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fufaraw
FIVE
Jensen knelt on the padded bench, naked and bent so that his forehead rested on the back of his hands, fingers clenched tight on the edge of the bench, and tried to stop the trembling of his body.
Randy smoothed a hand over his bare back, from his nape down to his buttocks. With fingers and thumb he spread Jensen's cheeks while the other hand eased in the lubricated nozzle.
"You'll do this once a day." Jensen heard the click of the tubing petcock, and felt the first trickle of water seeping into him. Randy went on in a soothing tone, "Mornings are probably best, but it's important to do this the same time every day. As you become accustomed to it, you might find a schedule of every second day better for you. But that's something you'll need to discover for yourself."
The trembling wouldn't stop, and Jensen's fingers felt like they would tear through the vinyl cover and the padding and into the wood of the bench itself as Randy's quiet, ordinary voice went on.
* * *
Jensen wanted to howl his frustration and anger aloud, he wanted to hit something. There had already been days of angry, impotent tears. No doubt more would come, but right now he was wept empty. The click of the lock signaled his door opening and the usual warder standing there. "Visitors," he announced. Jensen wasn't fit for company, but he couldn't stand to be alone. They'd come to discuss him--there was no other topic of discussion between them right now--and he needed to know what was being said, the latest news in their fight to get him out of the hands of the Department of Reproduction. He slipped into the room and took a seat on the sofa beside his mom, tucking into her side as if he were ten, instead of a grown man. His dad nodded from his chair across the coffee table and her arm went around him to snug him in tighter, even while her other hand clutched a damp tissue. There was a fresh box on the end table beside her, and the wastebasket at her feet was half-full.
"They won't acknowledge their lapse in identifying him at twelve, because they say it wasn't their lapse." Arthur Clark's eyebrows lifted to acknowledge Jensen. "Had he been tested, he would have been identified, is their stance." He added another quarter-inch of paper to the stack on the table. "Therefore, the responsibility for failing to present himself for the test, and therefore the failure to determine his status, falls on the family, and on Jensen himself. Repro is generously declining to pursue prosecution on that count, provided Jensen is present for assignment on the designated day."
Alan Ackles' brows drew together in a frown. "Wait. They can prosecute us? On what grounds?"
"Attempting to prevent Jensen's determination as a ceiver," Clark replied. "Most parents are happy to see their sons identified. It means they'll be grandparents. There are benefits provided to the families of ceivers, beginning at the time of their induction. Those benefits make a difference to people of lower incomes, as they're intended to help make up for the financial and emotional support a traditionally employed son would provide to his family as he matures."
The Ackles, parents and son, offered little visible reaction to Clark's information. It all seemed so far removed from their experience. "So most families are happy to get the benefits. Most families are happy to know they will have grandchildren, that their ceiver sons will be provided and cared for. For them it's a positive thing.
"But some families still cling to the old ways. They view ceivers as--well, as less than human, abominations and perversions of the way children should come into the world. Other families have very strong paternal lineage, where sons should father sons, and women should bear them. Ceivers are alien to their understanding and beliefs.
"Families with these beliefs do not want to give their sons up to the ceiver program, even if the sons test positive. There have been legal battles. There have also been acts of rebellion."
Jensen's mother sat up a little straighter. "Such as what?"
"Open defiance," Clark answered. "Refusal to surrender the children to Repro."
"What happened?" Alan asked.
"Arrest, prosecution and conviction for breaking the law. Imprisonment for the parents and other family members, even friends involved in trying to hide or remove the child from Repro's reach."
"Prison!" Donna gasped.
Arthur nodded. "Which is why their declining to prosecute is not a negligible thing. They easily could have taken you, Alan, and even Joshua, to court, and the odds are good on conviction for all of you. And Jensen would still end up at Repro."
There was a lull of a few moments as the Ackles family attempted to assimilate this information. Finally, Alan asked, "Are there other avenues of appeal, things we haven't tried yet?"
Clark was slow to answer, and his eyes flicked upward to the suspected listening devices in the room. "There are always other things to try, other approaches. Most of them have already been tried, and almost none of them have succeeded."
"But there have been successes?" Donna was eager.
"Ill-health, mainly," Clark addressed her, then included the two men in his gaze. "Pre-existing conditions that either made the child at-risk to carry a pregnancy to term, to survive it, or to survive giving birth. Or an inherited trait for a disease or condition that would likely be passed on to any offspring."
Neither Alan nor Arthur could help glancing at an obviously robust, though presently wan, Jensen. Donna patted his hand. "There must be something else, Arthur. Our time is running short."
"Not that I've been able to find. I know we're running out of time. I just don't know what else to do. I've exhausted every possibility I can think of, and a few that were suggested to me by other counsel. There's just nothing." He spread his hands in defeat and apology.
"We'll have to send Jensen abroad," Donna spoke up briskly, a new note of purpose in her voice. Jensen started to protest, but she spoke over him. "We have family in Holland, a cousin in France, and Alan's uncles in Ireland. Jensen can go to them, get a fresh start--"
Arthur was shaking his head. "Jensen can't leave these premises. And even if we were able to get him out, his passport has been flagged, he can't leave the country, unless it's in the company and custody of his assigned pere."
"What?" Alan spoke indignantly. "That's ridiculous!"
"It's the law," Arthur was firm, and stern in his need to impress on them the serious nature of the law. "Most countries, even if they don't have a program of their own, respect our laws. A petition will be filed to return Jensen to the US, and the host country will honor it, searching for him as for any other criminal fugitive. If he's caught, anyone who helped hide him will be arrested as well. Jensen will be given into Repro's custody, and I understand there's a several-weeks 'rehabilitation' program to punish the guilty ceiver and eliminate future attempts to avoid his duty. That's one of the functions of this facility."
All the Ackles looked faintly ill as Clark went on. "Furthermore, if any of you were suspected of helping him try to leave, you would be arrested and prosecuted and no doubt convicted and sentenced to prison. Jensen would still go to Repro."
"What if I can escape, and then get out of the country on my own?" Jensen wanted to know. "If I can do it without implicating anybody else, so they can be as surprised and dismayed at my actions as good law-abiding citizens should be? I'll take my chances at hiding well enough to not get caught once I'm out of the country."
Arthur's gaze lifted pointedly to the ceiling, reminding his clients of likely listening ears, before he shrugged and answered. "If they aren't implicated, whether you do manage to get out, or if you're caught, your family will suffer. Your father's business and all family assets could be confiscated. Your brother and his wife might lose their jobs, their home, and everything they own. Your sister's place at university might be brought into question, it could be taken away and given to another student. She will have difficulty finding employment. Even if legal action isn't taken, the family will be under heavy suspicion of being anti-government, and clients and customers will be very cautious about doing business with them. There will be very public scrutiny into every aspect of their lives, both business and personal. Friends and acquaintances will withdraw their public, and maybe private, support in order to retain their own innocence in Repro's eyes.
The family's reputation will never recover--and that's if they can prove they did not help you leave the country. If they're found guilty of aiding you in avoiding your duty, it's prison, for your dad for sure, probably your brother as well."
"How can they do that, when it's me who'll be breaking the law?"
"The government will say that you couldn't act independently without giving some clue as to your plans. And your family not reporting your plans is enough to convict them in the government's eyes--and in the public eye. They'll play it up in the media, since they don't want other families getting ideas about keeping their sons out of Repro's hands.
He swept them all with a glance, lingering to look into each pair of eyes. "Make no mistake. The Department of Reproduction takes falling population levels very, very seriously. Individuals capable of carrying and giving birth to children are an extremely precious resource, and Repro is not about to let any one of them escape that duty. Those individuals' plans and goals and wishes for their lives simply do not matter, as long as they do live, and produce healthy children."
Donna's face was streaked with tears she didn't bother to wipe away. "But--" she murmured brokenly. "But, my son--" the last word choked off on a sob, and Jensen sat straight, wrapped her tight in his arms, and wiped the tears from her face. "I'll always be your son, Mom. But there doesn't seem to be any way out of this."
"Jensen--"
"Shhh. It's okay. It'll be okay. I promise."
Arthur watched for a moment before he spoke again. "I believe the animosity we have raised by our request for the stay, and the appeal on Jensen's behalf, will be allowed to die down once Jensen has agreed to drop his fight, and to do his duty as Repro sees it. Once he's safely with his pere, and hopefully pregnant soon, this small rebellion will be forgotten. The impact on you, Alan, and Josh, and the rest of the family will be minimal, and soon forgotten. The state is indulgent with her citizens who give her children, and those benefits the families of ceivers identified in adolescence will be extended to the Ackles, as well.
"I don't want their damned benefits," Alan ground out between his teeth. "I want my son, happy, doing the job he trained to do, that he's good at, living the life he's wanted, that we wanted for him."
Clark's hand closed hard on Alan's shoulder, shaking him just a little. "You have to get past that now. You have to deal with what we have." He turned to Jensen, still comforting his mother.
"Repro has agreed that it would be unkind and ill-advised to place you directly from your family home into the home of your pere without at least some preparation and training. They have agreed to a two-week stay at the Ceiver Home. It's a quiet retreat where you can work on getting your head around your new job, if you want to think of it that way, Jensen. You'll have a personal guide, who will teach you as many of the things ceivers learn in their training as there is time for. And in two weeks, you'll meet your pere."
* * *
"Some peres like doing this for their ceivers," Randy said, stroking his hand down Jensen's back as his belly filled. "They view it as a time of closeness and affection. Others simply prefer the ceiver take care of it himself. You'll discover how your own pere feels about it, soon."
Jensen shifted on the bench as the cramps started. Randy stopped the flow, and reached down to massage Jensen's rigid stomach muscles. In a few minutes the cramps eased, and he opened the petcock again and let the water flow. "You'll learn how fast to take the water," he told Jensen. "It seems like it takes forever at first, and you'll want to take it fast and get it done so you can get on with your day. But you learn to ease up, take it slower, learn to enjoy the sensations. It's a part of your routine, you might as well enjoy it."
Jensen's hands were cramping, he was clinging so ferociously to the edge of the bench. The trembling of his body as he bit back tears had grown stronger, and as the water filled him, distending his abdomen, cramping, he couldn't keep back a sob.
"Jensen?" Randy was suddenly kneeling at the head of the bench, staring into his face.
"Please. Stop." He couldn't manage more than a hoarse whisper without completely breaking down. "What did I do? I'll be good, I promise--"
"Oh Jensen," Randy's hand was in his hair, gripping tight to shake his head a little, with seeming affection. "You mustn't think of this as punishment. You haven't done anything wrong, not at all. It's just-- Here. That's enough." He stood and turned off the water, returning to kneel by Jensen's head. "Now you just rest there for a few minutes and then you can let it out.
"This isn't punishment, Jensen. This is the way we manage our evacuation. We always know what time we go. And we are always clean and ready to accept our pere's attentions. After a few weeks, you won't have a solid evacuation again. You'll never suffer with constipation, and any time you need an exam, you'll be empty and ready. That's important when you're pregnant--both the constipation and the exam-ready part. And your pere will definitely appreciate your being clean. It's all for the best, trust me."
Randy smiled and patted Jensen's head. "I've had seven kids. If anybody should know, it's me. Okay, I think you're done."
Slowly and gently, Randy helped Jensen off the bench. He was unable to stand upright, but shuffled bent over with tiny sideways steps to the toilet, managing to get halfway down to the seat before his sphincter let go and everything gushed out of him.
"I'll just leave you to finish up," Randy told him. "I'll be back in a few minutes," and left Jensen to sit doubled over, with waves of cramps followed by gouts of watery waste and blurts of gas. He couldn't recall ever having been as miserable, or feeling so humiliated. His eyes darted furtively around the room and he suddenly realized he was looking for something sharp, edged, pointed, that he could turn against himself to end this horror.
"Can't." He gritted out the word, and finished the thought unspoken. Against the law. My family would suffer the consequences.
He must have sat on the toilet for ten minutes or more before Randy came back and urged him to his feet. "But I'm not finished."
"I think you are. You just have to get used to the feeling." Randy handed him a thick, fluffy towel and pointed him toward the shower. Jensen ran the water as hot and as hard as he could stand it, wanting to scald away everything he was feeling. But eventually he had to emerge, and as he stepped over the shower's threshold, a large watery fart and a trickle of water down the back of one leg surprised him. He fled back into the shower for another few minutes.
Randy was there when he got out again, and laid a stack of clothing on the countertop. Jensen couldn't be any more naked than Randy had already seen him, so he flung the towel over a nearby hook and reached for the clothing. Something seemed to be missing, though. "Underwear?"
"Oh, you get very used to going without," Randy smiled. "It's so confining. Unless your pere wants you dressed for some purpose, you'll wear the tunic, pants, and vest. It's loose and comfy. Has lots of room for an expanding middle." The man actually smiled, and waited for Jensen to step into the pants. They were very loose, with enough fabric to resemble a skirt, and tied with a drawstring. The tunic slipped over the head and had sleeves to the wrists. The vest was open in front and fell to his knees. Jensen felt like he was swimming in these clothes. "Very nice," Randy said, pointing to a pair of fabric slippers, flat-heeled and soft. Jensen stepped into them. "Now, come with me. One more part of your wardrobe, and we'll get into some lessons before lunch."
He led Jensen back to his room, small but comfortable, and large enough to hold a bed, a writing table and chair, and a small nightstand and lamp by the bed.
"On the bed," Randy told him. "On your hands and knees." Jensen, beginning to relax from the shower, and having clothes on again, albeit odd and ugly clothes, began to tremble again at the instruction. What now? What the fuck now, he wondered, doing as he'd been told. He hadn't been asked to undress, and he didn't. Randy opened the drawer of the nightstand and retrieved a couple of items. Before Jensen could ask, Randy untied the drawstring and pulled Jensen's pants down to lie puddled on the bed at his knees. He heard the click of a bottle cap, and felt slick fingers at his entrance. He clenched his cheeks together and bucked away, coming up off one knee to look Randy in the face."Whoa! What--?"
"Relax, Jensen. I'm not going to hurt you. This is just another part of who we are. Part of your training." He met Jensen's gaze, and while his expression was kind, it was also implacable, and Jensen surrendered, repositioning himself on his knees. Randy's fingers circled his opening, smoothing, gently pressing. The tip of one slick finger pressed against the furled entrance and dipped inside.
"Uh!"
"Easy, Jensen. Just go with it." The finger was pressing inside now, the first joint, the second. The finger started to move in and out, and it felt really, really weird. Jensen kept himself still by sheer will, but he had already had enough adventures today involving his ass, and this just--aaah! Now there were two fingers pressing in and drawing out, and--what was he doing, it felt like he was trying to stretch Jensen open--
"Stop. Please, stop--" Jensen tried to pull away, but Randy's hand on his back held him still.
"Have you never had sex with a man, Jensen?"
He shook his head, definitely. "No."
"Never? You a virgin?"
"I like girls," he gasped. "I date--girls. Not a virgin--aaah!" Randy hit a spot inside him that made him jump.
"Feel good?"
"I--I don't know. It's weird. It feels weird. Can we--can you, will you stop, now? Ugh. I--"
Randy pulled his fingers out, but he didn't stop. Jensen could hear as he applied more lube. He re-inserted his fingers, this time adding a third, and starting to twist them every time he moved out, and again on the in-stroke. He managed to brush that spot inside Jensen every third or fourth stroke, and it made Jensen twitch. He was covered in sweat, and panting now, and he realized with some embarrassment that he was hard. Randy's fingers withdrew, and Jensen heard the cap of the lube again, and something hard and blunt and cold was rubbing against him, slipping on the coating of lube. It pressed against his opening, gaping now from the attentions of Randy's fingers, but the object was larger than even Jensen's stretched opening. The pressure didn't ease off, though, but kept steady, and he could feel his ass giving way, giving up, allowing the object to penetrate him. He bucked and tried to move away, tried to object, to find his voice, to say stop, to say no, but no wasn't a possibility. This was happening, it wasn't going to stop, it wasn't going away. This was Jensen's new reality, and he held himself in place, arms locked, head down, legs trembling, as the plug pushed in, rearranging his guts and making a place for itself, and settled into place.
"There," Randy said, patting him on the ass. "If you'd begun your prep when you were twelve like most of us, you'd have started with something you hardly noticed and gradually worked up. You've only got a couple of weeks, so we need to get you stretched out, get you ready to accept your pere, so lovemaking will be sweet from the beginning, and not painful."
He helped Jensen to stand, and pulled up the pants, leaving Jensen to tie the knot with fumbling fingers.
"You need to wear that all the time. You'll take it out in the mornings when you have your enema, and put it back in after your shower. In a couple of days we'll go up a size. We can get another size or two in you by the end of your time with us." He patted Jensen on the shoulder, and turned him toward the door. "Come on," he smiled. "Time for breakfast."
SIX
"How do you take your coffee?"
They stood at the counter of a local shop, Jared having ordered a super-giant extra-fat, extra-light, extra-sweet concoction that had little relation to actual coffee. His raised eyebrow and expression of genuine inquiry led Jensen to believe he was serious. "Um. Large? Black, two sugars."
Jared nodded at the barista, and the two of them moved down the counter to the register. While Jared paid, Jensen reflected on his last several weeks without caffeine and the likely result of a dump of black coffee on his unsuspecting system. And decided, fuck it. The smell alone had kicked up his former addiction. When the cups were handed over, Jensen took his double-handed, just feeling the heat of the cup in his hands, before ripping off the plastic lid and inhaling the gorgeous scent.
Jared smirked. "You gonna stand here and make love to your coffee? Or can we walk a little bit?" Jensen could no more restrain his beatific smile than he could stop breathing. He sipped cautiously as they moved toward the shop's door, following in Jared's wake.
Jensen had awakened alone in his big, soft bed, stretched in comfort while he listened for sounds of life in the house. Hearing a murmur of voices from downstairs, he'd had a quick shower, dressed in his own clothes, and gone down. Jared stood munching on a banana, talking with Marta. His eyes lit up at the sight of Jensen, and he two-pointed the empty banana peel into the sink over Marta's shoulder. "Push the button, Max!" he quoted, waggling his eyebrows at the housekeeper. Jensen smirked at the movie reference as Marta glowered and shook a finger at him in mock annoyance before she used the finger to flip the disposal switch and dispatch the banana peel.
"You up for a walk before breakfast?" he asked, and Jensen was quick to nod. "There's this coffee shop nearby," he grinned. "Fabulous bagels, all the toppings you could want, and some you probably don't. Or a little farther away there's an excellent diner--breakfast all day, along with the usual soup, sandwiches, and Blue Plate Specials. Which'll it be?"
"Diner." Jensen was definite. Breakfast sounded awesome. And the farther he could walk, the longer he was outside and away from the house, the better.
Jared's answering grin was wide. "Definitely. Coffee first, though."
Now, with coffee in hand, they took a route through a park, enjoying the sunshine and sipping, Jared with a smudge of whipped cream on his lip, Jensen with his eyes closing in near-nirvana on occasion.
"I figured we need to talk," Jared began, not breaking stride. "I know a bit about you," he cut a glance at Jensen. "You can look at the info packet Repro sent when I first got notice of your assignment, if you want."
Jensen wasn't sure that was okay with Repro, but so far with Jared he'd had beer and coffee, and those definitely weren't okay with Repro. "But I thought you might want a little intel on me. Does that--is that-- I mean, do you--?"
Jensen met Jared's eyes with a slight smile. "Good idea, Jared. Thanks."
Jared breathed out a little relieved sigh. "Okay! Well, do you want to ask questions, or should I just start babbling? I have to warn you, I babble a lot. About a lot of things. About most things, actually. And ramble. I ramble a lot, get off-subject, lost in conversational thickets, no breadcrumbs back, you know?"
Jensen quirked an eyebrow at him and gave a little shake of his head. "Go ahead. You tell me what you want me to know, and I'll ask if I want more in-depth stuff, or specific answers. That okay?"
The dimples made another appearance. For a guy of such intimidating stature, the dimples reduced him to about twelve. "Okay, right."
Middle child, Jared told him, elder brother, younger sister. "Like you, right?" Jensen nodded, and Jared continued. Happy childhood, college, good job with an architectural firm. "I'll show you some of my drawings and plans, if you want." Jensen did want. Anything that would give him insight into the man beside him was good.
"I discovered in middle school that I liked boys. I mean, girls are cool, but it was other guys that turned me on." Jensen nodded, unsure what that meant for the two of them. "I know you're straight, Jensen. I--" Jared broke off, stopped walking. "I'm really sorry about the way all this happened for you."
Jensen had no idea how to respond. He took refuge in his coffee cup, staring into the black depths as though seeking wisdom there. Or just an answer, really. Jared crouched a little, peering into Jensen's face until he was forced to meet Jared's eyes. "I know this is hard. I'm sorry. I have--well." Jared didn't finish his thought before he straightened, turned, and resumed walking. Jensen reluctantly fell into step beside him.
"I was so excited when I heard I'd been assigned a ceiver. I really had very little hope I'd ever be a dad, and I think I'll be an awesome one." He smiled, reminiscently. "I had a great childhood, wonderful parents. And I think I'm ready to pass on the care and the love that they used raising us. But I really never expected it to happen.
"My brother's wife is fertile, they have two little girls, so it's not as if the family line will be extinguished in my generation, you know? And my sister may be fertile as well; no way to know till she's married and settled. But it seemed too much to ask for the guy who was never going to marry a woman to hope for kids.
He turned and bent a brilliant smile on Jensen. "And then, like a gift from the gods, there was you. I was so excited! I called my folks, and they were overjoyed at the news." He grinned at Jensen again. "They can't wait to meet you, they're so excited." Jensen no more than nodded, but Jared went on.
"This system, of pere and ceiver, I'd always just accepted it, you know? I know you missed your testing, but when you came back to school after you'd been sick, did you miss the boys who'd been identified and removed from your classes? Did you wonder about them? I had a couple of good friends, and I did, I missed them. They still lived near me, but we didn't walk home from school together any more. And whenever I went over to see if they could come play, they always had something else to do. It was like I'd been left behind, sort of." He paused and waited for Jensen to answer.
"I guess there were a couple I sort of noticed were missing. Everybody knew guys got 'chosen' for something and pulled out of our classes. Like everybody else, I took it for granted. I'd been sick and was busy trying to catch up on work I'd missed. I wasn't close friends with any of those guys, so I just didn't really think any more about it." He finished off the dregs of his coffee in one long draught, and looked around for a trashcan. "I guess I should have, huh?" he asked ruefully.
Jared stared at the long expanse of Jensen's neck, the way his adams apple moved when he swallowed, and the haunted look in those green eyes when he spoke. "You had no way of knowing," Jared told him. "It's really shitty, the way this worked out for you." Jared thought for a moment before he said, "Jensen, I'm selfish enough that I can't be sorry you're here. But for what it's worth, I am sorry that it happened the way it did."
Jensen cocked his head and regarded him sideways. "Not your fault, man. No need to apologize."
Jared waited a moment longer, thinking through some things he still wanted to say. Jensen's question brought him back to the present, though. "You did say something about breakfast, right?"
SEVEN
They didn't talk during breakfast, other than, "Pass the sugar," and "You gonna eat that last hash brown?" Over a final cup of coffee--Jensen figured he could sleep…later. Sometime. Because he had missed coffee, and he didn't know how long a lapse in deprivation Jared was going to allow--Jared began to talk again.
"I told you I was excited when I found out I'd been assigned a ceiver." Jensen nodded and Jared went on. "I knew about the pere and ceiver program, everybody does. I have friends, man and wife, and she's sterile. They have three kids with their ceiver, and they all seem very happy. It's not something I gave a lot of thought to, just..."
"The way things are," Jensen nodded. "I'd never really given it much thought. I mean, I'd sort of planned on finding the right girl, getting married, just taking things as they came. If we had kids together, great. If not, and we really wanted kids, I had thought of possibly requesting a ceiver, if that was the only way we could have them." The expression on his face was bleak and self-mocking. "Guess that wish came true, huh? Be careful what you wish for."
Jared nodded, accepting the sadness lurking below Jensen's apparent resignation. He was also a little gratified that Jensen had brought up his former expectations naturally in conversation. Perhaps Jensen was coming to accept things as they were now, and maybe even Jared as a friend, better than Jared had hoped.
"Well, when I got the news, I expected a ceiver who had been ID'd at the usual time, had gone through the years of training and education. I didn't think a lot about it until I got your info packet." Jared drained his cup and signaled the waitress for the check. Jensen waited till she'd left the check and walked away.
"I'm sorry you got a dud, Jared."
Jared made a rude noise and counted out bills enough for the meal and a generous tip and left them on the table with the check.
"Not a dud, Jen. Far from it." Outside again, they headed toward a little shopping area, glancing in windows as they passed, pulling focus a little from the seriousness of the discussion. "I know you're straight. And you're probably freaked at the thought of having sex with me--with a man. But--" He steered them around a corner and into a walking path that led back through the park.
"I'd just accepted that having sex with a ceiver was going to be easy and uncomplicated, that we'd get on with business and have kids and have a happy, settled life.
"But after I knew about you and, well, how everything happened, I realized that I like men. I like guys. I'm happiest when I'm with somebody with similar interests and abilities, somebody who can challenge me, physically, mentally, intellectually. Most ceivers are compliant and subservient and yielding. They're submissive--they're trained to be. I can live with that because, well, guy. But almost not a guy, you know?" He shot a sideways glance at Jensen, searching for a reaction, wanting to see how far he could push this, how receptive Jensen was to the whole concept, and where he should step back and not push. At least not right away.
Bemused, Jensen gave a little nod.
"So really, I'm just as happy it's you," Jared said, still gauging Jensen's reaction. "I've realized that, given a choice, I don't want somebody who's had the maleness trained out of him. And god, Jensen, you must know you're attractive."
He grinned a little to see the blush come up beneath the freckles. "Girls must have fallen all over you in school--probably boys too, you just didn't notice."
"I noticed," Jensen shot him a direct glance, and looked away again. "I just wasn't interested. I guess I shut them down without thinking about it. And up until junior year of high school I was a dorky, funny-looking geek. So there wasn't so much falling over me as there was me tripping over my own feet."
"The point I'm trying to make is," Jared dragged the talk back on point. "I find you very attractive. Beyond that, what I know of you after two days, I like a lot. I think we have a chance of building something good between us, and I'd like to really give that a shot. Take advantage of the situation and be partners, rather than just pere and ceiver."
"Exactly what are you talking about, Jared?" Jensen's expression was muted, unreadable. Jared was suddenly sure he wanted to know Jensen well enough to read Jensen's emotions easily.
"Instead of the typical pere-ceiver relationship, I'd like us to try and be a couple. Partners, life partners, with as equal a say in things as we can have."
"Jared..."
"I know. You believed you were going to have this kind of relationship with a woman, and I'm sorry you were robbed of that. It's cruel, but I honestly can't see how that's ever going to happen for you now. But I'm offering you something similar, instead of a life for which you haven't been prepared at all."
Jensen didn't answer, and Jared really would rather he didn't, right now. "Think about it. We can talk about it later, I'd like that. But you need to give it some thought.
"Meanwhile, there are things Repro expects, and some of them are non-negotiable. Because your training was so late and so abbreviated, I think you probably found some of them shocking and intrusive. I'd like to talk about some of those things, okay?"
"Like coffee?" Jensen suggested, putting off discussing the worse things.
"And beer, and stuff like that," Jared nodded. "I don't know how much reading and study you've done on ceiver anatomy and the reasons and necessity for things like the regular enemas?" Jensen shook his head, unwilling to speak up. "Well, I've done some research, and I talked to my physician about it, and I think, unless you want to continue the practice, it's okay to skip it.
"You'll need to do a small flush before your medical exams, and we'll see how things go when you're pregnant," Jared noted the shudder that ran through Jensen at the mention of the word, but chose not to acknowledge it. Later. They'd deal with that later. "But until then, I'm okay with you going without, if you are."
Jensen nodded.
"I see no reason to deprive you of beer with your pizza and coffee with your breakfast," Jared continued. "At least until we're actively trying for a baby, or you're pregnant." Jensen looked away, wouldn't meet Jared's eyes. "Is that okay with you? Or do you want to stick to not having either, along with some of the other dietary requirements Repro insists on? Is it easier to give it all up now, or wait till there's a reason?"
He saw the convulsive swallow before Jensen mastered his voice. "I--no. Let's wait, since that's okay with you."
Jared nodded, smiling. "Okay, then. Coffee and beer it is!" He searched for Jensen's answering smile, and was rewarded, with a small one. "I will suggest that you not consume mass quantities, and it might be best if you only indulge when I'm around."
At Jensen's puzzled look, he explained, "Easier for me to claim the empties, right? Should anybody happen by."
The smile grew a little wider. "Yeah." Jensen's eyes met his. "Thanks, Jared. Really. I don't know what to say." He sighed, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "It's. Well, it's more than I thought this was going to be. So thank you."
EIGHT
That night after Marta's fried chicken, potato salad, green beans and roasted corn, Jared challenged Jensen to Call of Duty. "I'm the high score of all time, baby!" he bragged, setting up the controllers and tossing one to Jensen.
"You think so," Jensen scoffed.
"I know so," Jared smirked as the game scoreboard came up. "Read it and weep."
"You're going down."
Jared's smirk broadened. "Bring it."
A couple of hours of battle, side by side on the couch, coffee table littered with empty beer bottles, bags of cheetos, and a big popcorn bowl, with much elbowing and fierce competition, yelling at each other and laughing at each other's failures, Jensen whooped as his name hit the top of the scoreboard. Jared punched him in the bicep, frowned ferociously, and threw down his controller, before the dimples broke through and he rose to his full height and stretched, arms over his head till his spine creaked, baring a strip of naked belly between his shirt hem and the waistband of his jeans. He dropped his arms, rotating his shoulders and beamed at Jensen.
"Cookies and milk? Or ice cream?" he asked.
"What kind of cookies?" Jensen wanted to know. "And what kind of ice cream?" He hauled himself to his feet and helped Jared snag longneck empties between his fingers and grabbed the empty bags while Jared got the popcorn bowl, and they trooped into the kitchen. Bags in the trash, bottles in recycling, bowl in the dishwasher, Jared pulled a lidded plastic container and a couple of packages of cookies from a cabinet while Jensen foraged in the freezer. He emerged with three cartons of ice cream and set them on the counter with the cookies.
Jared pointed at another overhead cabinet. "Bowls. Spoons in the drawer over there," and Jensen set two of each on the counter. Jared pulled a scoop from another drawer, and the two of them settled on stools at the counter while Jared peeled the lid off the plastic container. "Marta's chocolate chip peanut butter cookies," he offered the container to Jensen with an air of presenting gold. One bite, and Jensen was ready to agree with him. They scooped and munched companionably, feeling no need for conversation. When they were done, Jensen rinsed the bowls and spoons and put them in the dishwasher while Jared put away the food and wiped down the counter. Finished, he snagged an arm around Jensen's neck, pulling him in for a loud, smacking kiss on the temple before he released him with a grin. "Need to check the doors. 'Night, Jensen."
Jensen watched him check the sliders and the front door before he went off in the direction of the garage to check things there. "'Night," he called after Jared as he started up the stairs.
Next morning, Jared was in the pool when Jensen came down. Jensen watched him through the glass as Jared stroked from one end of the pool and back, water gleaming off working muscles. He opened the slider, and Jared finished his lap before he stood and wiped the water from his eyes.
"I left a suit out for you in the bathroom," he nodded toward the ell of the house. "Come on in!"
Jensen nodded, and went to change. Jared hauled himself out of the pool and scooped up a bottle as Jensen approached. "Turn around."
"Man--" Jensen started to protest, but Jared's warm hand full of cooler sunscreen lotion met the skin of his back. He shivered at the temperature contrast as Jared rubbed the stuff over his shoulders, down his arms, down the middle of his back and out over his ribs, all the way down to the waistband of the trunks. "Turn around."
Jensen turned, summoning up an expression of stubborn protest for Jared, who snorted softly and carefully rubbed lotion on his face, going delicately around his eyes, over his forehead, down his nose, cheeks, and chin, before squirting another big dollop into his palm and slapping it onto Jensen's chest. "Rub it in. You're so fair, don't want your delicate, pasty skin to burn," he taunted with a grin as he used the last of it to rub over Jensen's shoulders and down his arms.
They horsed around in the pool for an hour, chasing and ducking each other, slapping water fights, and when Jensen started swimming laps, Jared stroked alongside, pacing him. The last few laps were a race, and while Jensen sank into the form he'd learned and used the fancy turn and kickoff he'd perfected, Jared's longer arms gave him the advantage. They bobbed at the side of the pool, a wide grin on Jared's face. "Nice," he got out, gasping a little for breath. "State Champion, senior year of high school. Most can't keep up with me." Jensen sent a half-hearted slap of water his way and hauled himself out, dripping.
"Coffee," he pleaded, wiping himself down with one of the towels Jared had brought out, wrapping and tucking it around his waist. "Tell me there's coffee."
Marta had brunch waiting when they were showered and dressed: Eggs to order, bacon, toast, pancakes and three kinds of syrup, cut fruit, and of course, coffee. When they were finished and replete, Jared pushed away from the counter, thanking Marta for the feast. Jensen echoed him.
"I need to check my email and maybe handle a few things from work. Come on back to my office," he invited, and Jensen followed. The room was painted dark green, the furniture was stained dark as well: bookcases full of well-worn volumes, a sculpture that looked like some kind of award on the credenza behind the desk, a side table beside an armchair, and a coffee table before a small sofa. The desk and side table looked old, valuable, well cared-for, and Jensen said so. "My grandfather's," Jared's hand stroked the desktop. "My mom contributed the table, it came from her family."
The baseboard, crown molding, and millwork around the windows were stained dark instead of painted, and there was an oriental rug on the hardwood floor. The upholstered pieces were done in muted patterned fabrics rather than the leather Jensen would have expected, and there were framed architectural studies on the walls. One large painting faced the desk, a landscape falling away toward a pond and trees beyond. Jared saw Jensen gazing at it. "My grandpop's place," he smiled. "We swam in that pond, and fished. Never caught anything, though. I'm not sure there ever were fish in that pond."
An old-fashioned wooden drafting table stood by a window, a jointed-arm lamp clamped to its surface. "May I?" Jensen asked, and moved to look at the drawing that lay on the table at Jared's nod. The building emerging from lines on the paper was impressive: three floors, with a glass panel centered in the front wall that soared from ground level to the gothic-reminiscent arched point of the roof.
"That's the new concert center for the university here in town. I'm bidding for the job." He shrugged. "The rest of campus is Georgian, red brick with white columns and paneled doors, mullioned windows. Very old money, solid, respectable."
"Staid," Jensen offered, and Jared nodded.
"I want to keep this in harmony with that sensibility, but also turn toward a more modern attitude. It's an arts center, so it needs to reach for something beyond what they already have."
"Expand their horizons," Jensen was nodding. "I like it," he peered at the drawing a little closer. "For whatever my opinion's worth." He glanced up to see Jared's dimples in full array.
"Thanks. I hope the committee feels the same way." Jared booted up the computer tucked under his desk and waited for the monitor to come to life as he sat in the aerochair behind the desk. He reached behind him, retrieved a leather bag and withdrew a laptop, passing it over to Jensen. "Here. I need to check email and check in with work. You want to use this?"
This was another thing Repro forbade. No phone calls, no visits, no computer access for the first thirty days after entering his new home. He studied Jared for a moment, the man's head lowered, his attention on the flickering screen in front of him. "You sure about this, man?"
Jared looked up. "Just--check your email, read the news. Hell, play Bejeweled if you want to--just keep it on mute. I need about an hour here. If you don't want the laptop, go watch TV or read or something, okay?"
"Yeah. Okay. Thanks." Jensen took the laptop and retreated to the armchair, putting his feet up on the matching ottoman before opening up the computer and switching it on.
His password for his work account still worked, but there were no emails in his inbox. Jensen wondered if his dad had kept the account hoping Jensen could eventually return to work, if he'd forgotten about it in all the rest of the uproar, or just because he was unable to finally let go. Jensen stared at the screen for a few minutes before postponing the decision to delete the link and the icon for that account. His personal email contained surprisingly few messages, a couple from his sister, several from Jason and Chris, a couple from Steve, a few from his other friends, all dated within the last two weeks. He just wasn't ready to read them yet, and he left them unopened. He checked the news feed and settled in to read about the world outside his own personal concerns.
They went to a movie that afternoon, a Bruce Willis flick. Jared bought out the candy counter and a huge bucket of popcorn, two bonus-refill vat-sized sodas, and they found seats in the rear of the theater. Jensen found himself relaxing as the mayhem escalated onscreen. Jared's presence beside him had become natural, ordinary, and the warmth of his body, the depth of his chuckle or the shout of his laughter were familiar and far from startling. When a large hand came down on his knee at a tense moment, gripping tight before easing and lifting away, Jensen didn't flinch. And when Jared's body shifted to lean against him when he whispered a dirty tag to one of Willis' lines, Jensen guffawed, but didn't pull away from the contact. Neither did Jared. They emerged into twilight, loose, relaxed, a little giddy from the noise and the stunts and the laughter.
"There's a place that serves the best lasagna in town," Jared said, his stomach rumbling audibly despite having consumed a fistful of twizzlers, two-thirds of a bucket of popcorn and two or three candy bars. "You up for it?"
"Lead the way," Jensen answered. The lasagna was superb, as were the garlic-buttered breadsticks, the fresh green salad scattered with chilled boiled shrimp, and the New York style cheesecake that followed. "Just push me out the door and roll me home," he said to Jared as they rose to leave.
In the garage at home, once the door had lowered, Jared came around the car as they headed into the house and snaked an arm about Jensen's neck, pulling him close. His other hand came up to capture Jensen's jaw and hold him still while Jared kissed him, a soft, dry press of lips that surprised Jensen enough for him to stand still for. As he started to pull back, to speak, Jared smiled, stroking Jensen's bottom lip with the ball of his thumb before removing his hand. He hugged just a little tighter for a second or two before releasing Jensen and preceding him into the house.
Jensen had never had a distaste for being touched by people he knew and liked. There was the usual rough and tumble with his brother and sister growing up, pushing and shoving with the boys he played with, either on baseball and soccer teams, or in pickup football and basketball games after school. High school and college were more ground for physical contact, and the truth was, Jensen was used to it, it was familiar. So being surrounded by Jared's physicality was nothing new. And it took awhile to notice as the touches became different. They lingered longer, they weren't as rough, and there was an affection in them he found himself responding to. After the harrowing weeks he'd lived through, it was a comfort to sit sprawled beside Jared on the couch, the warmth of contact at shoulder, arm, hip and thigh as they battled for onscreen supremacy or laughed their way through another Jackass movie. It was one such evening, full of beer and laughter and sleepy camaraderie, when Jared hooked an arm about Jensen's neck to pull him in, the other hand moving up to cup the back of Jensen's head as he kissed him, deeply, tongue seeking entrance. Jensen, relaxed and sleepy, didn't move away or protest. He opened sweetly to Jared's entreaty, and Jared, reining in his triumph, proceeded to slowly, gently, thoroughly kiss the hell out of him. When he'd finished, Jensen still leaned trustingly against him, eyes closed, lips slightly parted as though in further invitation.
Jared couldn't resist. He pushed Jensen back on the couch to lie on the cushions piled against the upholstered arm, and followed, still nipping at and giving small kisses to those soft, lush lips. "Jared," Jensen murmured, and Jared kissed his name from Jensen's lips as he flipped open Jensen's belt buckle and eased down the zipper of his jeans. Slipping his hand inside, he cupped the bulge he found there, noting the dampness soaking the front of Jensen's briefs.
Jensen groaned and bucked up against Jared's hand, and Jared left off kissing him to mouth at the damp cotton before he pulled it down enough to free Jensen's dick and balls. Jensen gasped and rolled his hips a little. Jared pinned him down with a forearm low across his belly and sucked the head into the heat of his mouth.
"Jared!"
He pulled off and licked a stripe up the length. "Shhh, baby. Let me." Before he could be denied, Jared closed his lips around the straining cock, and sucked gently, while his fingers rolled Jensen's balls, and explored the skin behind them. He desperately wanted to rub and probe at Jensen's furled opening, but he restrained himself--that would come soon. Now he had to make this good for his ceiver, and make it last as long as possible.
The last time anybody had touched Jensen with passion had been a cute redhead who'd sat up front at the last gig they'd played before England.They'd taken their time exploring each others' bodies, learning what made the other gasp and cry out, press closer, seeking contact, pressure, friction, learning the best spots to tease and torment, and the ones to avoid. Jensen had gotten her number, and had definitely planned to call, once he got back from the tour. Since that night, Jensen had been so full of apprehension and fear he hadn't even thought of touching himself. Only Randy--
--and he did not want to think about that. Caught in breathless waves of pleasure and excitement, he didn't want to think about anything. He gave himself over to his physical sensations and just let go of everything else.
Jared laved Jensen's cock and his balls with his tongue, learning every vein and dip and dimple in the pale skin, inhaling the gorgeous scent that was the essence of his ceiver. He sucked in the pretty cock, nibbling at the slit and then swallowing head and shaft till the blunt tip bumped his throat, then pulled off, slowly, pressing hard against the vein with the flat of his tongue until he could nip at the frenum. Jensen moaned and rolled his hips, eyes closed, head turning side to side as if seeking escape--or the source of his pleasure. Jared wanted badly to talk, to tell Jensen how gorgeous he was, how hot, how unspeakably, devastatingly hard Jared was falling for him, but he kept silent. Whatever spell Jensen was in right now, Jared wanted him there. Wanted him pliant, accepting, wanting more. Speech, and the sound of Jared's voice, might bring Jensen back to reality, a place where Jensen was not so willing a participant. And it would be difficult to get this mood back.
He sucked harder, eased off and leaned lower to suck one of Jensen's balls into his mouth, rolled it with his tongue and let it free only to take in its twin. He circled Jensen's cock with his hand and sucked at the head, feeling Jensen's response growing, intense, and Jensen bucked, his thighs clenching as he spurted into Jared's willing mouth, once, twice, half a dozen times. Jared swallowed it all, and tenderly licked the oversensitized cock clean. Finally, he laid his head on Jensen's belly to feel his breathing and heartbeat slow.
It was a minute, or two or three later, when Jared felt a light touch on his hair, and then Jensen's hand settled there, petting him. Jared grinned, and couldn't help raising his head to look up the length of Jensen's body to his face, filled with happiness that Jensen's features were relaxed and calm, a smile hovering about his mouth.
"What about you?" his ceiver asked, and Jared shook his head. He shifted so that his crotch met Jensen's bare foot, so he could feel the sticky wetness through Jared's jeans.
"Already taken care of," he grinned. Jensen stretched a little, getting more comfortable on the couch and under Jared. They lay that way a little while, before Jared peeled off and stood, itchy in his sticky underwear, and pulled Jensen to standing, too. "Bed, Jen," he instructed, planting a kiss on Jensen's forehead and pulling him toward the stairs. As Jensen began to climb, Jared did his nightly security check and then followed him upstairs for his own quick shower and bed. He paused at the door of Jensen's room. Regret that his own bed waited, empty, was tempered with the success of tonight's step forward.
