J2 | Rouge | NC-17

[dugindeep]

The last few weeks have been rather busy personally, keeping me away from being super active and such, but I DID manage EIGHT FILLS for spn_masquerade! (mostly because tebtosca is so demanding!) BUT YAY PORN :D! So I will slowly get them up here and such ... I asked a few friends for a number and rozearkana chose four. So. Here is the fourth fill I wrote/posted.

Title: Rouge
Words: 3700
Summary: Jensen is an entertainer at the famous French Roche Revue, and has come to admire the young man who attends every one of his performances. Originally posted here
Notes: Written for 2015 spn_masquerade, namely inspired by the art The King of New Burlesque, for a prompt of Jensen as a burlesque performer (go look now! It's AMAZING). In my head, this is in the early 20th Century; Jared is 19 and Jensen is 23. Pardon the rough French; I gathered some from asking a friend and online dictionaries.

On AO3



The money is good. Or as good as a dumb-on-his-luck, son of a shoemaker is bound to get.

Money lines his pockets when he's got clothes on, and all the other times ... well, he lets Danneel and Genevieve do their magic to dress him up in as little as possible.

Tonight, it's a pair of lacy stockings taking hold just above his knees. And it's the tight weave of black panties tucking all his parts in just right. And it's the garter belt Genevieve removes from her thigh, a wink and a smirk to assure him of match before setting it at his neck.

Danneel finishes off his face while Genevieve helps him into the stockings and sky-high heels. Foundation cakes his skin, and his eyelashes are dark, fluttering and sticky with thick black mascara. With a few flips of her fingers, his hair is deemed sublime, and she pinches his cheeks and twists to enhance the blush.

He winces, then does so again when Genevieve drops the top of the stockings into place, elastic snapping at his sensitive skin.

The ladies step back and admire their handiwork until Danneel tosses a kiss into the air with a cheerful, "Magnifique!”

“Tres magnifique!” Genevieve corrects then fans her fingers over her face with playful excitement. Her dark eyes dance with giddiness when she asks, “And your monsieur?”

Jensen rolls his eyes as Danneel shushes and elbows Genevieve. Danneel fake-whispers, “We do not speak of the man in red shirt.”

“It’s ruby,” Genevieve insists with a huff.

Ruby, rose, crimson, or burgundy … no matter the real color of those shirts, Jensen’s admirer is always in the house on Friday nights, always watches Jensen with a close, warm look, and always heads out with a short tip of his hat, without ever uttering a word.

If Jensen doesn’t think too hard on it, it’s a rather sweet charade.

But that’s a big if.

Ever since the day the man in the red shirt first appeared in the club, Jensen has spent more time thinking of him than he would rather admit. Especially not to Genevieve or Danneel, who would flutter all around him with delight and high-pitched giggles if he were to admit that something softens within his long-hardened heart when he and the man share a glance.

He’s also far too invested in an imaginary life where the man in the red shirt finally approaches Jensen and offers him dinner—somewhere better than the club’s grimy bar where patrons will do their best to leave fingerprints in inappropriate places.

Well, inappropriate for when Jensen is not on the clock and merely wishes to enjoy a drink while mostly clothed.

“Vite!” Sebastian yells from the doorway. “We are waiting on you!”

Jensen shoos Danneel and Genevieve away as they follow and try to correct any minor article out of place. “I’m hardly clothed, there is not much to fix!” he says under his breath, even as they continue to fuss about. He’s standing before the carousel and ready to take his seat, but still they pick and tug at his stockings and panties, perhaps too close for comfort.

Then Danneel reaches up and tweaks each of his nipples. “For good luck!” She smirks and winks then backs off as the curtain rises.

He watches them shuffle back to the dressing rooms, likely to prepare themselves for their next act, but he doesn’t have much time to think more of them because the curtain draws open to a smattering of applause and the band shines with a bold tempo and a boisterous brass section. The carousel starts up, slowly turning to put Jensen and Matt and Colin, the new kid, on display. Jensen leans over his horse, glittering gold and green, with a few streaks of red.

Just like the man … Jensen thinks, and as he so fiercely wants to turn to look for the object of his affection, he knows he must slowly work the crowd and make his turn as dramatic as possible.

The carousel takes its first loop at a snail’s pace, allowing the crowd to get their fill of Matt stretching one leg up to the back of his white steed to display his flexibility and the thickness of legs that he has built up over time by lifting sacks of oats on his off time.

In the next minute, young Colin is shown for the first time with soft murmurs of appreciation from the men with fat pockets and wayward desires, as well as the rich wives who allow their husbands to stray with the other ladies of the club while seeking their own entertainment.

Jensen counts down the final fifteen seconds until he has the spotlight, and lifts himself up onto the horse with his ankles crossed and legs tucked against the wooden statue, arms reaching up and back to hold steady at the pole. Once he’s centered on stage, he languidly allows his body to slide down into repose at the base of the horse.

Many cheer among the crowd gathering near the front of the stage for a better look. He runs a hand over the smooth lines of his tattooed arm, down his chest where a mighty heart speaks for what he craves, then further to the top line of his panties. His sight moves across the patrons like a caress, warm and thoughtful, taking his time to meet their eyes and connect with as many as he can on this pass.

On the carousel’s second turn, Jensen stretches his right leg out, sets his left heel to the horse’s base to prop his other leg up at a sharp angle. He drags his hand over his check and up through his hair, minding the part Danneel had put into it, going with the grain, while flicking up the edges for something more debauched as he spreads his legs even more.

The last ten seconds of this turn tick down and he thinks about his next pose when he catches those eyes on him, spots that hat on the tall frame he sees in his dreams.

Against his better judgment, Jensen quickly turns towards the man so he can get a glance of him before he disappears like an apparition.

Jensen’s heart beats fluidly, louder than the wail of the horn section in the orchestra pit or the singing strings. He feels sweat break out over his temples and prays it’s just something in the air, perhaps Sebastian turned up the heat to make them shine under the colored lights.

Surely, Jensen enjoys looking at the man in the red shirt, relishes how intensely he’s watched in return … yet he’s never felt this immediate thrill run through him, heat settling low in his belly. He wonders if his heart has finally opened, his mind taking a back seat to what is right and wrong when it comes to a patron. Perhaps now that he has finally given into his silly thoughts, the rest of his is free and waiting for this man.

He rises to his feet so he can get a good look of the crowd on the next spin, reaches behind for the pole again and crosses his ankles so he can bow his body forward. Handkerchiefs fly from the front row and wolf-whistles echo in the air. The noise is mostly just that … noise, because Jensen’s heart feverishly beats through his body, loud in his ears and tight in his chest.

The man is staring at him, watching carefully, until he removes his hat and holds it against his chest. He does nothing else but stare at Jensen, and now Jensen can read the care in the man’s gaze, the attentive consideration he makes for Jensen’s face, not the reach of naked skin on display.

In reply, Jensen holds tight to the pole with his left hand and lets his right drift down the side of his neck, over his collarbone, and settle right over his inked-up heart to mirror his admirer.

It’s the first time he’s really acknowledged anyone in the crowd, especially with such a thoughtful gesture, a soft caress. On occasion, he stretches and contorts his thin body to appeal to the more meaty and muscular men. But this is different. Jensen poses for the man’s attention while doing his best to disregard the calls of indecency from the front row – some asking him to turn around to show off his backside, to stretch his legs out to expose much more of what’s barely covered by the black lace panties.

No. This isn’t for them.

On the fourth pass, Jensen’s sights are narrowed down to his enthusiast, focused in tight to see the way the man’s nimble fingers squeeze into the tip of his hat with it still pressed at his chest.

Sebastian’s insistent voice calls out over the speakers, begs the crowd for a raving round of applause for the men, and promises the ladies are coming up so very soon. Jensen holds his final pose, standing up on his tiptoes to extend the long, thin lines of his calves and thighs, while knowingly tightening up the curve of his ass. Once again, he and the man share a long look … yet not long enough.

As the spotlights go dim and the curtains draw closed, Jensen can see his admirer take three quick steps forward. Like he was hoping for another glance, or prepared to finally approach Jensen, but the purple velvet curtains swing closed, and Jensen finds himself unsteady on his feet as he realizes he’d subconsciously taken two steps forward as well, as if hoping to meet his intended.

Back in the dressing room, Danneel and Genevieve are putting on their own finishing touches of bright red blush, bows in their hair, teasing up curls, but Jensen barely pays attention. By practice, not by any sort of mindful understanding, Jensen pulls his houndstooth vest into place, fumbling with buttons as he stares into the corner of the room.

Genevieve snapping in his face breaks the reverie of his potential suitor’s last few steps of insistence. “Votre amour?” she asks with big doe eyes.

“Oui.”

“Danni!” Genevieve yells, even as they are all within a short distance of one another. “He is here.”

“Et vous?” Danneel asks as she approaches Jensen, eyes roving over his face with hope.

“No, no, no,” he insists, shaking his eyes. “I work here. And he is out there.”

“And in here.” Danneel sets her palm to his chest. “You are in love.”

“No, no, no,” he repeats while removing her hand. “Es stupide.”

Both women frown, and Jensen prepares a change in subject. Sebastian does the trick by rushing into the doorway and frantically waving at them.

“Vite! Es belle femmes but vite!”

“Go! Now!” Jensen insists as well, swatting them both on their backsides before they turn away. “Hurry! Before Sebastian makes us all mop the boudoirs!”

Sebastian shoos the ladies off as well, then hovers in the doorway. He watches Jensen quite critically, which is unnerving, even if Jensen just spent twenty minutes on display in women’s underwear.

Jensen clears his throat. “You’re not really going to make us mop, are you?”

“No, not tonight.” Sebastian slowly lets a small smile appear, more disturbing than the whipcrack management style he typically enacts with Jensen. “Un monsieur.” he says softly before backing out of the doorway to disappear.

Jensen scowls at the oddity then finds himself face-to-face with his admirer. His tall and youthful beau with silky brown hair flopped to one side of his head in a haphazard part, and his hat still in his hands. The hat is now tucked lower over his chest, remains in front of him like a shield.

Jensen wishes he had a shield, remembering just this second how he is dressed … or not so.

“Bonjour ,” the man says in an affected manner. The loss of rhythm in the syllables tells Jensen that he is American, born and bred. And a long look at him informs Jensen that his beau in the red shirt is hardly more of a man than Jensen was when he first started at the Roché Revue.

He was just sixteen at the time, off to find his own way to get by when he realized he was different from all the other boys. That he liked art and song, wanted to live within the theater, dance upon a stage. He is not quite there, but this is far better than the tiny village his parents still call home.

This man’s frame is lean in his pinstriped suit, which also accentuates the height. His face is smooth and carefree even as he nervously licks his lips then parts them to repeat himself and bows his head. “Bonjour mon-sure.”

Jensen softly smiles, tickled pink inside and out. He knows his cheeks are now flushed with excitement and amusement; he’s not sure to care. “Monsier,” he corrects, “But we can worry for that later.”

“Oh, you speak English,” he says in a quick rush. “I wasn’t sure how we would talk to each other.”

“I was never sure myself,” Jensen admits. “But you are here now.”

“I’ve only watched you from afar. But tonight ...”

“Bien sûr.” He smirks when the man seems confused, so he makes sure he remains purely English here. “But of course, I have noticed.” The young man’s cheeks darken with a fierce blush and Jensen decides to take the next step; after all, this dear beau has traversed backstage to reach Jensen. Finally. “Come in, further.” Jensen lightly tugs on his arm and closes the door. He then directs him to a purple velvet loveseat in the corner. Once they are seated, he introduces himself. “I am Jensen.”

“Jared,” he replies quickly with a short nod. “And I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“Most surely. You come here quite often.”

“Yes. I enjoy the show.” They share a look: Jensen relishing the view and Jared growing nervous. “You are very beautiful.” The man—Jared—ducks his head then sneaks a glance up to Jensen’s eyes.

“Many would agree with you.”

“But you don’t?”

Jensen thinks on how to answer without sounding jaded and foolish. He knows he earns his pay based on his looks, and certainly for his flexibility on the carousel. Surely, he would hope he would be recognized for other features. Instead, he does his best to flirt with Jared, now that he has the chance. “I would say that you are quite magnifique as well.”

“Oh, no, I’m not,” Jared insists, shaking his head and shifting away from Jensen. “I’m just a silly kid with a silly crush.”

Slowly, Jensen covers Jared’s hand where it’s gripping his thigh. Instantly, there is warmth with the contact and Jensen smiles. “How old is this silly kid?”

“Nineteen,” he mumbles.

“Oh, not too young and silly after all. I was younger when I started here.”

Jared lifts his head to watch Jensen. The warmth in his gaze is infectious, heating up Jensen’s insides, and now he wants to pull Jared in, tuck him under his chin, or tug him close enough to touch and taste.

He’s not picky at this point; he has Jared next to him at least, the closest they’ve ever been.

Lost in the quick daydream of what could happen from this moment, now that they’ve met and spoken, Jensen has lost track of much of what Jared is saying. Near the end of the rambling, Jared is sharing that he’s been watching Jensen for too long, that he’s embarrassed, and yet very excited to be able to see him this close.

Jensen’s heart slows, as does his recognition of exactly what’s happening until Jared turns his hand over to tuck their palms together. Then Jared’s finger is touching Jensen’s cheek, drawing foundation and blush away.

“I always wondered what you looked like beneath your makeup,” Jared murmurs while staring at the bare part of Jensen’s face.

“Oh, no, atroce,” Jensen whispers while covering his cheek, hiding the mass of freckles that mar his face. He doesn’t want Jared, his long admirer, to see what he really looks like. “I have spots all over.”

Jared’s face falls from surprise and excitement to something more disappointing … now Jensen understands how Danneel has come to have such a hardened heart with her customers. There is no easy way to be one’s self when men are used to the painted doll.

“I like them,” Jared says quietly. He moves Jensen’s hands away then shifts nearer, as if inspecting Jensen’s face.

“Jared,” Jensen murmurs when their faces inch closer. He again whispers Jared’s name upon his lips just before they meet in their very first kiss, which is not the last of the evening.

Not even in this room, for next Jensen knows, they’re wrapped up in one another’s arms and struggling to stay on the seat. Jensen backs away and sets his finger to Jared’s mouth when the young man tries to rush back in. “Patience.”

Jared’s face is flushed with color and his lips bitten red and tempting. The gorgeous tint of his eyes is quickly swallowed by his dark pupils growing wide with want.

Jensen takes a few more seconds to admire him. Then murmurs, “Comme c'est beau.” When Jared is confused, Jensen smirks and leaves a soft, kiss on Jared’s lips. “I will teach you.”

His eyes light up and he bites his bottom lip. “I would love that.”

Jensen runs his hands through Jared’s hair, combs back one side in a caress. “Comme c'est beau, because you are very beautiful.”

“No, you are.”

“No, tu,” Jensen insists as he moves back in to kiss. He presses his tongue into Jared’s mouth, yet takes his time to express all of the slow-building want that he’s endured over the last however-many months. The meandering dreams that have filled his heart, yet left him empty come morning. All of the ways he hoped Jared would step up to his door and grant him an escape from the men and women that leer at him every night, no matter the paycheck.

And then he has Jared’s hands stroking over his neck, and he has Jared’s mouth open wide for him, and he has Jared ready and pliant just beside him. Jensen is happy to know this is not just a dream. He can feel every touch like spark.

Jensen backs up again, leaving tiny kisses in his wake, unable to part with Jared’s soft, pink lips. “May I touch you?” he asks carefully, not wanting to scare off this lovely boy.

Jared’s eyes slant away and nerves overcome him, tightening his position on the couch. “It might not be good.”

“It will be beautiful.” Jensen strokes Jared’s cheek to tilt his face back towards him. “Because you are beautiful.” They share a smile and Jensen kisses Jared again, slow and sweet, like their very first kiss of the night.

Suddenly, Jared blurts out, “I’ve never done this before. But I can pay you, I’m not sure how it all works. I probably can’t even afford you.”

“I do not want you to pay me,” he replies, and he means it. “Will you return again to see me? Not out there,” he specifies. “But here? Or somewhere else?”

Jared nods swiftly. “Anywhere else. I would love to get to know you.” After a moment, he adds, “I’m just nervous.”

“Yes, of course.” Jensen sweeps both hands down the sides of Jared’s face, over his hair, all while keeping solid eye contact until he feels Jared relax. “I have wanted that as well. For a long time.”

With a big rise of his chest, Jared releases a long breath and nervously smiles. “Okay, good.”

“Yes, very good,” Jensen agrees. He slips closer and sets his lips to the corner of Jared’s mouth then drags them over his cheek, to his ear, down to the hinge of his jaw and finally the warm, salty skin of his neck. Jared’s heartbeat quickens beneath Jensen’s lips, and Jensen dares to set his hand on Jared’s thigh. Jared rests his over Jensen’s, then travels with Jensen’s hand as it moves up his leg. Jensen continues to mouth at Jared’s neck, and mumbles an invitation to touch him in return.

It’s not a sure movement, and it’s certainly not fast, but Jared’s hand does settle low on Jensen’s vest then slide down to the very top of Jensen’s panties. Jensen sucks in a breath because he so very much wants this, and yet somehow, Jared’s own apprehension is making Jensen more excited with his nerves bubbling with growing heat.

Jensen recaptures Jared’s mouth with surety to remind himself—and Jared—that this is what he wants, what his body is telling him he needs. Craves.

Luckily, that is enough to spurn Jared on, and he drops his hand lower over Jensen’s panties and gropes his cock. Jensen returns the favor and tucks his hand around the curve of Jared’s erection, strokes as surely as he can through the thick polyester pants, and then they’re rubbing each other’s dicks and losing any rhythm in the kiss.

Jensen moans into Jared’s mouth and hitches his hips up to increase the pressure. Soon enough, his cock is slipping out of the top of the lace, and Jared’s fingers now tease over tender skin. Jensen grips at Jared out of reflex and strokes him quickly, and Jared does the same until he bites the corner of Jensen’s mouth and whimpers upon his release.

Jared’s hand has gone still, but the breathy little sighs he releases with his orgasm tip Jensen, and he comes as well.

Jensen keeps his head leaned against Jared’s, eyes clenched tightly as he tries to savor the tickling vibrations through his muscles as he comes back to himself. He tips his head to kiss Jared’s cheek and smile against the soft, pink skin.

“Was that okay?” Jared whispers

Jensen sighs happily and nods. “Très bonne.”

“Tres …” he starts and then looks at Jensen in waiting.

“Bonne,” Jensen repeats. “Is very good.”

“Good,” Jared repeats with a tight smile, as if he’s attempting to hide his excitement. The tiny dimples and tint of his cheeks says otherwise. “Bonne.”