Hungry (For Your Love) 3/4

[rose_the_hat]

Title: Hungry (For Your Love)
Author: rose_the_hat
Pairing: Jared Padalecki/Jensen Ackles
Rating: NC-17
Words: 23,000-ish
Summary: In which newlyweds Jensen and Jared learn a little more about each other and have dirty sex.
Notes: Forth installment in my October Rust ‘Verse.
I apparently cannot write a short one-shot with these guys to save my life.
This takes place immediately after White Wedding. Away from everything and everyone, the boys get a
chance to let their guard allllll the way down. I hope you enjoy this side of them.
Much appreciation to jdl71 for the beta, helpful suggestions and…the pretty banner! ♥
Title taken from the Winger song.













Jensen wakes up alone. His heart pounds out of control for several seconds. For an instant he is thrown back five years to when he woke up naked and alone down in a dark pit, kept captive. Instead of the hard concrete surface he is on a soft bed, and instead of a dank wet underground smell he can smell the sea and hear the waves. Aruba. I’m in Aruba with Jared.

That doesn’t answer the question of where Jared is, however. Jensen sighs, opens his eyes, and pushes into a seated position. His skin stings and pulls, and looks a darker pink than the day before. Still not quite the ominous most-painful lobster red and he has no blisters. Thank God for small favors. After this his chest was going to be even more freckled.

He climbs out of bed and shuffles to the bathroom to relieve his bladder. Then, he hobbles to the kitchen and the coffee he can smell brewing. A moment later he hears Jared’s voice, low and furtive.

“Yeah? Great.” A pause as though listening, then he speaks again. “Yeah, the 2002. Not a problem. Thanks.”

Jensen’s brows come together and he purses his lips. His new husband is up to something. Jensen ambles into the kitchen where he finds Jared with his head poked into the wide stainless steel fridge.

“Who were you talking to? We’re supposed to be on our honeymoon, incommunicado from the business, except for an extreme emergency.”

Jared turns, carton of eggs and a couple of steaks in hand. “That wasn’t business,” Jared winks cheekily, shutting the fridge door with a slim hip. “Just a little something I’m working on.”

Jensen eyes him suspiciously before letting it go; eventually, Jared will reveal whatever it is he is “working on”.

“There’s a grill on the patio. Thought we could have steak and eggs for breakfast.”

Jensen rolls his eyes when he notices the loud and tacky pair of board shorts Jared is wearing today: bright pink with pineapples all over them. He does not notice how the pink looks really good against Jared’s bronze skin. Not at all.

“Sounds good. I liked the flamingos better,” Jensen comments following Jared out to the patio.

Jared sets down the breakfast things and holds out a hand. “Nope. You cannot go outside like that.”

Jensen gazes down at himself, clad only in a pair of green silk pajama pants. He nods. Jared is right. If he goes out without covering himself he will only burn more. He heads back into the bedroom to riffle through his luggage, looking for something light but covering. He grows more aggravated with himself. Here he is in a tropical paradise and he has to wear long pants and sleeves—in addition to being unable to enjoy his new husband’s touch, which he craves like an addict. He settles on putting the pajama top back on and heads out onto the patio. The patio is blue and white tile and surrounds a rectangular pool. Jensen doesn’t understand the point of having a pool when the Caribbean Sea is literally on your backdoor step.

Jared has an apron on and when he turns around to give Jensen a smile, Jensen let out a loud bray of laughter. The apron is navy blue and printed on the front is the phrase “eat my meat” and under that in smaller font, “also try my sausage” with a finger pointing down.

“Nope,” Jared says, sounding stern. He points to the glass-topped table in a shaded corner. On the table is a floppy hat. “Gotta wear that, too.”

Jensen clenches his jaw. God he might as well be in a damn nun’s habit. He stalks over to the table, throws himself into one of the chairs, and snatches up the wide brimmed hat. He looks at it, just a plain khaki safari hat, then, jams it on his head. He crosses his arms over his chest, hisses at the contact, and lets them fall to his sides and begins to pout. He feels ridiculous. The silk of his pajamas still feels like sandpaper on his burnt skin. It’s going to be like this for days. So, Jensen sulks and Jared grills, humming under his breath. Jensen thinks it might be Judas Priest.

He should be wearing only board shorts, like Jared, should be swimming in the Caribbean Sea, even helping Jared construct a sandcastle. They should be fucking on the beach, or the bed, in the pool, or in the shower, against a wall, on the couch. Not that Jensen minds just being with Jared, not at all, but after twenty years of some kind of sexual contact every day a sudden unwanted dry-spell is hard to deal with.

“Here we go,” Jared drops a plate with half a dozen eggs on it and two steaks. “Shit, I forgot coffee.” He dashes off back into the house, returning a moment later with a carafe of coffee, a couple of cups and cream for himself.

“Perfect, mid-rare,” Jared says transferring a steak onto Jensen’s plate. “But they need to rest for a bit.”

“Thanks,” Jensen says, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Jared pours one for himself and pours in a shit-ton of cream. Jensen rolls his eyes.

“Jared. Would it kill you to actually drink coffee, not coffee-flavored cream?”

They do this all the time, Jensen giving Jared shit about his coffee preferences. It’s like a ritual. Following the ritual Jared just gives him a shit-eating grin and stirs his barely-brown coffee.

“That is an abomination,” Jensen sips his own black coffee, grinning at Jared over the rim of his cup.

Jared slides eggs onto Jensen’s plate and then onto his own. He sprinkles them lightly with salt and pepper and goes to town.

“What about sex?” Jared asks, demolishing his eggs.

“I’m for it,” Jensen quips, starting in on his own eggs but eyeing the resting streaks.

“So am I, but it’s off the menu for a little bit. You know I had a lot of sex before I met you.”

“Let’s try not to think about the kind of sex you had because I’m pretty sure I’d want to kill all your Johns. I already killed your pimp.”

“Yeah, you did.” Jared’s eyes flash, the brief appearance of the killer and enforcer coming out before he blinks and the monster is gone. “I know you had sex with Sterling, but was he your first?”

“No. Lost my cherry at sixteen,” Jensen says. It’s kind of strange to be talking about this after twenty years. Jared has never asked before and Jensen kinda forgot about everyone else in his sexual past once Jared blasted into his life. He always figured Jared wasn’t interested. It’s weird but at the same time it’s nice, adding a new layer of intimacy to their relationship after all this time. They can’t be physically intimate, but they can be intimate in other ways: intimate with their hearts, souls, and minds. He has nothing to hide from Jared, and Jared has nothing to hide from him.

“Who was your first if not Sterling?”

“Michael—”

“ROSENBAUM?!” Jared drops his fork and it clatters loud against the plate.

“Jesus! Fuck no!” Jensen says horrified, “Fucking Christ. Never. No, a guy I went to Chilton Prep with. Michael Weatherly. He was an asshole, but he didn’t mind my reputation or Dad’s. He liked the drugs I had access to. Liked the drugs more than me, thinking back on it. He hit me once when I—”

“This motherfucker hit you?” Oh Jesus. The Monster is out in full in Jared now. Jensen doesn’t know if he can call him back, or even if he wants to. Jared is fucking sexy 24/7, but when this part of him comes out, it shifts into maximum overdrive.

“Yes. Once.” Jensen says, using his threatening Ice Cold Ackles voice, which Jared has told him is different than his Big Boss Man voice. Jensen isn’t sure how, but Jared is an expert on him. “He didn’t like that I wouldn’t just hand over high-grade coke to him and not expect payment.”

Jared’s eyes are flat and dead, his jaw clenching. Shoulders tense. If Weatherly were in front of Jared right now he would be dead. “Jare, it was thirty years ago,” he gently touches him. Jared blinks, the Monster is still there, still awake, but Jared catches his gaze.

“I know, but I don’t like the idea of anyone putting their hands on you. If they do they need to pay.”

“He did,” Jensen says, holding Jared’s fiery gaze. A frisson of awareness passes between them. “I broke all the bones in his hands. You know how many bones are in the hand, Jared?”

Jared moves his chair closer to Jensen. His eyes glow with bright interest. “Twenty-seven. How’d you do it?” Jensen knows that if he were to put his hand between Jared’s legs, he’d find him hard as an iron bar.

“Sledgehammer.”

“Oh fuck. That’s hot.” Jared presses close to his side, and kisses the side of his neck; Jared’s breath is a warm fan on his pulse point. He has an instant where he relishes the contact but his sizzling skin makes itself known.

“Ahh!” Jensen winces and Jared immediately moves away. Jensen is beyond sick of this shit. He wants to enjoy his husband’s hands on him, big strong body pressing close.

“Shit. Sorry,” Jared says. “You know how I get when you go into detail about the vicious shit you’ve done.”

Jensen nods. “I know.” He pats Jared’s hard on. “Keep it on ice for a bit, babe.”

Jared tips him a salute. “Think the steaks have rested long enough,” Jared says. He serves one to Jensen, then himself. “So, who was after Broken Hand Man?”

“The guy after him was marginally better,” Jensen continues, cutting into his steak. “Blond surfer guy named James Van Der Beek. He didn’t care about the drugs I had access to, but liked the status of dating Alan Ackles’ son. Mmm! Jensen exclaims. His man can grill a mean steak, tender, juicy, and flavorful.

“How long were you together?”

“Meh, eight or nine months. Most of our senior year. After that I had an on again off again thing with a guy named Kerr Smith at UTD until I met Sterling.”

“So I’m the fourth guy you’ve slept with?”

“No,” Jensen shakes his head. Jared couldn’t be that naive? Or maybe he was just hopeful? “You’re the fourth guy I’ve had a relationship with, and I wouldn’t call Kerr serious. Had plenty of casual hook ups between relationships. It’s always been easy to find a willing body to fuck.”

“You didn’t bottom before me?”

“Not often and never did it with random hookups. Sterling was the top more often than not, and he was good, but it wasn’t…enough. You knew what I needed our first night together.”

“To let go and be dominated.”

“Yeah,” Jensen pauses, considering what else to say. Decides to just say it all and deal with whatever fall out might come from it. “Sterling could be rough, but it wasn’t enough. I could never get him to understand that, and he wasn’t really into it. He did it for me, but he never liked it.”

Jared’s face is neutral as he listens and eats his own steak. “You shouldn’t have to compromise your desires and wants for a partner’s.”

The simplicity of that statement hits Jensen in the chest. He had compromised his needs for Sterling, even with casual hook ups, topping when he preferred to bottom. With Jared he never compromised. Jared gives him exactly what he needs and always has. He would give him more if Jensen asked, and never made Jensen feel like a deviant for asking the way Sterling sometimes did, never in words, but in looks and actions.

“Yeah,” Jensen says quietly. “And with random guys I could never trust them enough to let them have control over me.”

“Nor should you,” there is stern caution in his tone. He knows exactly what happens when you give control over to some random person. Jared had lived it, was still scarred from it.

“You and I have always been on the same wavelength with everything. The connection I have with you isn’t like anything I’ve ever felt before.”

Jared grins. “There’s a word for that.”

Jensen feels himself grinning. “Yeah, I think shrinks call it Co-Dependancy.”

“Nah, fuck those headshrinkers,” Jared scoffs with an eye roll and a wave of an elegant hand. “They don’t know half as much as they think they do, and they don’t know us. What we have is synergy.”

Synergy. Yeah. Jensen likes that.




After breakfast they move back into the villa. Jared rattles around in the kitchen, cleaning up their breakfast things, singing Enter Sandman under his breath. Jensen tosses the floppy hat away, and strips down to his boxer briefs. It feels a little better. Jensen plants himself on the sofa and falls into a sulk.

They were in Aruba for two weeks, but they had planned things out and time was ticking away. This first week was them just alone, fucking their brains out. The second week they were going to do all kinds of touristy things: shopping, visit the casinos, they had an ATV tour booked, Jared wanted to snorkel, and Jensen wanted to fish. Jensen had chartered a yacht just for that purpose. Jared also wanted to get a metal detector and hunt for buried pirate treasure. Jared knew that pirates did not bury their treasure but there was still enough little boy in him—even after tragedy and abuse—to want to believe it and Jensen was not going to disabuse him of the notion.

“You’re cute when you pout,” Jared says.

Jensen blinks, seeming to come out of a daze, and scowls. He is a forty-six year old man. Forty-six year old men do not pout. “I’m not pouting.”

“Then someone should tell that pretty face of yours,” Jared smirks.

Mob bosses don’t pout; they plot and contemplate. “I’m contemplating my enforced absence situation,” Jensen argues.

Jared narrows his eyes and raises a slender brow. “Enforced absence situation?”

How can that bastard be so cool? Jensen was a stoic one, the Ice Cold one. Jared was the animal, the monster, those in their business called him Cujo for fucks sake. “I’m sexually frustrated!” Oh great. Now he’s whining. “We can’t fuck because I’m all sunburned and it hurts to be touched.”

“It’s only been a day and half, Jense,” Jared says, a corner of his mouth twitching, like he is barely holding in a laugh.

Damn him. It’s not fucking funny! “I want to consummate my marriage.” Okay, he is definitely pouting but he doesn’t care. He wants Jared’s cock inside him, Jared holding him down, Jared choking him—with his hands or cock, Jensen was never picky—their sweat slicked bodies slamming together as they work to give each other as much pleasure as possible.

“We could. Doggy position,” Jared shrugs.

Neither like that particular position, and they seldom used it. Jensen likes it best when they can look at each other. He’s aware that probably sounds sappy as hell but it’s true. Before Jared he hadn’t realized how much better sex is with a deep emotional connection.

He shakes his head. “I’d rather wait until I can touch you and wind around you like python.”

“My anaconda don’t want none if you’re sunburned, hun.” Jared grabs his crotch and begins thrusting his hips, doing a little provocative dance.

Jensen’s eyes go wide and he begins laughing hysterically; screaming with it, tears squirting from his eyes, stomach hurting with it. Oh God! Jared, his fucking hardcore metalhead husband, busting out Sir-Mix-A Lot lyrics! When Jensen thinks he’s got himself under control, he just starts laughing all over again because Jared’s shaking his cute ass all around the room, spouting more lyrics to Baby Got Back.

“Ooh, Rump-o'-smooth-skin. You say you want to get in my Benz? Well, use me, use me 'cause you ain't that average groupie.”

Jensen cannot fucking breathe through his laughter. He had always known Jared was a funny guy, quick with quips and saucy comebacks but the last couple of days have really shed new light on this part of his husband. Jared is hilarious.

“What?” Jared asks, stopping his little karaoke concert and looking as angelic as a choir boy. That sends Jensen off into another riotous fit of laughter.

All and all it takes Jensen fifteen minutes to get himself under control. His stomach hurts like he just did a thousand crunches, but he feels so damn good.

“I needed that,” Jensen says once he is able to talk.

Jared gazes at him with warm eyes and a gentle smile with just a hint of dimple. He flops down on the sofa next to him. “It’s what I do.” His gaze lands on Jensen’s painful pink chest. He tosses Jensen the remote. “See if you can find something for us to watch. I’m gonna go get the lotion.”

Jensen flicks on the TV and scrolls through the streaming apps until he finds Jaws: The Revenge.

Jared returns with a bottle of lotion, aloe, and a tube of hydrocortisone cream in hand. “Maybe you should apply this yourself. My hands are more callused than yours.”

“Oh, no you don’t. This fucking sunburn has already taken away our ability to fuck. I’m not going to let it rob me of having your hands on me however I can get them.” Jensen grins and leans in close. “I’m a genie in a bottle, baby, gotta rub me the right way.”

Now, its Jared’s turn to gape in shock. “Did you…? Was that…? Christina Aguilera?”

Jensen’s grin widens and he feels heat suffuse his cheeks. “What? I’m gay. I’m allowed to like pop divas.”

Jared throws back his head and laughs. “Yes, yes you are,” he says when his laughter subsides. He pumps out some of the coconut-smelling lotion and rubs it between his hands.

“Gird your loins,” Jared warns before he’s gently dabbing the lotion across Jensen’s burning chest and smoothing it in.

Jensen hisses and whines, tries to move away. Jared is barely even touching him but each pass of his hands over Jensen’s skin feels like wildfire.

“I’m sorry,” Jared apologizes and sounds as if he’s being tortured.

“Can’t be helped,” Jensen grits out and gives a stiff nod for Jared to continue.

Jensen doesn’t know how long Jared goes on smoothing lotion or aloe across his chest and shoulders, could be seconds or only a minute, but Jensen has to move away. “Please, stop,” Jensen says. He’s burning all over and feels as if he’s been flayed open.

Jared moves away as if scalded and surges to his feet. Jensen gasps and pants, but forces his arm to reach out and grasp Jared’s hand.

Jared gazes down at him expression devastated. Jensen wants to—has to—do or say something to get Jared to smile.

“It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again,” Jensen says.

Jared’s mouth drops open, and his brows come together, forehead crinkling in adorable disbelief, before he throws his head back and laughs.

“Yes, it does, Precious, it gets the hose,” Jensen says in a high cutesy voice people adopt when speaking to pets.

“All right, Buffalo Bill,” Jared says, brow arched. His laughter tapers off and he sits back down next to Jensen, but not pressed to his side as he normally would.

Jensen points to the TV where the information card for Jaws: The Revenge was showing. “You wanna?” Jensen inquires.

Jared’s eyes light up. “Oh my God, yes. This movie is ridiculous. I love it. It’s so bad.”

Jensen presses play.

Ninety minutes later Jared was cackling and Jensen is staring in disbelief at what they have just watched. What the hell was that?

“The…shark…roared,” Jensen says, staring at the credits.

Beside him Jared is bouncing and laughing, his eyes are so bright and dancing with happiness. “I know! Fucking great!”

“It is ridiculous, Jared,” Jensen counters.

“I told you! When I was a kid I just liked the shark eating people on the banana boats and the pretty scenery, but now I love how bad the movie is on the whole.”

“That’s some growth there,” Jensen deadpans, but Jared’s utter glee is infecting him and he feels himself start to smile.

“What about you, Jense? What’s a bad movie that you really love? Unironically love.”

Jensen drops his gaze, one movie coming to his mind. It is considered a camp classic but he wonders if Jared will think it’s too stupid.

Jared nudges him with an elbow. “Jenseeeeen?” Jared draws out his name.

“Mommie Dearest,” Jensen pushes the title out of his mouth.

Jared’s mouth drops open and his eyes widen. “Fuck. Yes,” Jared says emphatic. “Jesus, Jensen that is like a gay classic.” His eyes narrow speculatively. “You are secretly a fan of pop divas and camp classics…there might be a little bit of a queen in you after all. I love it!” Jared’s arms close around him and Jensen cries out in pain.

Jared jumps back. “I’m sorry!” He exclaims, his relaxed smiling face transforming into one of guilt and regret.

“It’s okay,” Jensen breathes out. He reaches out and touches Jared’s chest, right over his heart. “It was an anticipatory flinch. Your lotions and potions seemed to help a little.” It’s a lie, he is stinging like a motherfucker, but does not want Jared to guilt himself about this goddamn sunburn more than he already is.

Jared’s stricken expression melts from his face and he smiles. “So? Mommie Dearest?”



For dinner they heat up leftover take out from the night before. They eat at the breakfast bar instead of the dining table, liking the closeness and intimacy of it.

“No bad,” Jensen remarks of his reheated shrimp bisque.

Jared nods as he opens the banana leaves encasing his fish and cutting into the flesh. “Still flaky.” He forks a bite into his mouth. “And tasty.”

They suspend conversation as they eat, enjoying being together and listening to the waves and bird noises as night settles over the island. Jensen’s mind drifts to the island he wants to purchase for them. It’s a fun fantasy, but Jensen finds himself wondering about the reality of it. Right now this is their honeymoon, a nice getaway from everything, but retirement is another thing. What would they do to fill the hours?

“Hey, Jare?” Jensen says breaking the comfortable silence. “I know you said you’d like to retire and become a beach bum, but how feasible is that? I think you’d get bored after a week.”

Jared’s eyes go soft and unfocused as he thinks about Jensen’s question. “You could be right, but I’ve lived hard and rough for a long time, Jense. Granted, I’ve had a cushy life since I got involved with your Organization, but it’s still rough in its own way, assassinations and interrogations. But you wanna know the truth? I think…the older I get the more I’m losing my taste for it. I wanna lay my tools down and enjoy the life I’ve struggled for. Find new interests and hobbies. It’s hard to do that when I need to worry about your security, making sure your businesses are running smoothly, and your orders are carried out. I imagine you’re eager for retirement, too. You’ve been doing this since before we met. That’s a long time to wear the crown.”

That was a much more in depth answer than Jensen had been expecting. Clearly retiring to the Bahamas isn’t just some idle fantasy for Jared. Jensen thinks about some of the things Jared brought up, enjoying the life he’s worked for, growing older and mellowing out—he had noticed that happening to Jared and even himself over the last couple of years. He thinks about the weight he has carried for the last twenty years, made lighter by Jared’s presence in his life, but he has been running the Organization for twenty-five years, and his training began before that.

He imagines it as a backpack, slowly filling with stones of responsibility. When Jared came into his life some weight shifted to be carried evenly between them. Soon, maybe as little as four years, more weight will be shifted to Colin, who will be in his prime and eager to take on that weight, just as Jensen is preparing to lay it down.

Yes, he thinks, they can do this, retire to their own private paradise. If they grow bored they can travel and really see the world. Jensen himself has always been enamored with Venice, Italy. He knows Jared would love to go to Italy and Sicily, both for the excellent shopping and to walk where his Mafioso heroes walked.

“So, what do you really think about Colin and Brock?” Jared asks as they are opening containers with dessert dishes in them: Bananas foster and strawberry cheesecake.

“I’m not thrilled about the fifteen year age difference. If Colin were underage and impressionable it would be different; I’d have his balls. I trust Brock. I don’t think he would have acted on anything with Colin if it wasn’t the real deal. He’s proven himself loyal over the years. I believe him when he says he didn’t want to lose my trust and respect, or risk your wrath.”

Jared flashes a sinister smile. “If he hurts Colin I will cut out his heart.”

Jensen feels an answering smile split his own lips. “And I’ll do nothing to stop you.”

“Weird to think a lawyer will be running things,” Jared remarks spearing a strawberry from his cheesecake and holding it out to Jensen.

Jensen sucks the sugary glazed berry from the fork and chews. “A little. I can see the logic in it though. He’ll be a lawyer the same way I’m a businessman. Julian is all ready to offer him a job at his firm once he graduates law school and passes the Bar.”

Jared grins and shakes his head. “Julian is never going to die. He’s fucking ageless.”

“He’s both. Ancient and ageless, but he knows his shit. Ruthless as hell. Colin will learn a lot from him. I think between Colin, the IC, and Colin’s own group, the Organization will do well once we retire.”

“You say we, but it’s all on you, Jense,” Jared says sipping a glass of white wine.

“I’m the head, true enough, but you help carry the load, Jare. Don’t ever think you don’t. Your support over the years is invaluable.”

Jared’s eyes gleam. He sets his fork down and takes Jensen’s hand, lifting it to his lips, kisses his wedding ring. “Does that make me your Consigliere, Don Ackles?”

Jensen scoffs, rolls his eyes, and smacks Jared’s chest. “This is not the Mafia, Jared.”

“See, you say that but it is” Jared’s entire face is alight, eyes sparkling, lips split in a wide admiring grin, with the zeal he always gets when talking about the Italian or Sicilian mob. “You are the Don. Kane is your Underboss. Jase, Stevie, Mike, and Tommy are all caporegimes, and their crews are all associates and soldiers. You just call it an Organization. You are a Mafia Don, Jensen Ackles. Accept it.”

“I am not in any way Italian or Sicilian, Jared, ergo I do not run a Mafia organization. I will allow that I am the boss of an organized crime syndicate, but that’s it.”

Jared sniffs, and wipes away an imaginary tear. “Forty six years old and finally admits to being a Mafia Don. Powerful tale of self-acceptance.”

“You are such a prick,” Jensen sighs but cannot stop his grin. He wads up his napkin and tosses it at Jared. God he married a fucking dork.



Before bed, Jensen takes a cool bath and Jared applies more aloe and lotion to his shoulders, chest and legs. Jensen endures the rough touch, giving Jared a reassuring smile the entire time. He climbs carefully into bed, taking time to find a comfortable position. Jensen is getting more irritated about the little things about being sunburned: his clothes and bed sheets hurting his skin, pulling and burning when he moves a certain way, and that Jared can’t hold him until he falls asleep. He hates sleeping on his back. It feels a little too much like how morticians lay people out in caskets. He sits in bed while Jared showers and broods on it, poking at the skin on his chest, trying to see if it’s close to peeling, but all it does is feel like fire and he stops.

Jared steps out of the bathroom, a towel slung around his hips. Water from his shower glistens—listen to him, two days without sex and he’s waxing poetic—across that broad chest and shimmers like diamonds as it catches in his chest hair. Jensen swallows hard, cock growing half hard. Jared mindlessly walks over to the bureau and plucks out a pair of boxer briefs. Jensen watches, salivating, as Jared removes the towel from his hips, revealing creamy skin, perky ass cheeks, thick veiny cock and heavy balls. Jared absently dries his junk and slips into his underwear. Jensen wonders if Jared is torturing him on purpose.

“You growin’ a beard or something?” Jensen asks, and his tone is a little harsh. Jared’s stubble is turning into a full beard at this point. “You look like a goddamn bum.”

Jared climbs into bed, and turns over on his side to gaze and Jensen, a little crease between his elegant brows lets Jensen know that he heard the sharpness in his voice and it wounded him.

“No. Not shaving until you feel better. You walk around mostly naked because clothes hurt your skin, and I just wanna lick and bite, the scruff reminds me I can’t.”

“Oh, because the burning magenta skin doesn’t do a good enough job.” Shit. He’s snapping at Jared and none of this is his fault.

Jared’s eyes go hard before he blinks and his face is indulgent. “You’re irresistible.” He kisses the tip of Jensen’s nose. “Get some sleep, grumpy-pants.”






For the next few days they do mundane things in doors. They watch movies, they try to cook—with varying degrees of success. They play poker and blackjack—Jensen wins twenty K but loses fifteen, and they have more intimate conversations. It’s nice and domestic, but all Jensen wanted was to make love with his husband, feel Jared’s big, skilled, lethal hands on him, his mouth, teeth, tongue, be used and abused; fucked hard and rough, or slow and deep. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so horny, probably way back when his balls dropped. Jensen takes cold baths twice a day and keeps rubbing aloe, lotion, and the hydrocortisone cream on his skin, doing anything to get relief and help speed up the healing process.

Jensen knew Jared was doing his best to entertain him, keep his mind off his burning skin and off the fact that they couldn’t make love, Jared was always there, looking like a total sex god and smelling like sea, sand and sweat looking so sexy and hot always walking around in a wifebeater and those low-hanging boardshorts, showing Jensen a different side of himself. Not soft exactly, softness has been wrung out of Jared from an early age, but an easier, gentler side. All it did was stir Jensen’s arousal to new frustrating heights.

Five days into their honeymoon the pain in his skin begins to lessen, and the vibrancy of the pink begins to fade. Feeling considerably more benevolent, Jensen suggests they head into Oranjestad to the Renaissance Mall.

“You sure?” Jared asks but he can see his eyes go bright and eager.

“Yeah. I’ll wear long sleeves and a hat. Besides we’ll be in shops most of the time.”

For the first couple of hours Jensen enjoyed himself. It was nice to be outside. Jared herded Jensen into the Aruba Aloe Store first and bought several products that might help Jensen’s sunburn. Jared spent several thousands of dollars at Gucci, Prada, and D&G, but then he found the TAG Heuer and Rolex stores. Jensen will admit it was adorable seeing Jared geek out about watches, but he had to practically pry Jared out and he still bought four watches for himself and two for Jensen.

As the day wore on Jensen’s mood soured. He didn’t care about the heat, he was from fucking Texas and was used to heat, but he had sweat through the light seersucker suit and it was starting to hurt. His temper gets shorter, his sarcasm is a little more cutting, and he snapped at Jared more. He could see the hurt on his face for a split second before it was gone. Jensen felt guilty. Jared was having a great time, in his element in the luxury stores, but Jensen just wanted to leave.

“Jared, you don’t even like Louis Vuitton,” Jensen groused. “You think his shit is fugly, your exact word, so why the hell are we in here? Oh wait, I know, because you are a fucking label queen.”

That got some serious disapproving looks from the store associates. Jensen sent a glare their way. He could buy everything in here if he desired, so they could stow their shit.

“Okay, Grumpy Gills, we’ll head back to the villa. Get you in a cool bath with some of this Aruba Aloe stuff.”

Thank fuck.

"PART 4"