shove myself harder on the cock that’s filling me up, hitting my prostate, delivering on the promise.

I race closer and closer to my release, pleading for it. A hand grips my cock, pumping hard and fast, sending me into freefall as hot ropes of come splatter across my body. Sobbing, I ride out my orgasm, dimly feeling warmth filling the condom as I spiral down into unconsciousness.


I come to some time later. Freed from the headboard, no blindfold, I’m tucked under the covers. Stretching, I roll over to see a glass of water and a packet of pain medication on the nightstand.

Gingerly I sit up, feeling the soreness throughout my body. I take the pills and empty the glass. Opening the drawer, I check – the money is gone. Just another note - It was a business doing pleasure with you. Slowly I make my way over to my clothes, hissing as I pull on my underwear and pants.

I’m silent on the ride home, not wanting to make small talk with the driver. I let myself into the dark house. Keys tossed on the table, coat hung up on the hook, I head to the kitchen for the sorely needed beer.

He’s leaning against the countertop, watching me as I twist the cap off the bottle and take a long drink. The alcohol burns going down. I put the bottle on the counter and walk into his arms.

“You okay?” His words are soft, worried, in my ear. I nod against his chest. We stand quietly for a moment. “Was it what you wanted?”

I don’t reply immediately. I can’t. I’m too raw, too open from my experience.

I take his hand and study it. Strong fingers, a callused palm. So familiar to me, yet the hands of a stranger only a few hours ago. I place a kiss in the center and fold it up. I know he’s waiting for an answer.

“Yes.” My voice is soft. “Thank you.” For understanding. For loving me anyway. The words I don’t say. But he knows they are there.

I feel his shoulders sag in relief. “I love you so much,” he whispers and hugs me tighter.

I lean against him, my lover, my friend, and realize I am blessed.


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