rivers_bend

Title: My Bubble Dreams
Pairing: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki UST, Jensen/his right hand: Jensen/Adam Lambert, Jensen/Adam/Jared
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~2400
Enticements/Warnings: Toppy Adam and toppy as hell Jared.
The obvious: I don't know any of the people mentioned and neither think nor mean to imply this actually happened or will ever happen ever.
A/N: sequel to Disco Rodeo. Follows on directly but makes sense alone. Part of the Fucking is Fun 'verse.
Summary: Brunch and masturbation. Or: Jensen hates his life. ... At least there's bacon.

Now with art by peculiar_mind:

clicky to go to full-sized art at wickedsomes_art.(small version under the cut)




When Jensen wakes up Saturday morning to the smell of coffee and the sound of a blender, he's back in Vancouver, crashed on Jared's sofa after too many beers to drive home. Then he stretches and feels the well-fucked ache in his ass and the insanely high thread-count sheets, and neither of those are things Jensen ever experienced in a night spent on Jared's sofa (more's the pity, though Jensen's not going there, not even a little bit), and he cracks his eyes and sees glitter smeared on his palm and remembers.

Adam, with his guyliner and sleek lines, doesn't really seem like the GNC breakfast type, though anything's possible. Jensen's putting his money on some kind of iced coffee drink, though. However, when Adam arrives with a silver tray, it turns out to be fruit and yogurt smoothies in tall glasses, accompanied by two mugs of coffee, a little jug of milk, and some packets of Equal.

"I let my trainer talk me out of sugar last year," Adam says, putting down the tray, picking a packet up and frowning at it. He's not wearing any clothes.

This is definitely not like waking up at Jared's house.

Between the coffee and the smoothies and the whole no-clothes thing, Jensen doesn't end up getting home until almost dinner time Saturday evening. He falls into bed without even checking his phone for messages.

Sunday morning he wakes up to his phone ringing from his jeans pocket on the floor next to his bed. He's starving and makes a note: a smoothie is fine for breakfast, but if he's going to skip dinner he needs more than jizz and chocolate-flavored lube for lunch.

"What's up?" he says once he's managed to get the phone out of his pocket and somewhere near his face.

"Dude. Brunch. Now. Where the hell are you?" Jared. All awake and shit.

"M'in bed. What time is it?" Jensen has been sleeping since seven pm. It's gotta be early if he's still asleep.

"Ten. Tell me you're not still hung over from Friday night." Jared laughs. "I thought you said he was straight."

"I'm not fucking my co-star." Jensen doesn't even want to fuck his co-star. He has a whole co-star policy, with annotated footnotes and everything. Wanting to fuck your co-star sucks.

"Then roll that pretty ass out of bed and get over here. I haven't seen you in a month."

Thirty-six days, actually. Not that Jensen's been counting, but it was the fourth for Becky's birthday party, and September has thirty days, and now it's the tenth, so. "There better be pancakes," he says and hangs up.

Sandy's away on a modeling gig—that girl has more jobs doing more things than Jensen can keep track of, seriously—so Jared's made everything she tries not to eat. There are definitely pancakes. And waffles, and French toast, and some kind of muffin-cupcake hybrid-looking thing that Jensen's a little afraid of, especially after he watches Jared stuff a whole one in his mouth leaving a smear that looks suspiciously like caramel on his chin. Jensen prefers to avoid sugar coma whenever possible. He forks French toast and bacon onto his plate, figuring he should have protein.

"So if it wasn't your co-star, who'd you have to kick out of bed to get over here?" Jared asks after handing him a cup of coffee and some juice. He has a sly look on his face that worries Jensen a little.

"No one. I just forgot to set my alarm." Jensen's been acting for a long time, and he can control when he blushes. Plus, it's not even a lie. Jared still gives him a look, though.

"Fine. Don't tell me," Jared says. He pops a strawberry into his mouth and chews slowly, eyebrow raised the whole time. "I can always call Sax and ask whose car you got into Friday night. TMZ seemed to think it was yours—part of that whole don't drink and drive campaign—but I know you guys had a stretch for the party."

Bastard pap who wanted to know who Jensen was with must not have been as distracted by the new Idol kid as Jensen thought. At least it seems like he hadn't gotten a picture of Adam, or if he had, the two of them hadn't been linked. Jared could play coy to a degree, but that he would have called Jensen about the second he saw it. No waiting until Jensen was already late for their brunch date.

"I got left behind," Jensen says, all super casual-like. "A friend drove me home."

Except casual never works with Jared.

"Whose home, is the question." Jared's grinning, but Jensen knows determined when he sees it on Jared's face. Plus, Jared knows at least two thirds of the drivers at Sax; he's used their service on his last three movies. And he's that guy people tell shit to. He wasn't bluffing when he said he'd find out Jensen's secret.

"You don't know him," Jensen tries.

"I know everyone. I'm great with faces."

He is kind of great with faces. Names not so much, but whatever. "Adam Lambert," Jensen mumbles.

"The rock star dude?" Jared laughs. "No fucking way!"

"He's nice." Jensen shouldn't have to defend his choices to Jared.

"And sexy as fuck. Is he as dirty as he looks?" Jared hooks his chair closer with a foot, elbows on the table, picture of rapt attention.

"If you're going to make fun of me I can just go home."

"I'm not, man." Jared sits back a little. "I'm serious. He's one of those guys, whatta you call em?"

Jensen has no idea what Jared's talking about. He hopes it isn't something that's going to piss him off but that he'll pretend is fine, like flamer. Jared isn't usually that guy, but everyone's that guy sometimes, Jensen's found.

"Those guys who make straight guys wonder how straight they really are," Jared goes on when Jensen doesn't answer.

"You want to fuck Adam Lambert." Jensen isn't going to throw up. He's not even sick to his stomach. He just needs a little break from the food on his plate.

"You know you're the only guy I'd go gay for," Jared jokes. Always a joke. "I don't really want to fuck the dude. Though I think Sandy might get off on that."

"Your wife does have a disturbing fascination with men kissing." Jensen stuffs another bite of French toast into his mouth. Jared doesn't remember the night he and Jensen made out while Sandy watched—he was drunk off his ass—and Jensen is never going to remind him. He's not sure why Sandy never brought it up again, though he hopes it isn't because she knows how Jensen feels—felt—about it.

"She likes gay porn. S'okay, I like lesbian porn. Fair's fair."

Jensen doesn't want to talk about Jared's taste in porn. He doesn't really want to talk about Adam either, but it seems like the lesser of two evils. And Jared might be distractible, but Jensen doubts changing the subject completely is going to fly. "He's the perfect amount of dirty," he says.

"Good." Jared smiles. "You deserve perfect."

Jensen hates his life. He looks at his plate so he can't see the fond, friendly look Jared's giving him.

At least there's bacon.

After that they have more coffee and play some Rock Band and watch a game neither of them really cares about, and Jared eats the rest of the muffin cupcakes and they order a pizza and Jensen decides his life is actually pretty awesome. He makes sure he's sober enough to drive home though, because he doesn't really want to wake up on Jared's sofa to the smell of coffee and the sound of his blender. Not for another few weeks at least.

"Hey," Jared says, arm around Jensen's neck and chin resting on the top of his head. They're standing at Jared's front door, and Jensen thinks the headlock might be intended as a hug goodbye. "I'm free for seven weeks. At least. I expect to see you a minimum of twelve times between now and then." He releases Jensen and pushes him so he can look him in the eyes. "Seriously. I love your texts, man, but I miss the hell out of you."

Jensen promises.

A whole section of the co-star policy used to be about acceptable masturbatory fantasies: hot actors Jensen hadn't worked with were okay, but if he had worked with a guy, Jensen had to wait at least two projects and then only fantasize about an actor's character, not the guy he'd actually worked with. But after the can't-look-my-best-friend-in-the-face debacle with Jared and his role as a Hells Angel—leather pants, white t-shirt Jensen is sure wardrobe painted on, leather cut that only emphasized his muscles, plus, those legs straddling a Harley—Jensen realized the rules were stupid and he really only needed one: no jerking off to Jared Padalecki.

Hook-ups have always been totally fair game, though.

Jensen has a ten AM call in the morning and he got fifteen hours of sleep last night, so even though it's after eleven when he gets home, he turns on the TV. The TV which is obviously out to drive him crazy, because it's just near the end of Friday the Thirteenth, and not the original, but the one with Jared being ten feet tall and eight feet wide kicking twelve kinds of shit out of Jason. Not quite as bad as Last Ride—at least he's not wearing leather, though Jared in jeans is also a sight to behold—but dangerous enough. Jensen changes the channel. And finds Adam Lambert being interviewed by one of the new talk show hosts who keeps cropping up. The woman is talking about Adam's hips, comparing him to Elvis, and Adam's laughing, giving her a little bump and grind from his chair, and Jesus, Jensen might just as well have thrown on the Hotter/Harder DVD he got in Santa Monica last week.

Curious, Jensen watches the rest of the interview; it's almost over anyway. Adam's new album is out now; yes, you can get the special edition with live acoustic set on iTunes; his new tour starts in Japan in three weeks. When they break for commercial Jensen thumbs off the TV and hits the remote for the stereo, replacing the bright light and hectic noise of a car insurance ad with the soft glow of the end-table lamp and the soothing sounds of his chill-out playlist. He's feeling far too lazy to dig out his new DVD, and he's half hard already—his imagination is all he needs.

Every sofa, Jensen might tell you if you asked, needs a good light-weight blanket. Machine washability is important. Though he might not mention exactly why in polite company, sticking to how useful they are if your feet get cold. Jensen's feet rarely get cold in LA, but he still makes sure he always has a throw on the back of the couch. With a practiced move Jensen gets his pants and boxers down over his hips, the blanket between his ass and the upholstery. He palms his dick up against his belly, a little pressure, even less friction, just feeling good as he thinks about the way Adam moves his hips, about how dirty it looks on TV and how it looks even dirtier when he's naked, knees splayed, Jensen shouldering his way between them.

That, and a few tugs, works to get Jensen all-the-way hard, and he settles more comfortably back into the cushions, spreads his own knees a little, feeling the weight of Adam's dick in his mouth, remembering the happy humming sounds he made. Adam's grabbing Jensen's hair, hips twisting and humping, fucking Jensen's throat just right, saying "Take it, that's it, take it," and Jensen's taking it, letting Adam just use him, when Jared walks in.

No, Jensen thinks, but it's the most pathetic protest ever, because his hand just moves faster on his dick, and he screws his eyes shut harder, and Jared starts stripping out of his tight, white tee and opens up his fly, dick huge and red and wet against the leather, stalking across the room toward the bed.

"Did I say you could fuck my boy?" Jared asks Adam, only it doesn't sound like a question and if it is, there's no safe answer.

"He's got two holes," Adam says, not stopping even for a second thrusting into Jensen's throat.

Jensen's grip on his dick tightens and he's practically crushing his nuts with his other hand, because he shouldn't be doing this, needs to not be doing this, but he can't stop now, and if he's already half-way to hell he at least wants it to last.

Jared grabs Adam's hair, twisting his head back so he can kiss him, fucking into Adam's mouth with his tongue, and then pulls away and says, "Who's gonna get my dick wet for his ass, then?"

Jensen wants to, but he wants to see Adam's mouth open around Jared's dick even more apparently, because that's what happens: he's still on his knees, looking up past Adam's slinky hips to where Jared's cock is pushing through Adam's painted lips, palms cupping the whole of Adam's head. Jared fucks Adam's face until Jensen's whimpering and moaning around Adam's cock, and then he pulls out, cock so shiny and so huge and Jensen cannot fucking wait for it to be in his ass.

Magic of fantasy, he and Adam are on the bed, Adam spread out like sin, Jensen's face in Adam's crotch, ass in the air, cheeks spread open by Jared's huge hands and Jared asking if he's ready, not waiting for an answer as he pushes in forever, using his cock to split Jensen in half.

Jared pounds him, shoving him forward onto Adam's dick, nothing to do but open up, and who needs oxygen when you've got two guys telling you how good you feel, how hot and tight and perfect you are, saying, how's his mouth—amazing—how's his ass—fucking unreal—after this we're switching places—yeah?—hell yeah—god, Jensen, god, just god.

Jensen comes so hard he gets jizz in his hair.

An unknown amount of time later, Jensen manages to stop quivering and get more than a cubic centimeter of air into his lungs at once, and he pulls the blanket over and does his best to clean himself up.

As he crawls into bed Jensen wonders if Adam has any free time before his tour starts, and hopes that it's at least a week before he has to make good on that promise to see Jared again. Because sex with Adam is awesome, and it's always nice to be able to look your best friend in the eye.

__________________________________________________________

now continues with Snake Eyes and Déjà Vu

and with Jared POV out-take here