Fic: Rollerball (J2, nc-17, 3/6)
Aug. 22nd, 2007 06:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladyjanellyTitle:Rollerball
Author:Ladyjanelly
Movie Adapted: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0246894/
Genre: CW RPS
Characters/Pairings:Jared/Jensen
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 10,202
Warnings: some hooker-fic
Notes/Credits: Thanks to Jellicle for looking over this for me and giving me hand-holding and feed-back.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; fair use only. Not created for profit.
Jensen takes the last shower stall in the row. The good thing about being an asshole is that nobody will come down and check that he’s okay. The good thing about being Brotski’s golden boy is that nobody wants to kick his ass enough to risk Brotski’s anger.
The good thing about being alone is that there is nobody to see as he pulls the condom off of his still-hard dick. Guilt chokes him. He fucked that boy. And yeah. It wasn’t exactly rape; Brotski had paid for his ass, and the kid hadn’t said no. Still, something had flickered behind the hazel of his eyes, a hope dying, something else taking its place.
Jensen had fucked him to say “You’re not my friend,” and to show he’s not weak, not going to leave himself open, thanks to pity or mercy.
He turns the water to as hot as it goes. The heat feels cleansing; it washes away his tears but does nothing for the filth on his soul.
This is nothing, he tries to tell himself, just the tip of the iceberg of what he’d do to get the hell out of this game, back home to Texas.
A throat clears behind him and he nearly pulls something, he turns around so quick. It’s that kid, Jared, leaning against the tile wall, watching him like he enjoys what he sees.
“Didja mean it?” he asks Jensen, “What you said, about not fucking me over?” There’s a challenge in his eyes, and Jensen answers it with a tilt of his head.
“Can I trust you?” he asks. Not that he will. Not completely.
“Much as anybody can trust anybody, ‘round here,” Jared says, and Jensen respects that.
“I won’t screw you over first,” Jensen says.
Jared smiles, wide and slow. “So. You want some company in there?” He’s already stripping before Jensen nods.
This isn’t about desire, but Jensen can’t help but appreciate Jared’s lean lines and broad shoulders. Then the kid’s stepping into the water with him. Strong hands cup around Jensen's jaw, massage down slow, neck to shoulders to arms, all the way to his wrists. He can’t suppress a moan as tired muscles ease and relax.
It’s stupid. It’s weak. Still, he loses himself in how good those hands feel on him. He doesn’t protest when Jared turns him around, pulls him back against that muscular chest. When Jared’s hands slide down his stomach and the fronts of his thighs, it feels so good, like the massage just getting better and better.
Jensen ignores the press of Jared’s arousal against his ass, and moans deep in his throat as the taller man reaches down to cup his balls. Talented, practiced, fingers wrap around his cock, pulling and stroking him as the water streams warm and soothing over both of them.
“Want to try that fucking thing again?” Jared whispers, low and sensual in his ear.
“No,” Jensen coughs out. “No, this. Keep doing this.” He’s panting and thrusting. Jared’s hand is so slick and tight. He rubs his thumb over the tip of Jensen's dick, pressing just short of painful. It’s wrong and it’s good and Jensen spills over the boy’s fist with a hoarse cry on his lips.
Jared holds him up when his knees threaten to buckle. His laugh is soft, throaty.
Jensen turns in his grip, and discovers that he wants this, wants this kid in a way he hasn’t felt for way too long. Jensen used to have finesse. He used to know how to make it nice. Those parts of him are gone, and he holds Jared by his hair, elbow pinning his shoulder to the wall. He presses up with his knee, dangerously close to Jared’s nuts.
Their eyes meet, and this is more than a challenge, it’s a dare. Jared’s still grinning. Jensen thinks the expression on his own face might be more like a snarl. Jared could fight him. The guy’s like seven feet tall. He doesn’t though. Neither one breaks the stare-down as Jensen takes Jared’s dick in his hand, teases light touches over it, then firm. He can see the effect this has, what it does to be looking him in the eye as he touches Jared like this.
He fucks Jared with his eyes and his hand, slow and steady and then harder, faster. Don’t look away, he thinks, and Jared doesn’t. When he comes, he looks surprised, and Jensen hopes, he wants to believe, that this has mattered, that this has been a little bit real.
----------
When they’re done in the shower, clean and sated, they head back to the lockers to dress. Most of the team has cleared out already. Some guy in a suit, promoter or something, calls Ackles over. The two of them leave up the stairs to the control booth, and Jared’s left to amuse himself.
“Hey,” somebody calls, before he can get too bored. Jared turns, and that guy that Ackles threw the helmet at is waving him out to the hall. Jared isn’t stupid, and he keeps his head up and his eyes open as he walks over. It’s just Costas though, and some little dark-haired slip of a girl. Never mind that he thinks she was the one punching the shit out of some guy Jared’s size out on the track.
“Yeah?” Jared asks, ready for anything.
“I am Costas,” the big guy says. “This is Misha. We are check that you are okay, new boy.”
Jared almost laughs. Apparently he wasn’t as ready as he thought he was. “Yeah,” he says, “I’m good. Name’s Jared, by the way.” He glances over his shoulder. Jensen's still in the ‘meeting.’
“Watch yourself,” Misha says. Her accent is all rolling r’s and half-swallowed w’s. “You are new boy because old boy is broken of arm.”
Costas frowns. “He is not bad man,” he tells Misha as much as Jared. “He is changed, and maybe one day he will change back. We are his friends and should love him until he return to himself.”
Misha rolls her eyes like she doesn’t quite buy it, but Jared leaps at the chance to learn by hearing instead of fighting. “What changed him?” Jared asks. He can see Jensen through the control booth windows, moving towards the door. “What made him different?”
“My fault,” Costas says, and he’s watching Ackles too. “Six months ago in far country. Opponents distract us on the track. Some of them, they jump Jensen, lift him and throw him over wall to their fans. It was long time before security could get to him. He was not hurt bad but never the same. His smiles are ugly now.”
“Thanks,” Jared says, and he means it. He turns to go, and Costas’ hand on his arm stops him. “Here.” He slides a piece of paper into Jared’s fingers. “Is number for me. If you need help and don’t want to call the company.”
Jensen's almost on them then. He gives Jared a sharp nod, like one would command a dog with, and Jared falls into line with him. He expects Jensen to ask, to want to know what they said, what was up, but he never does.
Outside, the crowds are still surging, a party that’ll go on half the night. Jensen leads the way to a gold-colored Porche, and Jared gets in without a word. With the engine revving and tires squealing, Ackles bullies his way through the crowd to the open road.
The lights of the stadium are still visible behind them when Jensen pulls off into a parking spot. “You drive stick?” he asks, and Jared nods. Ackles gets out, so Jared does too. Halfway around, there’s an exchange of keys, and then Jensen's stretching out as much as he can in the passenger seat.
“Drive,” he says, sounding so tired. “Anywhere, just drive.”
Jared can’t tell if Ackles is asleep or just resting, but his face is relaxed, the line of his shoulders slack for the first time.
Jared drives, out of the city and into the countryside. The car’s GPS keeps him on track, not too far to go back again when Ackles is ready for the hotel.
He drives for hours, circling around the city. “Hey man,” he says at last, then waits for Jensen to wake himself up. “Hey, I’m falling asleep at the wheel here.”
Jensen sits up and gives him directions back to the hotel, his voice rough like he’s been out all night smoking and drinking.
Even this late, there’s a valet at the door to take the keys to the Porche, but Jensen carries his own bag up the elevator. His ‘room’ is a plush suite, neoclassical lines and brown on taupe on cream color scheme.
Ackles heads straight for what Jared presumes is the bedroom. Jared follows, only to have the freakin’ door slam in his face. Jared’s tired and confused and his head’s been fucked with too many times for one day.
“Where the fuck am I supposed to sleep?” he yells at the closed door, then bangs on it with the side of his fist. The ivory-painted wood gives suddenly under his assault, and a pile of pillows and blankets are shoved at his face.
“Anywhere but with me,” Ackles snarls, and slams the door again.
“Just fucking great! Be like that!” Jared shouts, and then takes his bundle of bedding over to the sofa.
The thing’s too short, more of a curved loveseat than a proper couch and Jared knows he’ll never fit. He drags the cushions off and over to the wall by the television cabinet. “Fucking asshole,” he grumbles as he tries to make a spot where the cushions won’t slip out from under him while still leaving him room for his legs. “Power-tripping jerk.”
He turns out the lights, already knowing his night is gonna suck big-time.
--------
Author:Ladyjanelly
Movie Adapted: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0246894/
Genre: CW RPS
Characters/Pairings:Jared/Jensen
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 10,202
Warnings: some hooker-fic
Notes/Credits: Thanks to Jellicle for looking over this for me and giving me hand-holding and feed-back.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; fair use only. Not created for profit.
Jensen takes the last shower stall in the row. The good thing about being an asshole is that nobody will come down and check that he’s okay. The good thing about being Brotski’s golden boy is that nobody wants to kick his ass enough to risk Brotski’s anger.
The good thing about being alone is that there is nobody to see as he pulls the condom off of his still-hard dick. Guilt chokes him. He fucked that boy. And yeah. It wasn’t exactly rape; Brotski had paid for his ass, and the kid hadn’t said no. Still, something had flickered behind the hazel of his eyes, a hope dying, something else taking its place.
Jensen had fucked him to say “You’re not my friend,” and to show he’s not weak, not going to leave himself open, thanks to pity or mercy.
He turns the water to as hot as it goes. The heat feels cleansing; it washes away his tears but does nothing for the filth on his soul.
This is nothing, he tries to tell himself, just the tip of the iceberg of what he’d do to get the hell out of this game, back home to Texas.
A throat clears behind him and he nearly pulls something, he turns around so quick. It’s that kid, Jared, leaning against the tile wall, watching him like he enjoys what he sees.
“Didja mean it?” he asks Jensen, “What you said, about not fucking me over?” There’s a challenge in his eyes, and Jensen answers it with a tilt of his head.
“Can I trust you?” he asks. Not that he will. Not completely.
“Much as anybody can trust anybody, ‘round here,” Jared says, and Jensen respects that.
“I won’t screw you over first,” Jensen says.
Jared smiles, wide and slow. “So. You want some company in there?” He’s already stripping before Jensen nods.
This isn’t about desire, but Jensen can’t help but appreciate Jared’s lean lines and broad shoulders. Then the kid’s stepping into the water with him. Strong hands cup around Jensen's jaw, massage down slow, neck to shoulders to arms, all the way to his wrists. He can’t suppress a moan as tired muscles ease and relax.
It’s stupid. It’s weak. Still, he loses himself in how good those hands feel on him. He doesn’t protest when Jared turns him around, pulls him back against that muscular chest. When Jared’s hands slide down his stomach and the fronts of his thighs, it feels so good, like the massage just getting better and better.
Jensen ignores the press of Jared’s arousal against his ass, and moans deep in his throat as the taller man reaches down to cup his balls. Talented, practiced, fingers wrap around his cock, pulling and stroking him as the water streams warm and soothing over both of them.
“Want to try that fucking thing again?” Jared whispers, low and sensual in his ear.
“No,” Jensen coughs out. “No, this. Keep doing this.” He’s panting and thrusting. Jared’s hand is so slick and tight. He rubs his thumb over the tip of Jensen's dick, pressing just short of painful. It’s wrong and it’s good and Jensen spills over the boy’s fist with a hoarse cry on his lips.
Jared holds him up when his knees threaten to buckle. His laugh is soft, throaty.
Jensen turns in his grip, and discovers that he wants this, wants this kid in a way he hasn’t felt for way too long. Jensen used to have finesse. He used to know how to make it nice. Those parts of him are gone, and he holds Jared by his hair, elbow pinning his shoulder to the wall. He presses up with his knee, dangerously close to Jared’s nuts.
Their eyes meet, and this is more than a challenge, it’s a dare. Jared’s still grinning. Jensen thinks the expression on his own face might be more like a snarl. Jared could fight him. The guy’s like seven feet tall. He doesn’t though. Neither one breaks the stare-down as Jensen takes Jared’s dick in his hand, teases light touches over it, then firm. He can see the effect this has, what it does to be looking him in the eye as he touches Jared like this.
He fucks Jared with his eyes and his hand, slow and steady and then harder, faster. Don’t look away, he thinks, and Jared doesn’t. When he comes, he looks surprised, and Jensen hopes, he wants to believe, that this has mattered, that this has been a little bit real.
----------
When they’re done in the shower, clean and sated, they head back to the lockers to dress. Most of the team has cleared out already. Some guy in a suit, promoter or something, calls Ackles over. The two of them leave up the stairs to the control booth, and Jared’s left to amuse himself.
“Hey,” somebody calls, before he can get too bored. Jared turns, and that guy that Ackles threw the helmet at is waving him out to the hall. Jared isn’t stupid, and he keeps his head up and his eyes open as he walks over. It’s just Costas though, and some little dark-haired slip of a girl. Never mind that he thinks she was the one punching the shit out of some guy Jared’s size out on the track.
“Yeah?” Jared asks, ready for anything.
“I am Costas,” the big guy says. “This is Misha. We are check that you are okay, new boy.”
Jared almost laughs. Apparently he wasn’t as ready as he thought he was. “Yeah,” he says, “I’m good. Name’s Jared, by the way.” He glances over his shoulder. Jensen's still in the ‘meeting.’
“Watch yourself,” Misha says. Her accent is all rolling r’s and half-swallowed w’s. “You are new boy because old boy is broken of arm.”
Costas frowns. “He is not bad man,” he tells Misha as much as Jared. “He is changed, and maybe one day he will change back. We are his friends and should love him until he return to himself.”
Misha rolls her eyes like she doesn’t quite buy it, but Jared leaps at the chance to learn by hearing instead of fighting. “What changed him?” Jared asks. He can see Jensen through the control booth windows, moving towards the door. “What made him different?”
“My fault,” Costas says, and he’s watching Ackles too. “Six months ago in far country. Opponents distract us on the track. Some of them, they jump Jensen, lift him and throw him over wall to their fans. It was long time before security could get to him. He was not hurt bad but never the same. His smiles are ugly now.”
“Thanks,” Jared says, and he means it. He turns to go, and Costas’ hand on his arm stops him. “Here.” He slides a piece of paper into Jared’s fingers. “Is number for me. If you need help and don’t want to call the company.”
Jensen's almost on them then. He gives Jared a sharp nod, like one would command a dog with, and Jared falls into line with him. He expects Jensen to ask, to want to know what they said, what was up, but he never does.
Outside, the crowds are still surging, a party that’ll go on half the night. Jensen leads the way to a gold-colored Porche, and Jared gets in without a word. With the engine revving and tires squealing, Ackles bullies his way through the crowd to the open road.
The lights of the stadium are still visible behind them when Jensen pulls off into a parking spot. “You drive stick?” he asks, and Jared nods. Ackles gets out, so Jared does too. Halfway around, there’s an exchange of keys, and then Jensen's stretching out as much as he can in the passenger seat.
“Drive,” he says, sounding so tired. “Anywhere, just drive.”
Jared can’t tell if Ackles is asleep or just resting, but his face is relaxed, the line of his shoulders slack for the first time.
Jared drives, out of the city and into the countryside. The car’s GPS keeps him on track, not too far to go back again when Ackles is ready for the hotel.
He drives for hours, circling around the city. “Hey man,” he says at last, then waits for Jensen to wake himself up. “Hey, I’m falling asleep at the wheel here.”
Jensen sits up and gives him directions back to the hotel, his voice rough like he’s been out all night smoking and drinking.
Even this late, there’s a valet at the door to take the keys to the Porche, but Jensen carries his own bag up the elevator. His ‘room’ is a plush suite, neoclassical lines and brown on taupe on cream color scheme.
Ackles heads straight for what Jared presumes is the bedroom. Jared follows, only to have the freakin’ door slam in his face. Jared’s tired and confused and his head’s been fucked with too many times for one day.
“Where the fuck am I supposed to sleep?” he yells at the closed door, then bangs on it with the side of his fist. The ivory-painted wood gives suddenly under his assault, and a pile of pillows and blankets are shoved at his face.
“Anywhere but with me,” Ackles snarls, and slams the door again.
“Just fucking great! Be like that!” Jared shouts, and then takes his bundle of bedding over to the sofa.
The thing’s too short, more of a curved loveseat than a proper couch and Jared knows he’ll never fit. He drags the cushions off and over to the wall by the television cabinet. “Fucking asshole,” he grumbles as he tries to make a spot where the cushions won’t slip out from under him while still leaving him room for his legs. “Power-tripping jerk.”
He turns out the lights, already knowing his night is gonna suck big-time.
--------
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 11:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 04:46 pm (UTC)Glad you're enjoying it.
All done but the epilogue.
no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 12:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 04:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 12:52 pm (UTC)Ooo...I see the word count to the end is lessesning...
no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 04:48 pm (UTC)Yay, glad you like this Jensen now that you know him a little better.
\o/
Date: 2007-08-22 01:19 pm (UTC)Re: \o/
Date: 2007-08-22 04:49 pm (UTC)BTW, "Threw Away the Sun" (the blind-sam fic that you helped me plot on) is at the beta-reader. Complete.
Re: \o/
Date: 2007-08-22 05:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 01:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 04:50 pm (UTC)I rarely have an Au where I can get some ink on Jensen. He's usually such a good boy. :)
I'm writing a jensen-firefighter fic, where he can have tattoos and ride a motorcycle and everything. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 03:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 04:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 03:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 04:51 pm (UTC)Glad you're enjoying the fic.
Sooo close to done.
no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 04:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 04:54 pm (UTC)I've watched it sooo many times now, getting in the mind-set for this fic.
I am embarrased to admit that I started writing it before the reel_spn challenge even started. :)
Glad you're enjoying the fic better than the movie.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 02:55 am (UTC)And then the fight! Yes, I love how snarky Jensen is. *g*
no subject
Date: 2008-01-12 10:02 pm (UTC)“You are new boy because old boy is broken of arm.”