Current mood:	cheerful
Entry tags:	fanfic, kept, rps

Fic: A Kept Boy 30/?
Fandom: CWRPS
Pairing: Jeff/Jensen, Jared/Jensen
Rating: Adult
Warnings: Slavefic AU. Language. Dark themes.
Disclaimer: This is in no way a true story.
Word Count: 1,926
AN: Previous parts found here. Cast of characters can be found here. Banner by the lovely and generous bloodquartz. And don't forget the other really awesome stories to be found at whatwekeep.

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Jensen is only about halfway through the slice of peach cobbler that Sam saved for him—unsolicited: ha, take that, Kane—when he hears Jeff's car come up the drive. Though his instinct is to leap up and go to the garage to open Jeff's door for him, Jeff's been clear about not wanting Jensen to trail after his every move. So—foot jittering—he forces himself to eat two more precise bites of pie before he lets himself get up from the table and go into the kitchen, plate in hand.

Jeff is just coming in as Jensen does, allowing Jensen to make it look accidental, artless. Oops, what are you doing home?

"Hey." Jeff smiles at him, but it's absent-minded and mostly turned inward.

Jensen bites down on the sir that rises to his mouth, setting the saucer of half-eaten pie down on the counter. "Hi." He fidgets with the fork for a moment, then offers, "May I make you a drink?"

"Nah." Jeff shakes his head. "I think a drink would just put me on my ass and I was hoping we could have a talk." He looks down at the counter, at Jensen's hands framing the saucer. "Is that Sam's pie?" His voice lilts hopefully.

"She said she didn't save you any, but I saw her hide a piece in the crisper drawer." Jensen is pretty proud of how level his voice remains, despite the way his stomach clenches and his chest gets hot at Jeff's words.

"If you're not going to eat it, I'll just finish yours. No point in good pie going to waste." Jeff looks hopefully at Jensen, who pushes his plate across the granite. Jeff's faint smile brightens, deepening his dimples and he pulls one of the stools out from under the breakfast bar to straddle it. "You sure?"

"No, I was done. I was going to make some tea," Jensen lies. "Do you want some? Or coffee?"

"Tea would be great." Jeff forks up a mouthful of pie, closing his eyes and moaning orgasmically around it. "God, Sam makes a great fuckin' pie."

She really does. Peaches still sweet on his tongue, Jensen fills the round, brass kettle and sets it on the burner. The cabinet to the right of the stove hood is filled with dozens of boxes and bags of tea, loose and bagged. Jensen loves the smell of it, inhaling deeply and filling his lungs with the combined perfume of herbs and fruits. "You said you wanted to talk?" Jensen asks, hands shaking a little as he decides on an African red tea flavored with apricot. "What kind of tea do you want?"

"Surprise me." Jeff has a bad habit of talking with his mouth full, but Jensen's getting better at deciphering his meaning.

The rooibos should be a good choice for Jeff too; its sweetness will compliment the pie without throwing off the flavor and the lack of caffeine means that Jeff will be able to sleep, when their talk is over. He gets down two mugs—mismatched, like the majority of Jeff's dishes—and drops the bags into them before turning back to face Jeff, damp palms smoothing down his thighs.

Jeff waves Jensen over, mouth still full of pie and crumbs at the corners of his lips. "Water'll take a while. Come on. Sit down."

Jensen tugs out another stool and settles carefully on the padded leather, resting his hands deliberately on his thighs.

"So." Jeff licks some peach filling off the tines of the fork. "Cate wants me to have sex with you."

Finally! Jensen's breath sighs out of him and he starts to sag a little before catching himself. For obvious reasons, he hadn't been sure Cate would follow through with her promises to help him or that her idea of help would be anything like his own.

Jensen gets to his feet and starts to unbutton his shirt with one hand and his pants with the other.

It's almost comical how fast Jeff's eyes go wide, one hand flinging out. "Wait! No, I didn't…" He covers his face. "I didn't mean right now."

Jensen doesn't blush easily, but he feels one heat his face now at his own blind stupidity. He'd been so eager for Jeff to take him, but of course Jeff wouldn't do it here, in the kitchen.

Such a whore. Such a pretty little whore. You were made for this, weren't you, Jensen?

"No, of course not." Jensen's throat feels both hot and tight, words choking up from inside. "I'm sorry. It was foolish of me to think otherwise."

Jeff lifts his face from his hand and reaches for Jensen, framing Jensen's face between his hands. "Jensen—" Jeff's voice deepens, sounding raw. "I want you, all right? I need you to stop thinking that any of this is because I don't want you, because I do."

Jensen can barely hear Jeff over the rushing in his ears as Jeff's thumbs sweep his cheekbones, hot and cold stinging his skin in shivery cascades. He knew Jeff wanted him, but to hear it, to have Jeff say it and touch him…

Jeff drags in a thickened breath and Jensen sways in his grip as though all the air's been sucked out of him. "I can't…" Jeff shakes his head. "I don't… Is that what you even want?"

"Yes." There's no doubt in Jensen as he says it—not in his voice, not in any molecule of his body, yearning toward those hands on his face and the body they're attached to.

"Jensen—" Jeff says again, sounding less raw this time but more confused. He pushes Jensen back, pushes him onto the stool again. "Okay. Okay. Let me tell you what I want." Jeff reseats himself on his own stool, rubbing his palms along his thighs. "I want…" Jeff sighs. "Cate thinks we should have sex. That that's what you want—"

I do. It's out of the question for Jensen to interrupt, as much as he wants to. Not that he thinks Jeff would mind. It's hard, and Jensen still feels like he's feeling his way across that ballroom floor, but he's not dumb. He does understand that Jeff is different—more permissive—than his other masters. It just doesn't mean he can afford to get into bad habits. Jeff might not want to sell him—Master Hutton hadn't wanted to, or Master Crowe, stripped of honorifics and slaves alike—but that doesn't mean Jensen won't find his pert ass parked back in Escrow, regardless. I want it, please—let me show you…

"—but I don't know if I can do that. I don't know…" Jeff's hands lift briefly, helplessly, then flop back down. "I want a lover, not a slave, not someone who doesn't or won't or can't tell me no. I want someone who says yes because it's what they want and not because it's their job. Do you understand?"

"I. Yes? Sort of?" Jensen scratches at his trousers, not wanting to meet Jeff's eyes. This had started out so well. And now…what? It seems like they're right back where they started. "But—" Jensen's mouth snaps shut as he realizes he's about to argue with Jeff. "Never mind."

"No." Jeff leans forward to brush his fingertips over Jensen's wrist, beading Jensen's skin in goose flesh. "That's another thing we need to talk about. I will do my best to be the master you need. But there are certain things I need from you, so that I can help give you what you need. A big part of that is honesty." Jeff hooks his fingers together between his knees.

"I don't expect you to tell me everything, okay? I know…" Jeff shakes his head enigmatically. "Nobody tells everything. But when you don't understand something I've said, if I'm confusing you, if you think I'm wrong about something…I need you to let me know. When and if we have sex—"

Jensen's head jerks up, that strange hopefulness surging up in his chest again.

"—I need you to…to be with me, to tell me what's going on with you, how you feel, if I hurt you, what you like. I need to know where you are in that gorgeous head of yours. Because I don't trust myself with you. To be good to you."

You don't have to be good to me. Jensen bites back the words, using the moment to refasten his pants instead. Head down, he says instead, "I just don't understand why I can't want something that's also my job. I don't understand why it's wrong."

Jeff makes a garbled noise. "It's not wrong, Jensen." He slides from the stool again and puts his hands on Jensen's shoulders, strong fingers kneading slightly. "But you were taught that your body isn't your own, that it's okay for someone else to use it when and how they like. If I sleep with Ever…" Jensen doesn't mean to, but at the reminder, he stiffens. Just a little, but not so little that Jeff can miss it when they're so close.

God, they're so close…

Jeff makes the same inarticulate noise and slides a thumb under Jensen's jaw urging his face up so they're eye to eye. Jeff looks tired, the lines around his eyes dug deep and his beard stippling his cheeks and chin in salt and pepper. Jensen remembers Jeff kissing him, what Jeff's mouth felt like against his own, how dizzy he'd felt.

Jeff wants me.

"If I sleep with Ever," Jeff says again, more gently, "I know it's because she wants to, because she enjoys it, because she's choosing me. If I sleep with you… You would give your body to me because I paid for it. Because I hold your contract."

It's true. Of course, it's true. But Jensen hates the way that Jeff makes it seem like that's all it is, like it's so fucking meaningless. "I'm a good slave," Jensen says, carefully erasing any of his irritation from his tone, keeping his eyes soft, liquid. "I would be proud to serve you, in your bed or out of it. But I can't ask you to do something you don't want. That—that's not good service."

"And God forbid you don't give good service," Jeff says, a smile curling his lips and warming his words. Jeff shakes his head. "Jesus Christ, Jensen. I don't know what to do with you."

"Whatever you want."

Jeff's grin crimps on the side, turning it crooked. "Yeah. I get that." Jeff's thumb creeps up to brush the bare skin above Jensen's shirt collar, making Jensen shiver and heat sear through his skin. "Do you…uh. Do you masturbate?" The quiet intimacy of Jeff's breaks a little and his eyes squinch tight at the question.

"No!" Jensen can't help the way his eyes widen or the sharpness of his voice. The horror is visceral, his palms stinging at the very suggestion. "No, I never have." Jensen struggles to modulate his voice back to normal, fix his face. "I would never…presume." Jensen struggles with his words, feeling like it's not enough. "It would be wrong," he adds.

"Christ," Jeff says again, rust gritting through his voice. "I must have been a real shit in a former life." He shakes his head, curling one hand around the back of Jensen's neck and giving a gentle tug. "All right, Jensen, let's try something new. Turn the water off. Come upstairs with me. Let's go to bed."