Archive of Our Own

"I," Jared felt faint. "It wasn't you I was aiming for." Over Ackles's shoulder he met the smug eyes of the tycoon he'd meant to splash-- the one who'd reached out and lewdly grabbed his crotch with no shame at all. "I--" His throat had gone dry, and his arm slowly lowered. It was still horrifyingly silent, with everyone's eyes trained on the entertainment for the night. 

A wry look befell Ackles. "I should stop trying to defend people," he muttered, fingering his sopping coat. What was it he had said? It was...  Brioni, right? Brioni, as in a 48k Brioni that was handmade in Italy? Jared swallowed, that suit was twice his yearly salary, blindly groping for a cloth before thrusting it towards Ackles. It was in vain; his offer was refused as Ackles turned a cold shoulder to him and extended his arms, a bodyguard running forward to slide the ruined jacket off of his lithe frame. 

And Jared retracted, bemoaning the fact that he was in this situation to begin with.

-- 

In retrospect, it was Genevieve's fault. She'd gotten a job at Spice, a high-end strip club far enough where no one would recognize her and significantly more well-paying than her current job at the local club. "Important people," she'd told Jared. "This is where important people come for fancy strippers." And poor Jared had been mislead to believe that this meant honest (well, honest for a strip club) businessmen, not crime lords, kingpins, gang leaders, and tycoons. 

It had been going well enough until Gen came to their apartment, bawling about how awful the job was but how well it paid her, and how there was a guy who kept pronouncing her name " Jen-vee-ev" and who couldn't keep his hands to himself- she didn't want to quit, but she wanted someone to watch out for her, and she said all of this with a meaningful glance at Jared's 6'3''-and-counting frame.

So, reluctantly, but more intent on watching out for his petite friend than anything, Jared quit his awful job in a comic store -which was depressingly empty most of the time and smelled like moldy pizza- and graduated to the retro counters and velvet lounge chairs of Spice. Gen could easily stand up for herself, but an extra pair of eyes never hurt, right?

Well, it worked out for Gen-- not so much for Jared. Because yeah, she was now protected from sleazy fingers as Jared glared murderously across the room at any perps, but Gen couldn't exactly come down from the stage and protect him from the same sleazy fingers.

And then, to his mortification, his nickname became pretty boy.

"Y'got anything with a lot of meat, pretty boy?" Someone had asked earlier that week, and Jared had demurely cocked his head, learning that saying anything at all would just land him in loads of trouble. And then who would watch out for Gen? 

"I mean, you got a lot of soft meat right here, don't ya think, Kyle?" One of them swatted Jared's abdomen, bursting into raucous laughter that made Jared's stomach do violent flip-flops. He squinted at the glasses he was deftly flipping over and readjusting, just out of habit, and tried not to pay attention to the fact that the flipping mirrored the motions his stomach was making. 

"This is a bar, gentlemen," he said placidly with a sharp edge to his polite words. "Not a restaurant."

"Pretty boy's got a bit of a mouth to him, don't he?" Kyle's smile was ugly and sneering. "I could think of something else you could put that mouth to use for, don't you?"

"No." Jared said, hard and cool, and gathered the empty glasses. "If you're not going to ask, then don't distract me from my job." 

They weren't the first, and they certainly weren't the last, but they made his job so fucking miserable that sometimes he was the one who allowed his head to rest in Gen's lap when they got home, allowed her to thread her fingers into his hair. He was the one who went home to shower his skin raw and flay away the sexual remarks that dug under his skin. Once, they threw dollar bills at his chest over the counter and demanded lap dances until Jared finally cracked under the pressure, fled to the back room, and got berated by a worn-out Danneel until he finally regained the confidence to come back out. Strangely enough, the men were gone by the time he came back, which spared him a little humiliation.

And then there was this latest incident, the one that took place about... Ten minutes ago. A regular had gotten drunk and handsy and it hadn't turned out particularly well. In fact, he was one of the shitheads who had thrown money at Jared a while back.

Jared had simply been returning from a brief bathroom break when he was abruptly stopped by a hand wrapping around-- yep, his crotch; when he looked from the hand to the shit-eating grin, leering and advancing on him, he'd been so fucking shocked into silence that his jaw just dropped, and red flooded into his face.  Then  he scrambled to rip the hand away and tried to run for it. And then suddenly, someone's fingers dug into his wrist, and he freaked, grabbing the nearest glass and splashing it towards the offender. 

Who turned out to not be the offender, but instead a stunned looking Jensen Ackles, who stared at him with his lush, soft-pink lips parted and his verdant eyes for once lacking the chilling edge they usually bore in favor of surprise. 

Jensen was also a revered regular of Spice, and he was one of the most beautiful people Jared had ever seen, hands-down. No one seemed to look quite as young and pretty as Jensen did while somehow looking to be the most experienced and prodigious at the same time. Not to mention the fact that Jensen was so obviously bisexual that it made Jared's poor hormones fire on all cylinders every time the guy even came within a foot of him, like he was some teenager with a bad case of puppy love. Thankfully, it seemed like  everyone  crushed on Jensen, so he wasn't all alone here. Besides, there was an undeniable attractiveness with men who carried themselves with confidence, sexy and oh, boy, did they know it, and Jensen Ackles was one such man.

Course, he didn't look all that sexy with his white, crisp shirt looking downright soggy and dripping liquid gold. No- wait- yes, he did. Jared was still frozen, because-- what the fuck was he supposed to do? Maybe start babbling apologies and hope Ackles didn't ask his bodyguards to empty silver into him? Wait, would they think Jared poisoned the wine or something? Maybe they thought this was his skewed and fucked up way of killing Jensen Ackles, one of the youngest crime lords? 

He was going to kill Genevieve.

Ackles must have recognized the  need to flee  look in Jared's eyes, because he snapped his fingers coolly, concisely, and Jared's heart started up a rapid staccato against the walls of his chest as his escape routes were blocked off by hulking masses. A particularly attractive one, appearing to be closer to Ackles's age than the others, spoke up with his eyes locked grimly on Jared's face.

"What do you think, boss?" Jared's tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he could feel his palms go sweaty. There was something flickering in the verdant of Ackles's irises that Jared could have almost mistaken as amusement, a hard, wicked flash of it, but nah, he couldn't be thinking that there was anything vaguely entertaining about this, right?

"You have any last requests?" 

Oh, God, Ackles was talking to him. He was going to kill him, right here. Maybe he could summon Danneel, tell her to keep an eye on Gen? Wasn't like he could call his mother, he hadn't talked to her since the Incident. She'd be happy to read about his death on the news, most probably. Thinking  about time Jared found his way to hell.

Shaking his head, Jared tried to retain calmness. "Well, I'd really like to kick the ass of the guy who actually grabbed my dick," he declared, the words rolling off his tongue far more smoothly than he felt. He congratulated himself intermittently, heart still hammering out a waltz. Who knew it was so music-oriented? 

The smugness vanished from the guy behind Ackles, and Jared's stomach rolled as he noted the flutter of the crime lord's lips as they almost tilted upwards.

"This guy?" Ackles snapped his fingers again, and the attractive bodyguard towed the sleazy douche out in front of Ackles and Jared, who was wishing that someday he'd be able to snap and have the world delivered to him on a silver plate.

"Yeah," Jared said, coolly, and crossed his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gen descending the stage with a megawatt smile, still not having seen the conflict arising at the bar. He returned his gaze defiantly to the perp, his jaw setting, and was both irritated and intrigued by the fact that Ackles looked vaguely interested. "I hope you think about me when you die choking on your own blood later," he sneered, watching the douche balk with mean satisfaction. "Word of advice? Don't mess with the guy that handles your drinks." 

Of course, he didn't really poison the guy's drinks, but the douchebag was a repeat offender and always found some body part of Jared's to chance a grope at. Maybe this'd teach him a lesson.

The bodyguard looked infinitely amused and was attempting to hide a smile that threatened his nonchalant mask, but Ackles was smiling outwardly. It wasn't a warm smile or anything of the nature, not at all, but it was almost smug in nature, a small curve of the lips. Jared's stomach eased a little, but his fingers curled into fists as he watched the white-faced douche slink away with his tail between his legs. 

"Ready to die now." He sniped, shoving his fisted hands deep into his pockets as far as they would go. "Anytime you're ready, Ackles, sir." Might as well go down defiant, because his grave was definitely going to say,  Jared Padalecki: Died because of his infinitely poor aim. 

It was then that Genevieve decided to crop up at Jared's elbow, just as Ackles was about to issue the "open fire" command. "Jared, my shift is over. Ready to go?" He stared at her oblivious beam, sneaking looks at everyone circled around him. Ackles' expression had changed again; now he looked simply bemused. 

"Uh," he said intelligently, "I'm about to die."

There were times when Jared adored the shit out of Genevieve's lip, her snark, the way she stood up to people. There were times when he came to her aid because her method of standing up to people didn't always work. And then there were times when Jared knew Gen's sass would leave him dead. More dead than he already was. 

Like now, as she turned to Ackles, regarded him with unknowing disinterest, and then said, "I don't think this guy can take you down, J-Pad."

The bodyguard's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and even Ackles seemed to take mild offense to the statement, one of his eyebrows quirking upwards sharply.

Jared closed his eyes and counted to ten. This day wasn't going to get any better, was it?

"Genevieve," he said as calmly as possible, "this is Jensen Ackles. The guy I just spilled my drink on."

The fish-out-of-water oh, shit look on Gen's face was almost gratifying, and then she simply nodded, pale-faced, patted Jared on the shoulder, and said, "Forget-me-nots are your favorite flower, right, Jare-Bear? I'll get them for your grave." Jared huffed a weak laugh at that, and finally, finally,  Ackles spoke up.

"This has been touching," he said, his voice whiskey-rough and silk-smooth at the same time. His eyes, however, were glittering with the same sharp amusement from earlier, and Jared was almost relieved to see it. "If you'll excuse us, Genevieve," the way her name rolled off his tongue caused Gen's cheeks to redden and Jared to be slightly jealous of how pretty her name was, "Jared and I have a little bit of chatting to get to."

So wait, he wasn't going to die. That was great. Yeah, he was just going to be paying for that suit for the rest of his life. Fan-fucking-tastic. Jared's shoulders relaxed minutely, and Gen didn't look quite as pale-faced, but he still wasn't in the clear. He simply nodded as the crowd, bored that there wasn't a fight going down, began to ebb away, and followed Ackles towards the back room.

"Jay, wait-" Gen launched forward to wrap her arms around Jared's middle. "Come back safe, or I'll raise you from the dead and kick your ass to next Sunday." Jared wanted to laugh hysterically, because-- what the hell? It was a suit, a damn suit! Why was he in so much trouble?

"Don't tell Chad yet." He mumbled into her hair as he squeezed her comfortingly. "Don't want him to flip." He felt her nod against his arm before she pulled away with a watery smile and the door to the back room closed.

"Nice friends you have, Jay." Ackles' tongue teased his name, causing the fine hair on the nape of Jared's neck to rise. The man leaned against a velvet-red couch, his face frighteningly illuminated by the strobe lights as they glittered above. Jared wondered vaguely if Danneel was already going about replacing him. "Do they always get you in trouble?"

"Nah, they give me Sundays off," Jared offered automatically, his tone naturally sarcastic, and shit, why did he even say anything? But Ackles really stunned him with a sharp, surprised laugh, even causing the bodyguards stationed in the corners to tense.

"You're clever, Jared." He praised, making it seem borderline insulting. "It's a dangerous thing to be around here." He disappeared behind what appeared to be a shoji screen, decorated with an attractive smattering of cherry blossoms that draped the tan colored material. 

"Someone's gotta be," Jared returned, gaining a little confidence as he jutted his chin out and ground his teeth together; that didn't stop him from blushing when he watched Ackles' clothes hit the ground through the spaces between the screen and the floor.  "What with all the one-track morons around here." He rubbed the back of his neck, staring pointedly at the ornate clock on the wall until Ackles reappeared; his bodyguards looked strangely unfazed as the man strolled across the floor and collapsed on the couch dramatically.

Which made him remember. He'dbeen standing for literally five hours, and the couch was looking really damn appealing; it helped its image with Jensen Ackles sprawled over it gracefully, like a tiger in wait to spring. And-- oh, shit, why did Jared suddenly feel like-- well, whatever tigers hunted?

Ackles was giving him a cool once-over. "How old are you?"

"Old enough to be legal." Jared knew he was being infuriating, alternating between snarky and vague, but he'd had it with the crime around here. He just wanted to go back to the comic store, even if it meant giving up the money. But he owed it to Gen, whether he liked it or not. And he certainly wasn't going to become a blubbering mess at Ackles' feet. 

The other man nodded slowly. "Still in school?"

"Studying neuroscience," Jared mumbled, knee-jerk. "Taking a break over the summer. Why are you asking me personal questions?"

"What is white matter made up of?" Ackles asked all of a sudden, arms crossed languorously across his chest. Jared's mind stuttered as it processed the question; wait, was Ackles testing his knowledge of the brain?  And-- Wait, how did Ackles know about all this stuff anyway? What the hell? Was he some kind of all-round genius? Now that Jared thought about it, something like that totally made sense.

"Dendrites and axons," he fired off automatically, lips pursing as he tried to gauge a way out. Ackles' upper lip curled almost approvingly, and he gently sloshed his glass flute back and forth in a rocking motion that brought nausea to the forefront of Jared's throat. 

"Not just a pretty face," was all Ackles said, his tone mild. Jared bristled, hackles rising and hazel-green eyes flashing towards the elegant man. 

"Not pretty," he mumbled petulantly, trying to get his hair to lay flat against his head and suddenly feeling very conscious about Ackles' gelled-to-perfection sun-kissed hair. He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he messed with his hair with a little more urgency. And doing this made him totally miss Ackles sneaking up in front of him, until he looked up and nearly had a heart attack as the other man trapped a stray chocolate lock between his fingertips.

" Jesus," h e hissed, recoiling, and Ackles' answering smile was almost reptilian.

"You got the first two letters right," he conceded, ruffling Jared's hair condescendingly. Who was this guy? Jensen Ackles' stand in? Was he flirting with him? "So, sweetie, how are you planning to pay for the suit?" 

Jared swallowed, biting back a sarcastic remark about goddamn clothing and the lame-ass endearment. "I can clean for you," he shrugged. "Do your laundry." And get fired from his job, probably.

The other's dark, slightly mocking laugh brought an embarrassing flush to Jared's face. Ackles' rough fingers dipped gingerly into the indents of Jared's dimples. "I have housekeepers. Try again." The wink, no matter how playful and undeniably sexy, was gut-wrenchingly suggestive. Jared, as gently as possible, swatted his hand away from his face; he really didn't want to get Ackles angrier at him.

"With all due respect Mr. Ackles," he said flatly with no respect whatsoever, "I-"

"Jensen." Ack- Jensen interjected. It was sort of a gorgeous name, very fitting. It sort of rung against his mouth like bells, tapering off gently when his tongue tapped against his upper row of teeth. 

"Jensen," Jared took a deep breath after the name fluttered on his lips pleasantly. "I'm not some cheap whore." He wrinkled his nose. "And I'm not an expensive one, either," he added to Ackles' apparent amusement. "I'm not going to offer my body for a suit."

"A suit that costs an entire year of your salary?" Jensen ventured, and Jared gave him a dirty look. "Look at you, so full of yourself. Well, Jared, what if I wasn't going to ask for your body?" Abruptly, his fingers were gone, and Jared felt the emptiness like a gaping hole. "Well, not like that, anyway."

Embarrassed, Jared ducked his head and pointedly messed with his hair again. Okay, awkward. He had assumed Jensen just wanted to use him like a puppet, but hey, maybe the guy's morals outdid those of everyone else in that stinking club. "Then?"

"Chauffeur," Jensen said simply from across the room where he had draped his leg over the couch again. Jared tried not to look too long at the way the black pants stretched taut against the resistance.  

"Huh?" He said intelligently, looking up to see Jensen grinning. With a full-out shit-eating smile that was two parts amused and one part breathtakingly solemn. Jared wasn't quite sure how the man pulled it off. 

"Come now, Jared," Jensen scolded lightly. "You know what a chauffeur is. You get to drive me around at my command for a year. Isn't that fun?" His bodyguards looked rigid, beyond comprehensible surprise, and Jared felt much the same way inside. Fun. Yeah. Likely. About as likely as Jensen patting his ass and saying, "kidding! You're free to go." Jared stared at him, imagining the strange scenario. 

"I don't have a car," he said flatly, knowing there was a catch somewhere in the deal. Jensen's eyebrows arched at his tone, most likely, and he looked somewhat incredulous. 

"But you know how to drive?"

Jared shrugged; okay, yeah, he'd passed his driving test without a single point deduction, but his devout mother had refused to buy him a car and had simultaneously pulled his college funds-- even the money he'd gotten from relatives. "Well enough."

Jensen nodded. "Well, you won't be driving  your invisible car. I've got a car you'll take me around in."

"How do you know I won't drive you somewhere distant and stab you?" Jared wondered, mystified, knowing all the while that he'd never do something like that. But still.

Almost instantly, four guns cocked in his direction, the bodyguards standing at rapt attention while Jensen coolly scrutinized him with a lazy smile.  

"Will you?"

Jared met the flat, dark-eyed gazes one by one and slowly shook his head side to side. "Wouldn't dream of it."  he said truthfully, wryly, hooking his fingers into his belt loops with another nibble on his bottom lip. Well, almost-truthfully. He might dream about it. 

"Didn't think so," Jensen drawled with his honeyed Texan drawl which-- Wait, did Jared just figure out that Jensen's accent was hot? And-- Wait, now that Jared thought about it, he was feeling hilariously underdressed beside Jensen's wear; he was decked in a black vest and a viridescent tie speckled with turquoise and black pants to match. The shirt underneath was pinstriped with bottle-green to top it all off, which-- what the hell. The guy had looked sexy in soaked clothing, let alone in the ensemble he was currently wearing. Jared's heart climbed into his throat and started trying to claw its way out. "So, I'm going to get your number. I expect you to come running when I call." He winked, tucking a card into Jared's shirt pocket. The brush of his fingers against Jared's plain shirt made him blush again; it seemed like the day would never freaking end. Jesus.

"I would," Jared, slightly shame-faced with his lips pressed together, drew the card out with his index finger and thumb clamped together, "But I don't have a phone."

Risking a look at Jensen from beneath his bangs, he noted with embarrassment that the man looked simply taken aback. Yeah, because in his luxurious world,  everyone had a fancy phone with a fancy case studded with real diamonds and laced with real gold. Jared could hardly resist a snort, or maybe an eye-roll, even. This guy was living a fantasy, some whimsical world where nothing went wrong; bitter resentment welled up, ugly and black, in Jared's chest. He and Genevieve barely scraped by on their salaries, because no matter how good he was at his job, he was a  bartender. He didn't even have a fucking phone, and they barely cleared the rent. And now Jensen expected him to attend to his every beck and call? 

"Can you taste your intestines from how far up your own ass your head is, Ackles?" Jared had no idea where it came from, honest. Swear to God. He just-- Oh, God, what was he thinking? 

"...Excuse me?" Jensen shifted, his fingers digging into his knees as his jaw worked. He looked even more stunned, probably because he was in diapers the last time someone talked back to him. The bodyguards hadn't moved, but the good-looking one from earlier who looked to be closest to Jensen angled his body a little.

"You heard me." Jared straightened, his dramatic attempt failed when he got his leg stuck around the leg of the table and flailed a little. "I- Uh. Yeah. Look, as much as I'd like to drive you around, it's not happening." He tugged at his hair, agitated, noticing the thunderclouds rolling across Jensen's face. "First of all, Gen and I barely get by on our collective rent, and you're a busy guy, so if I spend all my time driving you around, I might as well quit my job. And then," Jared laughed, a little hysterically, because-- He was getting screwed over by a piece of fabric. What. The hell. "And then the electricity will give, and Gen will have to live in the dark, because she can't pay the rent on our own and the landlord is always fucking perving on her, so she'll end up on the street or forced to do something questionable-"  Was his voice getting higher? It felt like his voice was getting higher. "-Oh, God, you and your fucking suits." His breath hitched when he spun to find Jensen's finger pressed firmly up against his mouth.

"You talk way too much," Jensen said sternly, now looking less murderous. Thank God. "First of all-- I can't believe you said that to me. Honestly." Jared made an impatient noise against Jensen's finger, which only got him more pressure from the aforementioned digit. "Okay, second of all, I'll make sure your pretty friend doesn't get kicked out or forced to blow the landlord. Alright? And-- What else was it that you said? Ah, my fucking suits." Jensen lifted up the coat of the ruined suit. "This suit? It was a gift from my parents, the first thing they got me when I rose to power." An acerbic laugh bubbled from Jared's lips. Oh, yeah, Jensen's parents got him a 48,000 dollar suit. Jared's mother gave him a Bible and kicked him out, and that was after Jared got a full ride to college. Unfortunately, he still had to live somewhere.  And that meant he had to pay. "If you do a good enough job, I'll start paying you. And you only have to do it for a year."

Oh. Yeah. Jared was so totally screwed. But yeah, he also wasn't going back on his morals. He had to pay the damn suit off somehow, and this was better than getting on his knees. Much better. Right? Right. 

"Fine." 

So fucking screwed.