rivers_bend

Title: Lies, Damn Lies and Statistics
Genre: J2 College AU
Words: 1400
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: This is FICTION.
A/N: for wendy who asked for it. This was going to be comment fic but it got too long.
Summary: Jensen can't take one more minute of his statistics homework and thinks Jared should distract him.



"Jared, I'm going to kill something." Jensen realizes he's holding his pen like a dagger.

"No you're not."

"Yes. I am."

"No, you're not." Jared isn't even looking at Jensen when he says it; he carries on typing up his essay on the history of wartime diplomacy or whatever it is, fingers flying over the keys, neck crooked so he can see his notebook. Jensen needs to find his document holder in the moving boxes still piled in the corner. Later.

"I am," Jensen insists instead. "I hate it, and it's evil, and that essay isn't due for five days. You should totally be paying attention to me and my suffering instead of Winston Churchill."

"I finished that one already. I'm typing up my notes for Packmen's seminar."

"You disgust me," Jensen says. He does. Jared is totally disgusting. He should be fucking Jensen right now to remind him why he agreed to move in with the biggest teacher's pet on campus.

"I should, should I?"

Hmm. Apparently Jensen said that part out loud. "Remind me again why I'm taking a class on inferential statistics?"

"Because I mentioned in passing when we were watching that documentary on Astronomy that I think math geeks are hot?" Jared grins at him. The bastard. "Or maybe because you need it for your major."

"Whatever. It's evil."

Jared gets up and wanders over to the boxes they haven't managed to unpack yet, bending over to search through one of the ones at the back. "Study break time," he says. "You. Bedroom. Naked. Now."

Jensen hadn't actually expected Jared was going to fuck him in the middle of the afternoon when they have a screening for their film class at six, but he's not going to argue.

"Yes, sir," he says, only a little mockingly, and backs into the bedroom so he can keep Jared's ass in view as long as possible. Jensen carefully closes the curtains—he doesn't trust their new neighbor, who watched them out the window the whole time they were carting boxes in—and then strips as told.

"On the bed," Jared orders from the doorway while Jensen is stepping out of his jeans. Jared's hands are behind his back and he's got the hungry look on his face that always makes Jensen feel the need to sit down or hold onto something. Jensen thinks he might be able to hear the quiet shuffle of handcuff chains. He hopes he can hear it.

"On the bed," Jensen repeats, mouth suddenly dry, and he fits actions to his words.

"Hands up," Jared says as he crawls onto the bed after Jensen, edging Jensen's thighs apart with his knees and showing Jensen the handcuffs.

Jensen has his fingers wrapped around the headboard before he's even finished moaning his approval. Jared cuffs his right wrist to the bedpost first, and then licks Jensen's lips, denying him more than that fleeting contact, before he uses the other pair of cuffs to attach Jensen's left hand to the other side of the headboard.

This is the part that always makes Jensen's heart race, wondering what Jared is going to do next. He might stay where he is, fully dressed between Jensen's legs, and brush whisper-light touches over Jensen's skin until Jensen is completely crazy with the tickling touches. He might stand and strip, eyes hot on Jensen's face, on his body, slowly peeling his clothes off, looking like some kind of ridiculously hot greek god. He might walk away, go get a bottle of coke, or a beer, and then come back, stand there and gaze at Jensen while he does filthy-delicious things to it with his mouth, holding back his smile until Jensen breaks down and begs for Jared to get the hell over here and kiss me already.

Or, god. Yes. he might pull his shirt off right here, and lean down to suck a hickey into the hollow between Jensen's left hip and thigh. Exquisite sharp pain that makes Jensen suck air through his teeth, and tug at the handcuffs in a useless effort to bury his fingers in Jared's hair.

"Fuck. Fuck!" Jensen says, dizzy with all the blood that's deserted his brain and headed for his dick.

"Patience, Ackles, we'll get there." Jared chuckles against Jensen's balls, which is, Jesus, amazing and totally unfair. Then, checking placement, he bites another mark into the other side.

Jensen feels like his skin is on fire and there's no air in the room, and like he's been tied to the bed for hours instead of less than five minutes. When he shifts restlessly Jared smoothes his hands up Jensen's arms, down his ribs, and then settles them on Jensen's hips, stroking his thumbs over the marks he's left.

"Want me to suck you?" he asks, licking his lips like he can taste it already.

"What kind of stupid fucking question is that?"

"Is that any kind of way to talk to the guy with the handcuff keys?" Jared lets go and sits back, not touching Jensen anywhere, though Jensen can feel the heat of him between his legs and longs to wrap them around Jared's waist.

Somehow he avoids compounding his insolence though. "Sorry," he says. "Please. Yes. Please. I want you to suck my dick."

"I'd like to. I would. But I don't know if you deserve it." Then Jared, the bastard, gets up and walks out of the room.

"Jared! Please!" Jensen isn't actually worried; he knows that Jared won't really leave him like this. But he might take his time coming back.

He's back in only a few seconds though, Jensen's text book in his hands. "Maybe I should read to you first," he says.

"No. Please. Jared." Jensen sounds ridiculously desperate, but there's teasing and there is torture and he cannot take one more word out of that damn statistics book right now.

"You sure?"

"Are you trying to make me lose my wood?" Jensen risks asking.

Jared cracks up. "God forbid," he says. "I can't imagine what I would ever do to get it back if that happened."

"I have some ideas."

Jared shucks out of his pants and boxers and pins Jensen to the bed with his full weight, trapping their cocks between their bellies and putting him in the perfect position to nibble the sensitive spot right under the corner of Jensen's jaw. "I have some too," he whispers, and rocks his hips, building up a teasing friction.

They kiss until Jensen's insane with it, gasping in great breaths every time Jared lets him up for air, wrapping his legs around Jared's hips, pulling him closer the only way he can, and then finally, finally, Jared lifts up enough to reach the lube off the nightstand, and he slicks them both and slides inside.

Jensen never gets tired of watching Jared's face as he sinks into Jensen's heat—the concentration bleeding into bliss as he gets deeper, and then back to concentration until he finds his rhythm. By then Jensen is lost in the sensation, the feel of Jared filling him up so perfect, knowing somehow just when Jensen needs his touch, jerking him fast and tight until he's coming over Jared's fingers, and Jared's thrusting in shallow jerks, rhythm totally gone, coming with a muffled shout, and collapsing onto Jensen's chest.

It's a minute or two before Jared manages to rouse himself enough to roll off Jensen and fumble for the handcuff key. Once Jensen is free, he wraps his arms around Jared and clings in the hopes that Jared will forget they have class and homework and will let them sleep.

When they wake up, there is no longer any light bleeding around the curtains' edges and the clock over Jared's shoulder says 6:41 PM. Jared's stomach is growling loudly.

"Damn, we missed the start of the movie," Jared says, struggling to free himself from the sheet one of them managed to pull up while they were sleeping.

"We can get it on DVD," Jensen says, pulling Jared back down.

"What if Packmen—" Jared starts, but Jensen rolls on top of him and kisses him quiet. Jared is surprisingly easy to distract.

Jensen has to pull on sweats to answer the door to the pizza guy an hour later. And neither of them get any more homework done that night.