Notes: Originally written for an spnkink_meme prompt here. and omg, I wrote j2 (you bastards).

When they get to the party, Jared has no sudden epiphany about what he's been dragged into. Mostly, he's just confused. Chad being Chad, he was expecting something along the lines of a kegger. You know, plastic cups and trashcan punch and a house that smelled like ass, because they're not in college and never have been but that doesn't seem to matter to Chad. All play and no work makes Chad the douche he loves.

Only this party...isn't that. It's business suits and pricey booze, in a hotel Jared's driven past before, but will never have the money to use. Chad just laughs when Jared hisses that he's not crashing a corporate conference in his clubbing clothes, and leaves Jared by the door half-hidden behind a potted plant, trying to make himself so small he's invisible. Given the givens, it's going as well as you would expect.

There's a sign where the hotel lobby becomes the hotel bar, informing any comers that it's been rented tonight for a private party, and Jared keeps expecting to get singled out and booted by hotel security. Only he's not. He wants to leave but Chad is nowhere in sight and the fucker drove. He could catch a cab but Jared's a sucker and his worst nightmare is Murray's crap-ass Camero wrapped around a tree after one too many tequila shots, so.

After an hour of going mostly unnoticed, he risks crawling out from behind the plant and grabs a seat on an out-of-the-way couch instead. If he's gonna be here a while, he might as well be comfortable.

He's in the middle of texting his little sister when a pair of dress slacks appear in front of him. Jared snaps his phone shut, stomach lurching nervously, and cuts his eyes up to the man standing in front of him. Unlike Jared, this guy clearly belongs here. And he's inspecting Jared like he's cataloging every aspect of his out-of-place-ness, head tipped and eyes calculating. Mouth pursed and unsmiling. Jared freezes, too disconcerted to defend himself.

"Hi," the guy says, finally. He doesn't sound angry but he doesn't smile either. Just studies Jared with clear green eyes.

"Um. Hi," Jared blinks.

"I'm Jensen," the man says, an invitation without the warmth or friendliness that usually go along. His expression is impossible to read.

No offered handshake, no nothing. Is he supposed to stand? If he did, they'd be on top of each other, because the guy's so close to the couch. "Jared."

"Hi, Jared," Jensen returns, and it'd sound like flirting if he weren't wearing a cool mask of indifference. Jared's so preoccupied by his own confusion that he almost misses the tumbler of liquor that goes with the greeting. He takes it automatically, dumbly, and Jensen graces him with a small, not-warm curve of the lips before he sits.

Obviously, this Jensen guy's not here to kick him out of the party, though his actual reason for coming over is less than apparent. Other than gifting Jared with really good scotch. Jensen sips out of his own glass, body angled towards him and elbow propped on the back of the sofa. Watching him. And Jared's not usually, you know. Shy about a pickup, if that's what this is, but the whole thing is weird. Jensen's not smiling or flirting or anything, just studying Jared. Almost clinically. And making small talk that is oddly detached, indifferent, like he doesn't really care where Jared's from or how long he's been in LA.

Jared answers his questions without looking directly his way, conscious of Jensen's direct gaze and proximity. Conscious, too, of the cologne, good looks and nice body that he can't enjoy under the current circumstances.

When Jared's nervous, he puts things in his mouth. The scotch disappears fast, burning its way to his belly so he can pretend it's the booze that's warming his face. Jensen makes a small, absent gesture towards the bar and someone in a server's tux appears to replenish Jared's glass.

He almost sloshes it all over his jeans when Jensen's hand brushes the back of his neck.

It gets easier after that, if not less weird. With a solid buzz, it seems a little less intimidating, the way Jensen's regarding him. And it's hard to be confused whether he's being hit on when there's a warm hand stroking the nape of his neck, fingernails scraping through the short hairs up to the base of his skull til Jared feels on red alert. He feels like a spazz, all tensed up like a virgin, but this whole encounter is...different. There's something about it that puts him on edge. Jensen is so collected. His voice has dropped an octave since he started stroking Jared's neck, but.

It's like he's not really picking Jared up. It's like he already has him, like there's no way Jared will say no, and Jared's not sure if that turns him on or creeps him out.

After a while, Jensen stands, startling him out of the trance he was in. He tugs on Jared's arm and tips his head a little when Jared doesn't immediately follow. Jared's just buzzed enough that it prods him to his feet, but when Jensen starts to lead him across the room, he digs in his heels.

"Where are we going?" It's a stupid question, because, well. Jared knows where this is going. Or where Jensen thinks this is going. But his heart is pounding and his mouth is dry, and he's not sure whether he's for or against the idea of that. Jensen makes him uncharacteristically nervous.

Jensen smiles genuinely for the first time of the night, but the warmth of real amusement is undercut by something patronizing. "My room." He says it like it's a given.

Jared's stomach flutters. He licks his lip to wet it and makes a sweep of the room, where there's still no sign of Chad. Jensen is frowning a little when Jared's eyes land on him, and Jared feels this little pulse of unreasonable want.

"Okay," Jared finally says, and once again Jensen's response is off, like he's two seconds away from rolling his eyes. Jared has no idea why he's going upstairs with such an asshole. But he is.

Jensen's easy detachment goes inside-out the second the door's shut behind them. There's nothing aloof about the way he tongue-fucks Jared into the wall, and the difference is so stark and surprising that Jared lets it happen. Just melts for it, passively receptive to those lips and teeth and tongue. It’s not like him at all.

Jensen groans a little into his mouth before he pulls away, eyes following the possessive sweep of his hands down Jared's body. Jared's breathing hard, stunned.

"Uh." Yeah, that's all he's got.

"You new at this?" Jensen asks, teeth scraping along Jared's carotid. It’s hard to focus.

"I'm...what?" Jared's been out since he escaped the confines of Texas, and he's not a total whore or anything, but he's been around. This isn’t his first time at the rodeo. "No. Not...new."

"Coulda fooled me," Jensen mutters against his throat, and Jared would probably be insulted if Jensen didn't grab his dick at just that moment. His knees give suddenly and it puts them eye to eye, height advantage disappearing under his own shaky arousal. Jensen's teeth sink into his ear where the cartilage becomes soft and fleshy and Jared makes a mortifyingly eager noise he's never made before. When Jensen laughs, it reverberates down his spine. "Knew you'd be all subby when I got you like this."

"Wh—" Jared's drunker than he thought, that's the only explanation for how easily Jensen tips him towards the bed. For the way he doesn't object to Jensen's words though he's not, he's never been that way, not particularly.

Jensen grins with real amusement as he straddles Jared's waist, pinning his arms where they've fallen. "The bigger they are, right?" His elbow digs sharply into the meat of Jared’s forearm as he shifts his grip to Jared's hair…yanking it back so Jared swears at the awkward tilt of his neck, at the teeth scraping the edge of his jawbone. "How much for the night?"

To his credit, he’s not that big an idiot. It only takes him a few seconds to get it. To hear the words and put the pieces in their place. But he’s stunned silent too long for Jensen’s liking, unable to put words together before Jensen’s standing up and waving him off.

"Never mind, doesn't matter. Take off your clothes."

Jensen gets off the bed to dig for something in his suitcase and Jared just lays there, pole-axed. When he sits up, Jensen is watching him with raised eyebrows, annoyed that Jared's still dressed. And Jared almost says it. Almost says the words: I'm not a hooker. Like any sane person would do in this situation.

Except for some reason he doesn't. He sits up and peels his shirt off, stands and watches from outside himself as he drops his pants. He has no idea what's going on with him. But if he leaves, he'll never find out.

Jensen's face is openly surprised and impressed, eyes wandering over Jared's body. "Damn. I don't think I've ever seen a body that sculpted in real life." There’s something in his tone, like he’s admiring Jared’s car or house or flashy suit, not his flesh and bone, and Jared gets, like never before, why people object to being objectified.

Jared’s body is a product of conscious effort. It’s not like him to be self-conscious to admiration…he normally preens and flexes and courts the compliments in a half-joking way, but Jensen apparently turns his shit upside-down because he actually blushes, unable to look him in the eye.

"Thanks?" Because at this point, he’s not sure that was an actual compliment.

Jensen comes closer, obviously amused by Jared's bashfulness. He holds up the leather cuffs Jared hadn't noticed in his hand. "You okay with restraints?" he asks bluntly. Like it's business. "No pain or damage, just your arms behind your back."

Jared's chest is a little tight. He should really come clean. "I can do that."

Jensen tilts his head again, eyes assessing. "You done that before?"

Jared's not sure what the answer would be for an actual hooker. If it would be weird for him to say no, if he’ll betray his secret non-hooker status. But he shakes his head anyway, and Jensen's eyes light up with a slow, killer smile.

"Really. My lucky day, then." The smug smile stays a little too long for comfort before it's dropped for Jensen's default expression. "You good with this? I won't kick you out if you say no, but I'll pay extra."

Jared wonders if Jensen talks to everyone this bluntly. But if he were really a hooker, he guesses he'd appreciate the frankness. When he thinks about it that way, it's almost polite, or something. To a professional, he can see where pretended intimacy might be disrespectful. As a non-hooker, it's just. Creepy.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Jensen holds the eye contact a little longer, probably because Jared took so long to answer, but then his eyes drop to Jared's upper body musculature. His smile is nicer this time, wry, like he's the butt of this joke instead of Jared. "Hell, you could kick my ass if you weren't, right?"

Jared huffs a laugh, surprised. "Probably."

Jensen's eyes crinkle. "Definitely. Modesty is bullshit, man."

Something settles in Jared's chest. Whether it's that moment of connection or the reminder of his own strength, he feels some of his apprehension fade. Enough that he's okay when Jensen retreats back to that clinical attitude, eyes cooling noticeably.

“When you’re not working, do you top or bottom?” He waits a beat for Jared to answer. “Tell me to fuck off if it’s none of my business.”

“No, I uh. Both. Either.”

Jensen should play professional poker. Jared has no idea why he asked, no idea what he expected. His answer registers nothing on his face. They’re standing close enough together that Jared feels the controlled way Jensen breathes against his collarbone. His eyes are fixed on a mole on Jared’s throat.

They flick back up to lock on Jared’s. “When you said you hadn’t done restraints, was that professionally, or ever?”

Jared can’t put a word to the look Jensen’s sending him, but whatever it is, it’s intense enough to have him shuffle back a step on instinct. Jensen just feels too close. “Does it matter?”

“Not to me, not really, no. But it might for you.”

“It doesn’t,” Jared insists, and it’s such a bad lie that neither one of them are sold.

Jensen smiles. Not mean-mocking, just like Jared is young, clumsy and amusing. Like he’s not what Jensen expected tonight from a hooker. “So that’s a ‘never,’ then.”

“You don’t know that.”

This time, Jensen does roll his eyes. “Look, I don’t give a shit. But I’m not paying to coddle you, and I won’t. If you think you’re gonna freak, you should leave now. That’s all I was getting at. If not: no pain, no damage, wrist restraints only for an extra two hundred. And we do this now.”

Jared’s pulse is pounding in his skull. “Yeah, ok. Let’s do it.”

Jensen tosses the cuffs across the short distance before turning away. “Put em on, D-ring towards your thumb. Not so loose that they’ll slide, not so tight that they pinch or hurt.”

Jared hadn’t expected to do this part himself but Jensen’s at the closet, hanging his suit as he strips it off piece by piece. Jared sits on the edge of the bed to brace the leather cuffs against his thighs, fingers clumsy as he fumbles the buckles. Outermost hole is the only one that works.

Jensen looks no different naked than he does in a suit. Well, different. Obviously. But he holds himself the exact same way, no embarrassment when Jared’s eyes trip down his body.

“Stand up,” he says quietly. Never bothers to say ‘turn around,’ just nudges Jared’s arm lightly and he does. Sure fingers brush against the edge of the cuffs, checking the fit, and then the clack of metal-on-metal means Jared’s arms are locked behind his back.

He jerks against the cuffs when Jensen shoves him forward unexpectedly, reflex at the bed rushing towards his face. He hits it with a huff of air and a small bounce, and jerks again when Jensen straddles him, dick fitting the groove of his ass.

No lube, no condom and Jared’s heart is in his throat til he realizes that Jensen isn’t going for that. Not yet. Warm, uncalloused hands run up the muscles of his back, thumbs flirting with the groove of his spine then change direction at the shoulder, testing their way to his wrists.

It’s a light touch, mostly, reading the contours of muscle, but every so often they press, squeeze, checking strength and resiliency. When Jared shudders, he closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Jensen’s reaction on the periphery.

Jensen backtracks when he hits the cuffs, up the way he came. Jared can hear him breathing.

“Big bastard like you, Southern accent, I’d expect you to be hung up on topping when you have it your way.” He chuckles a little when Jared blushes, a real, warm sound. Jared doesn’t want to see his face and find out differently. Jensen’s fingers take an unexpected turn where they meet at his neck, scraping up and into his hair along his scalp…Jared turns his face into the bedspread with a huff of air, trying to make the all-over tingle symmetrical. How that gets him hard, he doesn’t know. “People would expect that of you, too,” Jensen continues calmly. “See all this muscle and expect to get held down. So when you say you go for both, I’ll lay money that bottom is your preference.”

Jared fights off the shiver that seizes him, quiet cuz he’s not sure Jensen wants an answer. Doesn’t want to give one, anyway. Jensen’s not wrong, but he doesn’t need Jared to tell him that. He sees through Jared well enough on his own. Jensen’s hands have left his scalp but Jared doesn’t turn his face to the side. Wants to hide a little longer.

Jensen swings off his back suddenly like dismounting a saddle, sharp smack startling Jared when it lands on his ass-cheek. “Scoot farther up the bed, you’re only half-on.”

Jared feels him move away and yanks on the restraints without thinking when he goes to comply. He forgot, though how is beyond him. He twists around, lower back flexing as he tries to lift up and see where Jensen went.

He’s standing right next to the bed again, with lube and a condom. Biting his lip on a smile.

“Uh. Kinda hard without my hands,” Jared hints, and Jensen bites his lip harder, shakes his head. Trying not to laugh.

“You can do it,” he reassures, then stands there and waits til Jared turns red and wiggle-inches up the bed. Once his knees hit the edge of the mattress it gets a little easier, but it’s still ungainly, and awkward as hell.

When he finally collapses with his head butting the pillows, he’s surprised by the hand brushing back his hair. It’s unfair and undignified, how quickly he relaxes in response.

“So I’m a little surprised you’ve never done this before,” Jensen says, and it sounds enough like a continuation of something that Jared struggles to find the thread of conversation. Jensen knee-walks across the bed and smacks his ass again, a little lighter. “Up on your knees.”

He doesn’t help. It’s awkward getting his knees under him without the use of his hands, and by the time he manages it, his neck is bent awkwardly, face smushed into the covers. But if he turns, he can brace his weight on his forehead and straighten his spine back out. The muscles of his neck thank him as he re-breathes hot air against the mattress.

He almost loses the careful balance as Jensen shifts to kneel behind him, and he scoots his knees a little farther apart for more stability. Jensen spreads his cheeks, then does nothing. Jared can just feel the cool air against his hole. There’s a strange, jerky pulse of embarrassment in his gut when he realizes that Jensen is staring and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“I’d just think that, with you liking to hand over the reigns, somebody woulda strapped you down by now,” Jensen continued conversationally. A hand slides between Jared’s thighs to stroke his dick, angle too wrong to do anything but frustrate. It takes Jared from half-hard to mostly-and-trembling, something he clamps down on the second Jensen lets go. “Lotta guys aren’t secure enough to top someone as big as you without it. Helps em feel bigger. So unless you’ve been fucking all the contestants for Mr. Universe or something, I’m guessing you’ve had the offer and you’ve said no.”

Jared’s throat closes. He digs his knees into the bed and sits back on his heels, halfway successful in throwing his weight upright before Jensen tips him forward again with nothing more than a light push. Jared skids sideways when he crashes down, catching himself on his shoulder and his ear til Jensen helps realign him. Jared’s panting, heart racing from the adrenaline of his failed attempt, and how easily Jensen’s fucking with him.

A hand settles in the small of his back—still except for the thumb, which is sweeping a soothing rhythm.

“Won’t say I told you so,” Jensen says, and Jared’s always hated that cuz it’s bullshit gloating. But Jensen doesn’t sound smug, or amused, or condescending. Just low and even and quiet. “You want out, you say so. Otherwise I’m gonna let you struggle. Because you’re not gonna get far with such shitty leverage, and because I like watching you try.”

For a second they’re quiet and still, except for the way Jared’s breathing. That slows eventually too, as his heart rate comes down.

“Okay?” Jensen asks finally.

“Quit fucking with my head.”

“No.”

Jared’s stomach twists in on itself, but his dick twitches. Fuck. What the hell.

“Okay?” Jensen’s more insistent this time, like he’s almost out of patience for Jared’s freakout.

“Okay,” Jared whispers.

“Okay,” Jensen affirms. But he doesn’t move. He traces two fingers up and down Jared’s spine, nape to tailbone. “You shouldn’t be doing this for the first time with a john. It’s a stupid move.”

Jared frowns against the bed, distracted from his own panic. For someone who doesn’t give a fuck, it’s a weird thing to say. “Then why—”

“Because I’m not your mother,” Jensen snaps, unaccountably angry. “And I’m not your Dom. If I wanted to take care of you, I wouldn’t be handing you money.”

He sounds bitter. Jared’s still focused on that oddity when Jensen expels a controlled burst of air, spreads Jared’s cheeks and pushes the dry tip of one finger against his sphincter. Jared makes a strangled little noise at the intrusion and clenches against it but Jensen twists against the muscle. It’s a dry burn of friction, a mean little punishment for trying to squeeze him out, but it doesn’t really hurt.

“What’d you do, take the week off or something? Looks like nobody’s been here in a while.”

It’s a little snide, and it snaps Jared back to what this is. God, he should leave, right now. But he doesn’t want to. And that, right there, makes him wonder how he overlooked his own masochistic streak. “Something like that.”

Jensen doesn’t speak at all while he jacks himself with slick, apparently put off of digging in Jared’s mind. Jared feels the condom’s wet, empty tip brush his hole, then a steady, relentless stretch of flesh around flesh.

It has been a while. Since he bottomed. Jensen makes no concession for that, but he thinks he’s fucking a whore. Jared’s hips get jerked back onto his dick. Jensen grinds in deep when he’s buried all the way, and it’s so freaking good…Jared’s hands fist behind his back.

He’s still for too long, fingertips light, drawing down Jared’s flank. Jared’s body twitches without permission, and he lets his back arch. Jensen takes a fistful of hair and twists his head to the side…Jared grunts as his weight falls forward.

“Don’t hide your face from me again.”

Jared pushes back, trying to take the pressure off his neck, but Jensen doesn’t budge. “Okay.”

“I know it’s ok. I didn’t ask for an answer, just your obedience.”

Fuck you too is Jared’s first instinct, but he doesn’t get a chance to say that. Jensen slams him hard from behind and Jared’s face slides forward against poly-blend. He turns his head to brace himself for the next stroke and Jensen’s index finger fish-hooks him, sliding in between his cheek and clenched jaw. The sharp jerk to the corner of his mouth is a more effective reminder than any words could have been and he flinches, face turning flat against the bed again.

Jensen’s knees hook deeper into Jared’s thighs, hands planted on either side of his head. Jared can feel his abs flexing against his hands with every thrust. It’s a losing battle, staying upright, but Jared scrambles to keep his knees underneath him. Scrambles to keep the position Jensen wanted. Inch by inch, he slides forward or they slide backward and Jensen fucks him harder, faster, no time to pull them back. Eventually they collapse and Jared falls flat with a grunt. Jensen rides him right down onto the mattress.

He groans in Jared’s ear, cock buried deep from the angle. They lay there for a minute pressed together, Jared’s thighs spread awkwardly around Jensen’s, then Jensen ruts forward, forcing more of his weight against Jared’s lungs. His knees move to the outside, force Jared’s together and he whimpers. Because Jensen’s weight is making the pull on his shoulders unbearable and his dick’s smashed strangely against the bedspread and with his legs closed, Jensen feels like a metal rod inserted up his spine.

Jensen sighs, warm and wet, against his ear. Then he sits up a little and tucks his knees up against Jared’s hips, palms pressed flat against Jensen’s shoulder blades as he drives down into him. Jared squirms til his dick’s more comfortable and then lays there, breathing hard, open-mouthed, against the bed while Jensen jabs his prostate almost viciously. He slides his bound hands a little farther up his back, bending his elbows to lessen the burn of Jensen’s weight on his shoulders, but tries not to fight how helpless he is in this position.

He has a little range of motion but it’s inconsequential. All he can really do is lay still and receive while Jensen toys with him. He braces all his weight against Jared’s shoulders and rides him with a loose, shifting angle, unpredictable, nailing him right where it hurts some times, sliding past to fuck in deep at others. Jared gives up on keeping silent, loses track of how long Jensen keeps him there, stops concentrating on anything except the next thrust because it’s futile to do anything else.

He gives up, and lets Jensen have him. It’s so very easy.

“Yeah. Fuck,” Jensen moans wetly. Jared groans in relief when he lets up off of his shoulders.

He braces against the bed and hovers close against Jared’s back, teeth closing on a cord of muscle as his hips tuck closer, kinder, faster. Jared feels that last tense place finally relax, loose shoulders broadcasting an endorphin rush to the brain. It makes him blind and dumb and loose.

It's not long after that before Jensen's rhythm stutters. He groans and push, push, pushes against Jared's ass…then sits there astride him for a while, breathing against Jared's skin. He doesn't relax after he comes, really. Might even be that he tenses up.

Jared presses down into the mattress, panting, and wonders if Jensen's gonna get him off, ever. Probably not. Jared would weep with joy to use his own hand at this point, but he's still bound.

With one final huff of air against Jared's shoulder blade, Jensen swings off and shoves at him roughly. "C'mon. Roll over."

He seems pissed, though Jared's not sure what that's all about. He wants to point out that he'll be laying on his hands, but he doesn't.

That discretion is rewarded when Jensen swallows his cock.

…and Jesus, Jared nearly does cry a little. His eyes damp up at how good it is, hot wet suction and a slippery tongue. The bedspread wasn't terribly rough—shouldn't be, for a room this price—but his dick has been rubbing right over one of the quilted seams. He was so desperate for friction, but the sleek lining of Jensen's mouth is better. It’s heaven.

He comes faster than he has since his voice was cracking, still loose with the afterglow when Jensen forcibly rolls him back to his stomach. He releases the cuffs apart, then unbuckles them from Jared's wrists, firmly wringing the blood back into circulation until Jared groans.

Jensen stops immediately, swears and leaves the bed. Jared listens to the flush of the toilet and the zippers on Jensen's suitcase, knowing he should move. But he feels like he was hit by a train. A really awesome orgasmy one.

"We never agreed on a price, but this should be market value, plus the bondage."

A fold of bills drops on the bed in front of Jared's face. When he manages to focus on them, he can see they're all hundreds.

He sits up with a jolt, stomach twisting. It's a lot of money. Jensen's sitting across the room, fully dressed again, sparking up a cigarette. He doesn't look like somebody that just had sex. Jared's pretty sure he brushed his hair when he flushed the condom.

"Is there a problem?"

Jared breaks eye contact with the money and gets up, pulling his clothes on in a hurry. "No. No problem."

"Uh-huh." He can feel Jensen eyeing him skeptically as he fumbles with his shoelaces. "I can see that. You know, Jared, this might not be the gig for you."

"It isn't."

Jensen grunts, and takes a drag off his cigarette. "Glad I could make it to the fire sale, then."

Jared's skin feels too tight. He'd forgotten. For a little while, he'd actually forgotten that he was pretending to be a hooker. He yanks his other shoe on despite the hopeless tangle in the laces and books it towards the door.

"Hey. You forgot the money."

It's a mistake, turning around. Jared's shoulders ache and his ass is sore, but looking at Jensen makes him feel raw all over.

"I don't want it."

Jensen squints. "What? What are you talking about."

Jared crosses his arms over his chest, tucking his hands defensively into his armpits. He is keenly aware that there is no good explanation for what he's done. "I'm not a hooker."

Jensen sits forward in the chair, and his gaze goes sharp. "What is that supposed to mean."

Jared’s laugh sounds all jagged and distorted in his ears. "It means, I'm not a hooker. I got dragged here tonight by...Look, it doesn't matter, ok? I didn't realize what was going on til we got up here. Then I—” He shakes his head. Anything he says is bound to come out crazy. “But I didn't come up here for money. I don’t do that."

For maybe the first time tonight, Jensen's face is completely open. He looks...shocked and confused and a little angry. Maybe a little bit guilty, but Jared could be imagining. "What...I...."

Jared shakes his head and backs towards the door. It seems like he should be saying something, or Jensen should be, but neither of them does. He just wants out of here. He follows that instinct and high-tails it towards the door.

"Jared!"

He has his hand on the doorknob. He almost ignores Jensen, but then a hand closes down on his shoulder and spins him halfway around. As if he just realized that grabbing at Jared might not be the best move, Jensen immediately lets go and backs away.

Jensen is hesitant. Uncertain of himself for the first time. "I thought...I mean, are you." He takes a breath, and it occurs to Jared that he's scared. "Are we ok?"

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say, that it takes a minute to process. When Jared gets it, he almost laughs. He almost laughs, though it’s not at all funny. "You're worried I'm gonna sue. Or press charges, or something."

Jensen's frozen. He doesn't deny or correct Jared's assumption. But after a while of Jared saying nothing, he gives a barely-there nod.

"Well, I'm not. I could’ve left. Let’s just…forget it ever happened."

Like that’s even a possibility. Goddamn. Of all the fuckups in Padalecki history, this might be the worst.

He doesn't wait around to see Jensen’s response to his good news. He flees the scene, good carpet of the hallway swallowing up the sound of his footfalls. Jared knows without turning around that Jensen is standing just outside the door of the room, watching him go. The door of the room never slammed closed.

He doesn’t run towards the elevators, though the little kid in him wants to. Jensen doesn’t call his name or follow him out, doesn’t apologize or explain himself, and that’s best for everyone. It really is.