The Pop Up
Mar. 15th, 2015 12:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraTitle: The Victory
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dimeliora
Fandom: SPN RPF
Wordcount: 3,507
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen
Prompt(s): Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
smpc.
Disclaimer: I have been watching a lot of Gordon Ramsay.
Summary: Jared has been fighting for this for ten years, and tonight he plans on being victorious.
There’s always a rush to nights like this. Jared knows that Jensen will never admit it. His uptight partner claims he couldn’t care less about what he calls their “pretentious publicity stunt” nights, but Jared knows him well enough to know that glint of determination. That need that comes with the challenge of pushing themselves further and harder than they ever have before.
Otherwise, Jared wouldn’t make Jensen do it. It’s not like Jensen’s argument against the pop up challenges doesn’t have merit. They’ve spent ten years building a restaurant they could love and be proud of, stocking it carefully with the best product, buying pieces of decoration and equipment and flatware in little bits with whatever extra didn’t go to payroll and overhead.
They’re got a reputation in Austin now. A following. Jensen has been featured in articles more than once, has a little wall in the apartment that no one is allowed to see with all the pictures of him shaking hands with celebrity chefs and movie stars. His most prized is Gordon Ramsay shoving Jensen’s lobster linguine into his mouth with a look of bliss while Jensen watches.
Jared is a little jealous of the look in Jensen’s eyes in that one.
Ten years, Jensen mutters mutinously every time, working so hard and then they slip off to Dallas or Houston to pull their own hair out for one night in a rented space.
And, in a way, Jensen is right. The pop up scene isn’t as lucrative or large in Texas as it is in California and New York. Doing it here doesn’t make as much sense financially. It isn’t really something that bolsters their reputation the way the restaurant does. It means an entire day where Jensen is not overseeing his kitchen like the general he has become and Jared is not watching his front of house as he should. It actually is a little crazy.
But, and Jared always has a but when Jensen is involved, everybody said they were crazy ten years ago when they opened Supernatural right out of school. Jensen had worked lines in culinary school, but he didn’t believe he was ready to be an executive chef. Jared had been in service his whole life, but he’d never run a dining room. And yet it worked. They scraped the first couple of years, went without more than they care to remember, but they did it.
Jensen’s talent, Jared’s charm, and their overwhelming need to succeed carried them through. And when they first started turning a profit? When the whole thing started to work out?
That was worth all the hardship and trouble. It was worth every night when they could only afford to eat what diners left behind. When they slept in the space above the kitchen and dreamed of a life that didn’t include so much sacrifice. They’d never expected it to be easy, but it was infinitely harder than they imagined it would be.
Now they have money. Jared can afford new clothes, although most of them are for work, and he can eat out at other restaurants to see how they compare. Jensen can afford the extra little pieces of equipment that aren’t necessary but let him flex his culinary muscles. The two of them can go on trips, even if they don’t, and they were able to buy a comfortable mattress big enough for the two of them and a couch that they can both collapse on after a particularly long dinner service.
It’s not always a fight anymore. It’s not scraping and begging. And how does Jared spend a portion of their discretionary income and precious time off?
Decorating some rental space and dragging Jensen there to cook his heart out while diners line up outside for their one night only experience. There’s magic to it. It’s crazy, difficult, and addictive. Jared loves making each space something special and different, pushing the boundaries, and never once copying anything he’s done or seen before. He loves fighting against the current.
And Jensen, again despite all his protests, loves making a menu that he could never serve in Supernatural and feeding it to strangers who will possibly now travel all the way to Austin to see what else he’s capable of. He loves commanding the little bare bones team in the tiny temporary kitchen as he runs back and forth overseeing every tiny detail.
He loves the challenge as much as Jared, and goddamn he is hot when he’s in his element. When he’s pushed. Every time they do this Jared is reminded of the beginning, when he was simply a waiter in a stuffy Italian restaurant that served food that was overpriced and uninspired and Jensen was a line cook.
Back then Jared would make excuses to go back to the kitchen even when there were no plates to run. He would stare through the milling people and the racks of dishes at Jensen, moving back and forth from station to station and doing more work than any of the people around him combined. He would watch those sure and steady hands chop and mince and dice. He would watch as Jensen tossed ingredients in a burning pan, wiped the sweat from his brow, smiled victoriously at each perfectly crafted dish.
It was so hard to talk to Jensen then. Jared was able to start up a conversation with fifty or sixty strangers a night, but he couldn’t even say hello to his coworker. Couldn’t make himself even wave at the cook.
And then one blissful night Jared was out back dumping trash from the bar and out came Jensen to smoke. Jared can remember the whole conversation verbatim. Jensen’s bitter opening rant.
“If he tells one more goddamn person that pasta is homemade I’ll take out a column in the Statesman and expose him.”
“It’s not homemade?”
And Jensen had looked over at him, incredulous, full of rage, cigarette trembling between his fingers. Jared was pretty sure that his first sentence to his crush would be his last. Instead Jensen had taken a deep breath, looked around the alley, and then focused on Jared again.
“You want to know what homemade pasta is like? I live down the street. I’ll make you some.”
That was the beginning. Jared went for the homemade pasta, and the next night he went for some fancy meat dish he could never remember the name of and still called Lord Beef to this day. The night after that he went for tapas and stayed until they finally moved out and into the studio above their restaurant.
When people asked how they met Jensen would simply say, “I fed a stray and then it wouldn’t leave.”
And it was true. Jensen was just a crush before Jared tasted his food. His stomach had certainly controlled his heart in those first few dates.
Food won Jared, but it was patience that won Jensen. When his partner was run down, stressed out, ramped out, Jared was always a calm voice and a cool head. He had perfected the art of facing down emotion with charm and tact. Sometimes it would only piss Jensen off worse, make him yell that Jared was treating him like one of the diners, but they both knew that Jensen appreciated Jared dealing with his more temperamental moments.
Jared didn’t mind those moments. He didn’t mind that sometimes Jensen was too angry to edit himself, or that when that happened Jensen would inevitably say something he shouldn’t. He didn’t mind that every now and then Jensen would create something new and Jared would have to wait an entire dinner service to try it.
What Jared did mind was Jensen’s ridiculously fussy OCD behavior in regards to kitchen standards. But that was a fight he was planning to wage again later that night.
“Jen! Six more of the beef!”
His partner looks up from where he’s slicing, eyes narrowed and forehead drenched in sweat.
“It has a name you heathen! Push the salmon!”
So Jared glides off to do just that. He dodges hanging lanterns, avoids the gauzy curtain that was added at the last second to shade the largest table and make the big group a mystery to the rest of the diners, and delivers the latest three plates with ease. Banter comes smooth and simple, the diners trying to both keep up with him and shove the food in their mouths with equal passion.
Jared loves this work. Loves this pace. He loves the looks on people’s faces when they step into what was just a big empty loft a few hours ago and see instead a one time only magical dining experience. He loves the joy that comes to their faces when they taste Jensen’s dishes, how his partner manages to inspire them with his work. To remind them that food is about life, about enjoyment, and most importantly about love. It’s Jensen’s greatest talent.
The evening flies by, and as Jared takes the money from the last diners and walks them out he’s sore everywhere and so jazzed up he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet. The miniature kitchen staff are panting, breaking everything down to quick clean and pack before the staff they hired carries the boxes out to the trucks to go back to Supernatural.
Jensen is standing in the dining room, looking at it for what Jared is certain is the first actual time, his bandana hanging loosely from his fingers and his eyes somewhat glazed. He’ll sleep for nine straight hours tonight to make up for all the energy he burned during service. Jared knows it. It will be the heavy sleep too. The kind Jensen didn’t get for the first few years they were together.
He slips up behind Jensen, wraps his arms around his partner’s waist ignoring how Jensen is drenched in sweat.
“You did amazing tonight.”
Hands, hot and hard, land on his and squeeze once.
“Thanks. You too. How many did you drag in?”
“Tonight? Tonight you did 83 diners.”
Jensen sucks in a breath, and Jared can’t see it but he knows that there’s a smug little smile on his face that only comes from knowing he’s broken a record of his own making. Pushed his own boundaries.
“Well. That kinda makes this nonsense worth it.”
He laughs as he rubs his face against Jensen’s wet hair and ignores how Jensen makes disgusted noises. He likes Jensen sweaty. This kind of sweaty anyway. It mixes Jensen’s smell with that of the ingredients, the scent of cooked meat and roasted vegetables, and the slight trace of spices.
Jared wants to lick Jensen, but he knows that his partner won’t appreciate it. He’s done it before enough times to have memorized the slapping dance Jensen immediately falls into.
“Well. Let’s roll out. I’ll make you mac and cheese back home.”
And Jared doesn’t give Jensen what he wants. Doesn’t make the pathetic sad face his partner is shooting for because he knows that Jensen is just trying to get that reaction and will actually make him something meaty.
At least he hopes so.
----
Jared gets second shower, as is tradition, and heads into the kitchen to find Jensen dicing potatoes in neat and precise chunks. Jared can’t help the squeal that escapes him when he realizes what his partner is making.
“Steak and eggs and breakfast potatoes! Marry me!”
Jensen rolls his eyes, a smile spreading across his face that Jared knows he can’t stop.
“Not in this state.”
Jared starts assembling a salad, he may not be the best chef but he does know how to make a fresh salad just the way Jensen likes. His partner is already starting to plate everything as Jared adds the tomatoes and then sprinkles the raspberry vinaigrette over the top. He puts his offering down at the same time as Jensen.
They eat together silently, arms moving in unison, enjoying the comfortable unity between them. This is the coming down time. When all the energy of the service, all the buildup of the planning, drains off of them and they get to a point where they can fall asleep.
Except Jared isn’t quite hitting it. Instead his mouth is full of perfectly seasoned meat and potatoes, fluffy eggs, and a need for one last taste element to perfectly complete the dish.
“Jensen?”
His partner swallows the last bite of salad and takes another long chug of water.
“Yeah?”
Jared leans forward, hooking his foot in the leg of Jensen’s chair and pulling him closer before closing the last of the gap and licking Jensen’s earlobe. He hears the moan, feels the hands push against him, and ignores them to give a gentle nip to the spot on Jensen’s neck that he knows makes him crazy.
“Jared. For the millionth time. I am not food.”
He laughs, nibbling his way down Jensen’s neck and then biting into Jensen’s shoulder.
“I’m not going to eat you. I just want to taste you.”
“Why do people like you so much?”
Jensen’s shirt buttons are more difficult than Jared expected, but he gets them open and starts moving down Jensen’s chest, sinking to his knees to get a better angle.
“Because I’m so charming. Aren’t you charmed Chef?”
He knows how much Jensen loves it when he calls him Chef. The implicit respect of that title, a recognition of all of Jensen’s hard work.
“Barely.” But Jensen is arching into his mouth, gasping when Jared’s teeth scrape a nipple and his fingers dance along ribs and taut skin.
“Jensen?” Jared is unzipping Jensen’s pants, opening them to show just the head of Jensen’s cock peeking out through the boxers’ opening.
“Yes Jared?”
He leans forward, tongue snaking out to lap at the head and taste the salty fluid that’s already started accumulating there.
“You’re hard.”
Jensen tilts his head, a fond but exasperated expression creasing his features as Jared manages to finagle Jensen’s cock out of the opening and start really licking and mouthing it.
“Yes Jared. That often happens when someone is giving me a blowjob. What’s your point?”
He gets his hands fully into it. Stroking up and down the shaft, reaching awkwardly in to lightly pet Jensen’s balls until his partner finally lifts his hips and gives Jared the ability to pull the jeans and boxers down out of his way so he can do the job right.
“Do you know where we are?”
Jensen’s mouth curls, a moan slipping out of what is supposed to be a sardonic expression.
“The dining area Jared.”
“And do you know what’s right next door?”
His mouth closes around Jensen’s dick, and he sucks hard and swirls his tongue up and down the shaft.
“Jared, no.”
Suction increasing Jared begins to slide, trying his damndest to distract Jensen from the overly logical and fussy argument that is about to break out.
He knows better than trying to talk with his mouth full. Jensen never appreciates the effort.
“Jared. You can do this here, but we are not having sex in the kitchen. Not here, not in the restaurant, and not in the pop up kitchens either. Do you understand?”
He makes his eyes big and soft, puts on the most innocent face he can while he works the shaft of Jensen’s cock. His fingers dance along the skin of Jensen’s balls, rubbing and pressing, massaging the fullness there.
“Don’t make that face. Don’t make that face right now it’s creepy.”
Jared steps it up a tick, blinking rapidly and softening his mouth. It loses him some of the suction power but it makes Jensen groan and dig his fingers into Jared’s hair.
“It’s where we prepare food Jared. It’s the food preparation place. It’s not sanitary and it’s not good. You don’t have sex in kitchens you cook in kitchens. Remember? Remember this argument from the fifty other times we’ve had it?”
Fifty-four to be exact, but who’s counting? Jared has let his face have too much power. Jensen reads the response in his expression.
“Yeah. See? You know why, so don’t do this. Look, look how close we are. If we do it here it’s practically like fucking in the kitchen. In fact if you tilt your head right all you’ll see is the prep island and you can pretend that’s where you are.”
Pretending isn’t good enough.
“It most certainly is.”
Jared’s not sure he likes that Jensen can respond to things he hasn’t said. Instead of making a face that conveys his feelings now Jared undoes his pants and slips them off, slides two fingers into his mouth alongside Jensen’s dick to get them wet and then pushes them into himself where he’s still stretched from this morning.
And Jensen? Jensen is putty. Jensen is malleable clay because he never can seem to get over how turned on Jared gets from sucking his dick.
The man has buttons and Jared knows how to push every single one.
“No. I said no and I meant it.”
Jared pulls his head back, keeping the suction up, and Jensen’s hips move involuntarily so that his dick stays firmly in Jared’s mouth.
“Jared I’m not kidding.”
And he’s not, but he’s also not fighting it as Jared leads him with his mouth out of the chair and across the short space. It’s awkward, walking on his knees and dragging Jensen along in stuttered little steps, but it works. They’ve crossed the Rubicon. They’re in the kitchen.
Jared looks up at Jensen again, and smiles at the flush there that accents his freckles and makes him look both debauched and adorable.
He loves this man.
“If you get come on my island you’re going to be down here bleaching it all night instead of sleeping in bed with me.”
And that’s when Jared lets go with a loud pop and stands up. He’s won. He’s finally won. After years of fighting Jared has finally won.
“Chef. Please. Fuck me.”
Jensen growls, eyes going dark and hands grabbing at Jared. They kiss hard, Jensen’s tongue questing in his mouth and collecting the taste of himself there. Jared loves it. Loves the way Jensen spins him and presses him against the counter before sinking down to his own knees.
The smooth point of Jensen’s tongue circles his rim, slides along the edge and then flattens to fully lick and Jared is suddenly the putty one. His hands grip the marble countertop and hold on for dear life while Jensen’s tongue pushes into him. It’s not neat and precise, not like everything else Jensen does. Sloppy, hungry, Jensen licks and sucks at his hole and works until Jared is good and lubed for what’s coming next.
And then Jensen is standing, strong hands gripping his hips and pulling him in before Jensen sinks his cock into Jared. It’s perfect, and he can’t help the way his whole body pulls taut in response before going slack in Jensen’s grip. Jared rocks his hips and loves the fullness. The contact.
Jensen drapes himself over Jared’s back, bending Jared in half and biting at his shoulder through his shirt while he jerks his hips to fuck deeper and deeper into Jared’s ass.
“I’m serious Jay. You come on my island and you’re cleaning it up.”
Jared can’t make a response. It’s too hot. Jensen fucking him here, in the most sacred of places, hands manipulating him and moving him like Jensen does his ingredients. It’s perfect. Jared jerks his own hips in time with Jensen’s movements to chase his dick.
“Oh fuck! Fuck Jared, yes, yes just like that. Move those hips.”
“Yes Chef!”
Jensen moans in his ears, cock jerking inside of him and hands gripping down bruising tight.
“Tighten around me. Good boy. Yes. That’s how you do it. You’ve got this.”
And Jared does, tightening and relaxing his muscles in rhythm to bring Jensen as close as he already is.
“Yes Chef!”
Jensen bites his shoulder hard, snakes a hand around him to grip his dick and start jerking firmly and assuredly.
“I can’t wait. Come for me Jared. Come for me now.”
And Jared does, crying out at the same time, “Yes Chef!”
Jensen lasts only a few strokes after, hips moving him through his orgasm and cock spilling inside of Jared warm and wet. It’s perfect, and Jared slumps over the island and lays there limp with his hot skin on the cool stone as Jensen rides the rest of his orgasm and gently pets Jared’s hair.
They stay like that for a bit, quiet and settled, and then Jensen slowly pulls out and kisses Jared’s neck.
“Now clean.”
Jared loves his partner. He loves Jensen’s sense of humor.
But when Jensen drops rags and bleach on the countertop next to his limp form and slaps his ass before walking off Jared realizes that this apparently isn’t a joke.
He loves Jensen anyway.
Author:
dimelioraFandom: SPN RPF
Wordcount: 3,507
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen
Prompt(s): Written for the
smpc.Disclaimer: I have been watching a lot of Gordon Ramsay.
Summary: Jared has been fighting for this for ten years, and tonight he plans on being victorious.
There’s always a rush to nights like this. Jared knows that Jensen will never admit it. His uptight partner claims he couldn’t care less about what he calls their “pretentious publicity stunt” nights, but Jared knows him well enough to know that glint of determination. That need that comes with the challenge of pushing themselves further and harder than they ever have before.
Otherwise, Jared wouldn’t make Jensen do it. It’s not like Jensen’s argument against the pop up challenges doesn’t have merit. They’ve spent ten years building a restaurant they could love and be proud of, stocking it carefully with the best product, buying pieces of decoration and equipment and flatware in little bits with whatever extra didn’t go to payroll and overhead.
They’re got a reputation in Austin now. A following. Jensen has been featured in articles more than once, has a little wall in the apartment that no one is allowed to see with all the pictures of him shaking hands with celebrity chefs and movie stars. His most prized is Gordon Ramsay shoving Jensen’s lobster linguine into his mouth with a look of bliss while Jensen watches.
Jared is a little jealous of the look in Jensen’s eyes in that one.
Ten years, Jensen mutters mutinously every time, working so hard and then they slip off to Dallas or Houston to pull their own hair out for one night in a rented space.
And, in a way, Jensen is right. The pop up scene isn’t as lucrative or large in Texas as it is in California and New York. Doing it here doesn’t make as much sense financially. It isn’t really something that bolsters their reputation the way the restaurant does. It means an entire day where Jensen is not overseeing his kitchen like the general he has become and Jared is not watching his front of house as he should. It actually is a little crazy.
But, and Jared always has a but when Jensen is involved, everybody said they were crazy ten years ago when they opened Supernatural right out of school. Jensen had worked lines in culinary school, but he didn’t believe he was ready to be an executive chef. Jared had been in service his whole life, but he’d never run a dining room. And yet it worked. They scraped the first couple of years, went without more than they care to remember, but they did it.
Jensen’s talent, Jared’s charm, and their overwhelming need to succeed carried them through. And when they first started turning a profit? When the whole thing started to work out?
That was worth all the hardship and trouble. It was worth every night when they could only afford to eat what diners left behind. When they slept in the space above the kitchen and dreamed of a life that didn’t include so much sacrifice. They’d never expected it to be easy, but it was infinitely harder than they imagined it would be.
Now they have money. Jared can afford new clothes, although most of them are for work, and he can eat out at other restaurants to see how they compare. Jensen can afford the extra little pieces of equipment that aren’t necessary but let him flex his culinary muscles. The two of them can go on trips, even if they don’t, and they were able to buy a comfortable mattress big enough for the two of them and a couch that they can both collapse on after a particularly long dinner service.
It’s not always a fight anymore. It’s not scraping and begging. And how does Jared spend a portion of their discretionary income and precious time off?
Decorating some rental space and dragging Jensen there to cook his heart out while diners line up outside for their one night only experience. There’s magic to it. It’s crazy, difficult, and addictive. Jared loves making each space something special and different, pushing the boundaries, and never once copying anything he’s done or seen before. He loves fighting against the current.
And Jensen, again despite all his protests, loves making a menu that he could never serve in Supernatural and feeding it to strangers who will possibly now travel all the way to Austin to see what else he’s capable of. He loves commanding the little bare bones team in the tiny temporary kitchen as he runs back and forth overseeing every tiny detail.
He loves the challenge as much as Jared, and goddamn he is hot when he’s in his element. When he’s pushed. Every time they do this Jared is reminded of the beginning, when he was simply a waiter in a stuffy Italian restaurant that served food that was overpriced and uninspired and Jensen was a line cook.
Back then Jared would make excuses to go back to the kitchen even when there were no plates to run. He would stare through the milling people and the racks of dishes at Jensen, moving back and forth from station to station and doing more work than any of the people around him combined. He would watch those sure and steady hands chop and mince and dice. He would watch as Jensen tossed ingredients in a burning pan, wiped the sweat from his brow, smiled victoriously at each perfectly crafted dish.
It was so hard to talk to Jensen then. Jared was able to start up a conversation with fifty or sixty strangers a night, but he couldn’t even say hello to his coworker. Couldn’t make himself even wave at the cook.
And then one blissful night Jared was out back dumping trash from the bar and out came Jensen to smoke. Jared can remember the whole conversation verbatim. Jensen’s bitter opening rant.
“If he tells one more goddamn person that pasta is homemade I’ll take out a column in the Statesman and expose him.”
“It’s not homemade?”
And Jensen had looked over at him, incredulous, full of rage, cigarette trembling between his fingers. Jared was pretty sure that his first sentence to his crush would be his last. Instead Jensen had taken a deep breath, looked around the alley, and then focused on Jared again.
“You want to know what homemade pasta is like? I live down the street. I’ll make you some.”
That was the beginning. Jared went for the homemade pasta, and the next night he went for some fancy meat dish he could never remember the name of and still called Lord Beef to this day. The night after that he went for tapas and stayed until they finally moved out and into the studio above their restaurant.
When people asked how they met Jensen would simply say, “I fed a stray and then it wouldn’t leave.”
And it was true. Jensen was just a crush before Jared tasted his food. His stomach had certainly controlled his heart in those first few dates.
Food won Jared, but it was patience that won Jensen. When his partner was run down, stressed out, ramped out, Jared was always a calm voice and a cool head. He had perfected the art of facing down emotion with charm and tact. Sometimes it would only piss Jensen off worse, make him yell that Jared was treating him like one of the diners, but they both knew that Jensen appreciated Jared dealing with his more temperamental moments.
Jared didn’t mind those moments. He didn’t mind that sometimes Jensen was too angry to edit himself, or that when that happened Jensen would inevitably say something he shouldn’t. He didn’t mind that every now and then Jensen would create something new and Jared would have to wait an entire dinner service to try it.
What Jared did mind was Jensen’s ridiculously fussy OCD behavior in regards to kitchen standards. But that was a fight he was planning to wage again later that night.
“Jen! Six more of the beef!”
His partner looks up from where he’s slicing, eyes narrowed and forehead drenched in sweat.
“It has a name you heathen! Push the salmon!”
So Jared glides off to do just that. He dodges hanging lanterns, avoids the gauzy curtain that was added at the last second to shade the largest table and make the big group a mystery to the rest of the diners, and delivers the latest three plates with ease. Banter comes smooth and simple, the diners trying to both keep up with him and shove the food in their mouths with equal passion.
Jared loves this work. Loves this pace. He loves the looks on people’s faces when they step into what was just a big empty loft a few hours ago and see instead a one time only magical dining experience. He loves the joy that comes to their faces when they taste Jensen’s dishes, how his partner manages to inspire them with his work. To remind them that food is about life, about enjoyment, and most importantly about love. It’s Jensen’s greatest talent.
The evening flies by, and as Jared takes the money from the last diners and walks them out he’s sore everywhere and so jazzed up he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet. The miniature kitchen staff are panting, breaking everything down to quick clean and pack before the staff they hired carries the boxes out to the trucks to go back to Supernatural.
Jensen is standing in the dining room, looking at it for what Jared is certain is the first actual time, his bandana hanging loosely from his fingers and his eyes somewhat glazed. He’ll sleep for nine straight hours tonight to make up for all the energy he burned during service. Jared knows it. It will be the heavy sleep too. The kind Jensen didn’t get for the first few years they were together.
He slips up behind Jensen, wraps his arms around his partner’s waist ignoring how Jensen is drenched in sweat.
“You did amazing tonight.”
Hands, hot and hard, land on his and squeeze once.
“Thanks. You too. How many did you drag in?”
“Tonight? Tonight you did 83 diners.”
Jensen sucks in a breath, and Jared can’t see it but he knows that there’s a smug little smile on his face that only comes from knowing he’s broken a record of his own making. Pushed his own boundaries.
“Well. That kinda makes this nonsense worth it.”
He laughs as he rubs his face against Jensen’s wet hair and ignores how Jensen makes disgusted noises. He likes Jensen sweaty. This kind of sweaty anyway. It mixes Jensen’s smell with that of the ingredients, the scent of cooked meat and roasted vegetables, and the slight trace of spices.
Jared wants to lick Jensen, but he knows that his partner won’t appreciate it. He’s done it before enough times to have memorized the slapping dance Jensen immediately falls into.
“Well. Let’s roll out. I’ll make you mac and cheese back home.”
And Jared doesn’t give Jensen what he wants. Doesn’t make the pathetic sad face his partner is shooting for because he knows that Jensen is just trying to get that reaction and will actually make him something meaty.
At least he hopes so.
----
Jared gets second shower, as is tradition, and heads into the kitchen to find Jensen dicing potatoes in neat and precise chunks. Jared can’t help the squeal that escapes him when he realizes what his partner is making.
“Steak and eggs and breakfast potatoes! Marry me!”
Jensen rolls his eyes, a smile spreading across his face that Jared knows he can’t stop.
“Not in this state.”
Jared starts assembling a salad, he may not be the best chef but he does know how to make a fresh salad just the way Jensen likes. His partner is already starting to plate everything as Jared adds the tomatoes and then sprinkles the raspberry vinaigrette over the top. He puts his offering down at the same time as Jensen.
They eat together silently, arms moving in unison, enjoying the comfortable unity between them. This is the coming down time. When all the energy of the service, all the buildup of the planning, drains off of them and they get to a point where they can fall asleep.
Except Jared isn’t quite hitting it. Instead his mouth is full of perfectly seasoned meat and potatoes, fluffy eggs, and a need for one last taste element to perfectly complete the dish.
“Jensen?”
His partner swallows the last bite of salad and takes another long chug of water.
“Yeah?”
Jared leans forward, hooking his foot in the leg of Jensen’s chair and pulling him closer before closing the last of the gap and licking Jensen’s earlobe. He hears the moan, feels the hands push against him, and ignores them to give a gentle nip to the spot on Jensen’s neck that he knows makes him crazy.
“Jared. For the millionth time. I am not food.”
He laughs, nibbling his way down Jensen’s neck and then biting into Jensen’s shoulder.
“I’m not going to eat you. I just want to taste you.”
“Why do people like you so much?”
Jensen’s shirt buttons are more difficult than Jared expected, but he gets them open and starts moving down Jensen’s chest, sinking to his knees to get a better angle.
“Because I’m so charming. Aren’t you charmed Chef?”
He knows how much Jensen loves it when he calls him Chef. The implicit respect of that title, a recognition of all of Jensen’s hard work.
“Barely.” But Jensen is arching into his mouth, gasping when Jared’s teeth scrape a nipple and his fingers dance along ribs and taut skin.
“Jensen?” Jared is unzipping Jensen’s pants, opening them to show just the head of Jensen’s cock peeking out through the boxers’ opening.
“Yes Jared?”
He leans forward, tongue snaking out to lap at the head and taste the salty fluid that’s already started accumulating there.
“You’re hard.”
Jensen tilts his head, a fond but exasperated expression creasing his features as Jared manages to finagle Jensen’s cock out of the opening and start really licking and mouthing it.
“Yes Jared. That often happens when someone is giving me a blowjob. What’s your point?”
He gets his hands fully into it. Stroking up and down the shaft, reaching awkwardly in to lightly pet Jensen’s balls until his partner finally lifts his hips and gives Jared the ability to pull the jeans and boxers down out of his way so he can do the job right.
“Do you know where we are?”
Jensen’s mouth curls, a moan slipping out of what is supposed to be a sardonic expression.
“The dining area Jared.”
“And do you know what’s right next door?”
His mouth closes around Jensen’s dick, and he sucks hard and swirls his tongue up and down the shaft.
“Jared, no.”
Suction increasing Jared begins to slide, trying his damndest to distract Jensen from the overly logical and fussy argument that is about to break out.
He knows better than trying to talk with his mouth full. Jensen never appreciates the effort.
“Jared. You can do this here, but we are not having sex in the kitchen. Not here, not in the restaurant, and not in the pop up kitchens either. Do you understand?”
He makes his eyes big and soft, puts on the most innocent face he can while he works the shaft of Jensen’s cock. His fingers dance along the skin of Jensen’s balls, rubbing and pressing, massaging the fullness there.
“Don’t make that face. Don’t make that face right now it’s creepy.”
Jared steps it up a tick, blinking rapidly and softening his mouth. It loses him some of the suction power but it makes Jensen groan and dig his fingers into Jared’s hair.
“It’s where we prepare food Jared. It’s the food preparation place. It’s not sanitary and it’s not good. You don’t have sex in kitchens you cook in kitchens. Remember? Remember this argument from the fifty other times we’ve had it?”
Fifty-four to be exact, but who’s counting? Jared has let his face have too much power. Jensen reads the response in his expression.
“Yeah. See? You know why, so don’t do this. Look, look how close we are. If we do it here it’s practically like fucking in the kitchen. In fact if you tilt your head right all you’ll see is the prep island and you can pretend that’s where you are.”
Pretending isn’t good enough.
“It most certainly is.”
Jared’s not sure he likes that Jensen can respond to things he hasn’t said. Instead of making a face that conveys his feelings now Jared undoes his pants and slips them off, slides two fingers into his mouth alongside Jensen’s dick to get them wet and then pushes them into himself where he’s still stretched from this morning.
And Jensen? Jensen is putty. Jensen is malleable clay because he never can seem to get over how turned on Jared gets from sucking his dick.
The man has buttons and Jared knows how to push every single one.
“No. I said no and I meant it.”
Jared pulls his head back, keeping the suction up, and Jensen’s hips move involuntarily so that his dick stays firmly in Jared’s mouth.
“Jared I’m not kidding.”
And he’s not, but he’s also not fighting it as Jared leads him with his mouth out of the chair and across the short space. It’s awkward, walking on his knees and dragging Jensen along in stuttered little steps, but it works. They’ve crossed the Rubicon. They’re in the kitchen.
Jared looks up at Jensen again, and smiles at the flush there that accents his freckles and makes him look both debauched and adorable.
He loves this man.
“If you get come on my island you’re going to be down here bleaching it all night instead of sleeping in bed with me.”
And that’s when Jared lets go with a loud pop and stands up. He’s won. He’s finally won. After years of fighting Jared has finally won.
“Chef. Please. Fuck me.”
Jensen growls, eyes going dark and hands grabbing at Jared. They kiss hard, Jensen’s tongue questing in his mouth and collecting the taste of himself there. Jared loves it. Loves the way Jensen spins him and presses him against the counter before sinking down to his own knees.
The smooth point of Jensen’s tongue circles his rim, slides along the edge and then flattens to fully lick and Jared is suddenly the putty one. His hands grip the marble countertop and hold on for dear life while Jensen’s tongue pushes into him. It’s not neat and precise, not like everything else Jensen does. Sloppy, hungry, Jensen licks and sucks at his hole and works until Jared is good and lubed for what’s coming next.
And then Jensen is standing, strong hands gripping his hips and pulling him in before Jensen sinks his cock into Jared. It’s perfect, and he can’t help the way his whole body pulls taut in response before going slack in Jensen’s grip. Jared rocks his hips and loves the fullness. The contact.
Jensen drapes himself over Jared’s back, bending Jared in half and biting at his shoulder through his shirt while he jerks his hips to fuck deeper and deeper into Jared’s ass.
“I’m serious Jay. You come on my island and you’re cleaning it up.”
Jared can’t make a response. It’s too hot. Jensen fucking him here, in the most sacred of places, hands manipulating him and moving him like Jensen does his ingredients. It’s perfect. Jared jerks his own hips in time with Jensen’s movements to chase his dick.
“Oh fuck! Fuck Jared, yes, yes just like that. Move those hips.”
“Yes Chef!”
Jensen moans in his ears, cock jerking inside of him and hands gripping down bruising tight.
“Tighten around me. Good boy. Yes. That’s how you do it. You’ve got this.”
And Jared does, tightening and relaxing his muscles in rhythm to bring Jensen as close as he already is.
“Yes Chef!”
Jensen bites his shoulder hard, snakes a hand around him to grip his dick and start jerking firmly and assuredly.
“I can’t wait. Come for me Jared. Come for me now.”
And Jared does, crying out at the same time, “Yes Chef!”
Jensen lasts only a few strokes after, hips moving him through his orgasm and cock spilling inside of Jared warm and wet. It’s perfect, and Jared slumps over the island and lays there limp with his hot skin on the cool stone as Jensen rides the rest of his orgasm and gently pets Jared’s hair.
They stay like that for a bit, quiet and settled, and then Jensen slowly pulls out and kisses Jared’s neck.
“Now clean.”
Jared loves his partner. He loves Jensen’s sense of humor.
But when Jensen drops rags and bleach on the countertop next to his limp form and slaps his ass before walking off Jared realizes that this apparently isn’t a joke.
He loves Jensen anyway.
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Date: 2015-03-15 05:30 am (UTC)“Don’t make that face. Don’t make that face right now it’s creepy.” That was my favorite line. Also I looked up Lord Beef and felt quite smug that I was right. :D
Thanks for posting!
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Date: 2016-07-17 08:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-15 11:45 am (UTC)Thanks for writing and sharing!
♡
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Date: 2016-07-17 08:16 pm (UTC)I'm sure Jared was ok with the fallout of finally getting his dream, but I'm also sure he'd love Jensen to loosen up a little. I'm so very glad that you liked this, and I appreciate you commenting even though it took me so long to reply. Sorry about that!!
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Date: 2015-03-15 08:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-07-17 08:17 pm (UTC)Thank you for enjoying and commenting and sorry for how late this reply is!!
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Date: 2015-03-15 08:20 pm (UTC)You built Jared and Jensen's relationship and world so well!
Thank you for writing this amazing fic. <3
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Date: 2016-07-17 08:18 pm (UTC)Edition 3,164
Date: 2015-03-15 11:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-16 12:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-07-17 08:20 pm (UTC)Thanks again and sorry this is so late!!
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Date: 2016-07-17 08:25 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for commenting and liking and sorry for how late this reply is!!
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Date: 2015-03-20 09:32 pm (UTC)NGH. There's no resisting!
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