Chapter Text
The problem was, Jared’s father was not a criminal; and yet, despite his lack of qualifications, he embarked upon a life of crime.
If he had been at all experienced, he might not have been caught red-handed in the act of poorly executed white collar embezzlement, and he might not have ended up in prison. His family might not have lost their home, and Jared might not have (definitely wouldn’t have) taken the job offer at The Jade Room.
And if he hadn’t been working at a mixed night club, he certainly wouldn’t have met Jensen Ackles, prince of the crime world, rising star of the business world, beautiful, cruel and mercurial, and the father of Jared’s child.
But then, maybe there are some thing Jared doesn’t want to change.
His job at The Jade Room came with the title of waiter, but there was the unspoken understanding that along with serving drinks, Jared would be objectified, harassed, groped and generally treated like a twenty-dollar whore, minus any actual fucking. So far, at least.
Before Jared dropped out of college and took a full-time job at a night club, the harshest work environment he had ever had to endure was shelving Japanese teas and rows of ceramic maneki-neko’s for two years in high school, under the watchful eye of crotchety old Mr. Fukushima. If he was being honest with himself, as he sometimes was at four a.m., washing off the scent of alcohol and perfume in his tiny apartment, working at The Jade Room terrified him. The very air reeked of money and abandon. The other waiters watched him with knowing eyes, as if it was just a matter of time before one of the customers stepped it up from ass-pinching to ass fucking, Jared’s 6'3"-and-growing frame be damned.
“How do you work here?” Jared asked Jimmy on his third night. Jimmy gave him an incredulous look.
“I mean, don’t you feel . . . uncomfortable?” Jared struggled to find words to describe hot shame that almost felt like indignation and tasted a little like fear.
Jimmy raised one eyebrow and ran his gaze slowly up Jared’s body, from the toes of his faux combat boots, over the clinging leather leggings, paired only with fashion suspenders and fingerless leather gloves.
“You better get used to it, kid, or get a new job.”
“We’re not whores,” Jared said. It’s what he’d been himself that since the moment he walked in the door.
Jimmy slammed his locker and glared at Jared. “Dipshit, I know that. You know why you can’t hack the job? Because you don’t know that. You keep acting like a virgin in a prison yard, they’re gonna keep treating you like one.”
Jared watched Jimmy leave, his skin feeling too warm and his stomach rolling. “I’m not a virgin,” he said to the empty locker room. He was never going to get used to the job.
Looking back now, Jared isn’t sure if he was saved that night Jensen Ackles walked into the club, or if that was the moment he was damned.
Maybe a little of both.
It was a Wednesday night, which for no reason Jared could discern was always the club’s busiest night outside of the weekend. The evening’s uniform was a vest that ended a good inch above his navel, with open sides and back like a girl’s peek-a-boo dress, and shiny gold pants, and cut so skinny they looked painted on. All the girls (wearing the shortest, tightest sheath dresses Jared had ever seen) insisted his legs were simply made for those pants.
Jared thought the outfit made him look like a stripper, but his coping technique these days was not to think. He needed this job if he had even a hope of returning to college and helping his family back on their feet. So if he had to parade around in glorified lingerie for the pleasure of the rich and intoxicated, that’s what he would do.
Jared kept the faces of his mom and sisters at that forefront of his mind as he accepted another tray of drinks from Terri. Her metallic gold dress was so tight she practically wiggled when she walked. As she passed off the tray, she reached out, digging her red nails into Jared’s side. “Smiles are dollars, Jare-bear. Let’s see those cute dimples.”
Jared gave his co-worker a frozen grin. Terri laughed and winked one bronzed eyelid. “Fake it ‘til you make, baby.”
Jared kept his smile in place as he wove his way back to his table. Just three more hours and he could go home. The floorshow was keeping the crowd distracted, six lithe girls in purple latex, and three men with perfect dancers’ bodies and very little to hide them. The music was just loud enough to encourage drinking and dancing rather than conversation.
The prickling awareness of being watched made Jared look up to the balcony that curved around one end of the club and gave access to the roof, closed now due to cold temperatures. Other than the main bar, most of the light was centered on the stage, revolving in hectic patterns. The balcony had dim lights set low in the wall, leaving most of the occupants in deep shadow, but a pulsing strobe light lit up the man leaning one hip against the balcony railing. Light swept over broad shoulders under grey, tailored suit jacket, short hair, defined jaw. Dark-lashed eyes were fixed on Jared in a hooded gaze that settled like a hot hand on Jared’s skin.
In the three months he had worked at The Jade Room, Jared had seen more physical perfection, natural and artificial, than in his entire twenty-one previous. Models, aspiring actors and sports stars paraded through the doors each night, young, sleek and perfectly polished. The entertainers and staff at the club, Jared’s fellow waiters, were are all young and beautiful. But holy fucking hell, this guy was in a class all his own. Jared considered himself bisexual, had since highschool. He met as many girls he was attracted to as guys, but if he’d met someone who looked like this back when he was exploring it as a sophomore, he would have been 110% gay in three seconds flat, sparkly, pink unicorns included.
Mr. Perfect lifted the cigarette to his lips, never taking his eyes from Jared’s. His inhale hollowed out his cheeks and the cigarette glowed orange before he pulled away. Eye locked with Jared’s, he grinned, showing straight, white teeth as twin lines of smoke curled from his nostrils.
It was like something was being communicated, and Jared was unnerved even as he was lit up with a pulse of white-hot arousal. He suddenly realized he was standing dead still, bathed in shifting lights, breathing too quickly, a tray of shots and mixed drink neglected in his hands.
Great. Now he looked like a total moron.
The show was ending and Jared delivered his drinks with his best smile. When he looked back at the balcony, the spot by the railing was empty.
“Jared!”
Jared fumbled his tray, dodged a trio of girls who were laughing and stumbling their way to the dance floor. He turned and found himself eye-level with Ashley, six feet of African princess, further enhanced by four inch gold heels.
She leaned in to be heard over the music. “Deeter wants you.”
Not good.
Jared nodded. “Uh, yeah, okay.”
Ashley rolled her eyes and glided away, her tray of drinks balanced on one hand.
Jared found Deeter in his office, phone in hand, busily typing.
“Jared,” the staff manager said, not even glancing up. “Mr. Ackles asked to see you. He’s in the back lounge.”
When Jared didn’t move, Deeter looked up from his typing, eyebrows raised at Jared’s inaction.
Jared tried not to look panicked. “Mr. Ackles wants to see me?”
One of the first things Jared had learned from his co-worker’s gossip was that the owner of The Jade Room was not above sleeping with his employees. It was something of an open secret that Mr. Ackles had more than one fuck toy among The Jade Room staff.
Jared wasn’t a prude, but such a casual approach to sex was not something he was used to. He’d grown up in neighborhoods of wide, green lawns and beautifully maintained houses, where sneaking in through his girlfriend’s bedroom window to cuddle and make out on her lavender sheets was as daring as he got. When he’d first started working at The Jade Room, his suburban-raised sensibilities had been shocked by how common it was for customers to proposition the staff, and even more so, for them to accept.
The Jade Room did not officially offer sex to its customers, but most of the people working there were picking up overtime to fuel dreams of something better; money was money, and most of The Jade Room’s patrons could afford to pay well for what they wanted.
The knowledge was insidious. Every time Jared talked to his mom on the phone and heard the exhaustion and stress in her voice he almost felt guilty for not doing everything he possibly could – and then immediately angry that he had been put in a situation where he was considering selling his body so his family could survive. Every time he turned down an offer, he envisioned what exactly he would do with the money if he had it. Sell his ass a few times a week and maybe he could help his mom and sisters back into a home, eat regular meals, return to college.
Jared knew he was already on the slippery slide down.
But getting mixed up with the club owner, his actual employer, was not something Jared wanted to do.
Deeter looked at Jared, annoyance settling into the heavy lines of his face. “Yes, Jared. Jensen Ackles, who is your boss. So move it.”
Deeter turned back to his phone, and Jared left the office, unease fluttering in his gut as he headed for the back lounge, the room referred to by Jared’s fellow waiters as the pole room. Jared was pretty sure they weren’t talking about actual dancer’s poles.
The hallway was dim, the music from the floor show a deep throbbing beat in the walls. Jared paused just outside the door. He wasn’t sure if he was more worried he was going to be fired or fucked. Maybe fired unless he agreed to be fucked. Would Mr. Ackles do something like that? Jared felt a little sick.
The back lounge was VIP territory, and he’d never had reason to be inside; stepping over the threshold felt like walking into an animal’s lair. The door closed and all outside noise immediately cut off, the room completely soundproof. Amber-tinted light shone on dark wood paneling and the smell of Cuban cigars and Clive Christian cologne settled over Jared like a mist. Breathy, vocal trance played from hidden speakers.
The most obvious thing in the room were the two dancers in slow gyration around poles set in an oblong platform raised to a perfect height for observation from the deep leather chairs set around the stage. But it wasn’t the gleaming, half naked bodies that had Jared’s attention.
The two men watching the dancers didn’t even look up at Jared’s entrance, but the three men standing at the bar all turned their heads towards Jared when the lounge door clicked closed.
Leaning one elbow on the bar, glass of ice and gold liquid cradled in relaxed fingers, was Mr. Perfect from the balcony.
Jared glanced between the three faces, almost hoping that Mr. Ackles was one of two guys getting their rocks off watching the pole dancers.
“Mr. Deeter said –”
“Six three?” Mr. Perfect’s eyes skated up and down Jared’s body.
Jared blinked. The moment stretched long as his brain scrambled to catch up. The guy on Mr. Perfect’s left laughed, and Jared felt his skin heat, but it got his brain moving again. “Uh, two and three fourths.”
The man on the left smiled. “How tall does that make you on your knees?”
“You might need a step ladder for this one, Jensen,” the other guy said, and Mr. Perfect laughed.
“You can both fuck off now,” he said, still watching Jared like he was live porn. The two other guys left, taking their drinks with them.
Jared felt he should say something, make himself more than an object in the conversation. Maybe put in a “fuck off” of his own.
“How much?”
Jared tried to look unconcerned by being left alone with this guy. “I’m sorry, what?”
Mr. Ackles leaned both elbows on the bar, his body a long, relaxed line. “It’s not a difficult question. How much do you charge for sucking cock?”
Oh, fuck you, Jared thought. Thirty minutes ago he would have given a lot more than a blow job, and done it for free. So much for those brief, misguided sexual fantasies. Why did someone this hot have to be Jared’s sleazy boss?
Jared looked Mr. Ackles in the eye. “I don’t do that, that’s not my job.”
Mr. Ackles smirked, top lip curling. “I guess I’m not making the right offer, then.”
And Jared realized, right then, his body a weird mix of irritation and nervous arousal, it was never really about the sex, it was about the expectations of the people who looked Jared over like a packaged item with a price tag. Terri had told him he was thinking about it wrong. “So they think they’re using us. We’re using them, too. It’s business, baby.”
When Jared saw Mr. Ackles on the balcony, he’d imagined a lot of things, but none of them had included money.
If it was business, than that’s all it would ever be.
Jared bit the side of mouth, worked to keep his face expressionless, kicked at the tiny voice that murmured, you’re gonna get fired. “You couldn’t offer me enough money, Mr. Ackles. Can I get back to work now?”
Mr. Ackles chuckled, low and throaty. “How long ‘till the old man gets his parole?”
Jared felt a sick little shock. He hadn’t told anyone, not even his college friends, about his family problems. “What are you talking about?” Jared tried.
Mr. Ackles shrugged, looked across the room towards the pole dancers. “Prison life is hard. You just look at someone wrong, you could find yourself dancing on the blacktop.”
Jared ran the sentence back in his head, frowned. “What?”
Mr. Ackles took a cigarette case out of his pocket, snapped it open. “Stabbed, Jared. Your dad’s not a criminal, he’s just a desk monkey who was stupid and got caught. What’s he gonna do when someone comes after him with a shiv?”
Jared mind scrambled, trying to figure out where this conversation was going. Mr. Ackles lit his cigarette, light catching on the engraving in the side of the lighter. The room was cool, but Jared was breaking a sweat.
“Are you threatening my dad?”
Mr. Ackles grinned around the cigarette. “I’m not the one your dad needs to worry about.”
When he got the news at college that his dad had been arrested, Jared refused to see or speak to the man. Hating his dad for getting them into this mess made it easier at first, but Jared had never been able to stay angry about anything for long. His mom gave him updates each time she called, and though Jared didn’t ask for them, didn’t respond, he listened.
She’d never said anything about his dad being in danger. He wasn’t a gang member, he didn’t have any enemies.
“Stop fucking with me!” Jared said. “Why would my dad be in danger?”
“Who do you think owns the company your dad worked for? Nobody likes a thief.”
“He worked for a software developer . . . that was a criminal enterprise?”
Mr. Ackles laughed, smoke curling from his nose and mouth. “A criminal enterprise. You have a way with words.” He looked at Jared. “How bad do you want to keep daddy safe?”
Jared pictured himself turning around, walking out the door, letting the noise and lights and movement of the club wrap him up. Till it was time to go home. Then the rest of the week. His mom’s Sunday phone call. And maybe she would be crying about more than debt and hunger and fear.
“This is harassment,” Jared said. It was worth a shot.
Mr. Acklles smiled. “Feel free to report it to your supervisor.”
“I’ll report it to the fucking police,” Jared said.
“No, you wont.”
No, he wouldn’t. Because he needed this job, and his dad wasn’t getting a parole for three years, at least.
“How are you going to protect my dad?”
“I have people serving time there. They’ll keep him safe.” Green eyes flicked over Jared’s body. “Two weeks for one blow job.”
Something dropped out of Jared’s stomach. Two weeks was nothing. He’d known where this was going, but for some reason he’d been thinking this was a one time and forever deal. Which was fucking stupid.
Jared lifted his chin, used his height. This was just business. “One month.”
Ackles grinned, skin at the edge of his eyes crinkling. “Baby has claws.”
“I know the guys here charge –”
“Three weeks, and I fuck your face.”
Oh, god.
Mr. Ackles settled his lower back against the bar. “Waiting for something?”
For this to not be real.
“I’ve never –”
“You’ll learn.”
Jared wanted to ask they go somewhere private to do this, but the end result would be the same – he was sucking off his boss in return for a favor. He was down the slope and rolling around in the shit at the bottom.
Whore.
Jared closed the distance between them, stopped directly in front of Mr. Ackles. Leaning on the bar, Ackles was a good three inches shorter than Jared, but Jared felt like kid who had just wet his pants in a crowded party. He stood there, cigarette smoke sharp in his throat, knees locked up like rusty hinges.
“On your knees, Jared,” Mr Ackles said softly, and Jared found he could move, sink to the floor, till his ass touched his feet.
Okay, he’d just follow whatever Mr. Ackles said. Think of his family and get through this.
Wait, no. Fuck no! Not thinking of his family at all.
But now that he had, he couldn’t stop. His mom would be mortified if she knew he was bartering sex like this. His little sisters . . .
“This whole innocence thing would be a lot cuter if your mouth was on my dick.”
Jared kept his head down, ran slick palms down his metallic pants. Mr. Ackles’ thighs bracketed his head, the curve of muscle outlined through fitted trousers. If Jared looked up, Mr. Ackles’ crotch would be right in front of his face.
Man up, Padalecki. It’s not like you’ve never touched a dick before. God, I need to be drunk for this.
Jared closed his eyes, reached without looking, gingerly laid his palms flat against Mr. Ackles thighs. The muscle under the suit pants was hard as fucking rock.
And thinking of him as “Mr.” now was seriously weird. Jared was going to have this guys dick in his mouth . . . okay, don’t think about that. But, Jensen. Yeah. Pretend he’s just some douche bag, fuck-buddy from college.
Yes. Jensen was a douchebag fuck-buddy Jared met when they were both waiting in line at Arby’s. Someone mentioned college, and they found out they were both attending Brooklyn . . .
Jared slid his hands up, feeling his way to Jensen’s crotch, the curve of his half-hard cock hot through th fabric of his pants.
. . . and they spent the next two hours arguing over Byron and Vonnegut. Because Jensen is a douche bag, but he’s a smart one. But he still thinks any sport but football is lame, so obviously he doesn’t have great taste in everything . . .
Jared fumbled open the belt buckle. Button, zipper, what felt like silk boxers underneath. Yeah, because Jensen is kind of pretentious. And rich. Trust fund baby.
Jared closed his eyes, leaned in, heart hammering against his ribs. He bit his tongue hard, nuzzled into Jensen’s open fly, rubbed his lips against silk pulled tight over hot skin.
Above him Jensen gave a breathy laugh. “There you go.”
Jared dug his fingers into Jensen’s thighs, reached for his fantasy.
Jensen is a slut, he fucks anything that walks, then calls Jared at three a.m. to tell him all the nasty details. So he definitely knows his way around in the sack
Jared worked his fingers into Jensen’s boxers, touched hot skin.
One night they go drinking, come back to Jensen’s apartment. Not really drunk, just buzzed. Maybe they play some video games. Bio Shock. It looks awesome. Jared hasn’t played it, but Jensen has it, which is good, because Jared can’t even afford the game itself, never mind a PS3 . . .
Jared wasn’t hearing anything now but Jensen’s heavy breathing. His thighs were warm and solid where they pressed against Jared’s shoulders. Smoke, cologne, and musky male.
They end up on the floor, half on top of each other. Jensen’s looking at Jared, all sexy and messed up . . .
Jared worked the waistband of Jensen’s boxers down over his cock, tucked it under his heavy sack. Warm, smooth skin. Jensen shaved.
. . . because he’s particular about his personal hygiene, and Jared can appreciate that, especially right now, when he’s got his hand down Jensen’s pants, and Jensen’s fingers in his hair . . .
Jensen’s fingers slid across his cheek, curled into his hair.
. . . and Jared’s had a crush on Jensen since the that first day they met. The guy is seriously hot, it’s almost impossible to not think about sex with him, even if he is kind of a jerk . . .
Jared grasped Jensen’s hardening cock (holy crap, he was really doing this), kept his eyes closed as he guided it to his mouth. He flicked his tongue over the head and met curved metal.
What the fuck? Jared’s eyes blinked open.
Jensen’s dick was thick and uncut, the dark-pink head fully emerged from the foreskin.
And – fuck – he was pierced, a gold curved barbell right through his cock head, the knobs at the end inlaid with a tiny green stone.
Jared heard himself groan, couldn’t stop the sound. The sight of that thick gold rod coming out of the wide pink slit was doing things to him he didn’t even know could be done.
“Y’ like that?” Jensen said softly. Jared squirmed and bit his lip, hard. Business, this was business. Just get through it, however he had to.
“Go on, taste it,” Jensen said.
Jared kept his eyes down, just Jensen’s crotch and lower belly in his view. His suit jacket was open, his shirt rucked up. Under tanned skin, veins led down to Jensen’s groin, standing out in sharp relief.
Jared leaned in, tracing one line up to Jensen’s navel, back down to the base of his cock. The skin was salty with sweat, bitter with chemicals.
“Fuck,” Jensen moaned. “Blow job means you put my dick in your mouth, Jared . . .”
Jared ignored him, kept his eyes half open, watching the dull light reflect off of the jewelry . . . cock jewelry. A nervous, adrenaline-fueled giggle swelled in Jared’s throat.
Jensen told Jared about his Prince Albert the day he got, but he wouldn’t show him. Talked about it for weeks after, told Jared how much the girls liked it, how it made the guys want to lick and touch . . .
Jensen’s hands tightened on Jared’s head. “Suck,” he said.
Overbearing douche bag. Yeah, definitely Jensen . . .
. . . at least they weren’t dating. God, that would be a nightmare. But casual sex, that was . . .
Not something Jared did.
A wave of shame and guilty panic heated Jared’s skin. So much for claiming he wasn’t a whore. He couldn’t even make this an act of self-sacrifice – just the thought of his family made him want to crawl right out of his own body.
“Stop now and all you’ve done is give me a free warmup,” Jensen said.
“Then shut up,” Jared snapped. “You’re distracting me.” Ruining my escapist fantasy.
Jensen laughed, gripped Jared’s hair till it pulled. “You’ve really got an attitude.” His fingers dug into the hinge of Jared’s jaw, hard enough to hurt. “I like it.”
Jensen pushed his thumb into Jared’s mouth, forcing it open like he was medicating a dog.
Jared twitched and swivelled, held still by the fingers in his hair. No, not like this. Maybe he’d pushed Jensen too far, and now Jensen was going to fuck Jared up for giving lousy head.
Jensen’s thumb stroked the inside of Jared’s cheek. “If you’re doing this, stop fucking around.”
Jared nodded against the pressure, and Jensen let go, moving to grip the base of his cock, guiding it towards Jared’s mouth.
Jared let him. Taking it slow and keeping it comfortable was what you did when you weren’t on your knees in the room full of strange men, sucking off your boss so he would agree to protect your dad in prison.
Metal slid over Jared’s tongue, nudged the back of his mouth, teasing his gag reflect. Jared gulped, tried to breath through his nose. Tried not to panic. People did this all the time. Terri had told him more than one mind-scarring story about her experience deep-throating. She seemed to think the stories were funny, and if Terri could do this, Jared could do this.
Jensen pushed in further, the head of his cock slide into Jared’s throat. Jared shuddered and gagged. Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic.
Three minute ago he’d been halfway to a hard-on, but now he was completely soft and the sweat slicking his skin, running down his bare back was nervous tension, not arousal.
Jensen pulled back just as Jared made a harsh gaging sound. Saliva overflowed his mouth, running warm down Jared’s chin and neck as he sucked air in through his open mouth. People did this for fun? What kind of messed of weirdo would find this shit fun?
Jensen made an odd noise, and Jared looked up, blinking to clear his vision.
Jensen looked down through lowered lashes, his lips parted, chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths. Light caught the sheen of wet lips and white teeth, and for a second Jared imagined their roles reversed, his fingers pulling Jensen’s short hair, holding him as Jared fucked his face.
“Eyes on me,” Jensen murmured, and Jared’s mouth was filled again, all the way, making his throat spasm. He tasted come, and – oh, shit, he was letting Jensen fuck his mouth without protection.
Jared grabbed at Jensen’s thighs, not sure if he was pushing away or pulling himself up. If Jensen was carrying something, Jared probably already had it.
Jensen had both hands back on Jared’s head, holding him close as his slide his cock in and out, deep enough to keep Jared just on the edge of choking.
Jensen made a weird growling sound and thrust hard, overbalancing Jared, making him hook his fingers in Jensen’s front pockets.
His throat was filled and Jared couldn’t breath, Jensen’s hands holding his head, and Jared’s stomach tried to heave in response to his blocked throat and he swallowed convulsively around the thick length. He didn’t realize Jensen had come till he pulled out, strings of salty saliva trailing from Jared’s mouth to Jensen’s cock.
Jared gulped oxygen into his bruised throat, shivering under a cold sweat. It was over. Oh, thank God.
Jensen’s fingers lifted his chin, brushed his bottom lip, slipped into Jared’s mouth, stroked over his tongue once.
Jared jerked his head away, blinked gag-induced tears from his eyes.
Jensen laughed softly. “No after-play? You gotta learn to have more fun, kid.”
Jared wiped his mouth and stumbled to his feet, feeling small and foolish, an odd ache in his chest he couldn’t name. On the edge of his vision Jensen was grinning, lighting another cigarette, his cock and balls, shiny-wet, still hanging out of his dark blue boxers.
Jared swallowed hard, felt the throb of bruising, tasted bitter come and soap-washed skin. The music was still playing, but Jared kept his back to the pole stage. He didn’t want to know who had just watched all that.
“Don’t you put your toys away?”
Jared darted a glance at Jensen’s relaxed smile, his shuttered eyes. For the first time since they’d met, he really hated Jensen.
“Finish the job, Jared,” Jensen said, voice soft.
Jared kept his head up as he stepped close, watching the wall over Jensen’s shoulder, ignoring the warm smoke blowing against his damp skin, the solid muscle his brushing his arm. Reversed order, zippers and buckles Jared had somehow forgotten how to work.
When he was finally done, Jensen turned around, putting his back the Jared, pouring a fresh glass of whatever he was drinking.
Business concluded.
Jared started towards the door, keeping his eyes fixed on the dark wood. No one said anything, and Jared yanked the door closed behind him, for the first time ever relieved to hear the music, sense the crush of the club crowd, safety in the familiar.
In the locker room Jared swished and spit mouthwash till his gums stung.
And he didn’t think.
Three more hours till the end of his shift.