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

Fic: A Kept Boy 53/?
Fandom: CWRPS
Pairing: Jeff/Jensen, Jared/Jensen
Rating: Adult
Warnings: Slavefic AU. Language. Dark themes. Sexual situations & mentions of abuse.
Disclaimer: This is in no way a true story.
Word Count: 2,269
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.
AN2: A special thank you to my Los Angeles consultant, without_me. I don't guarantee I used her information correctly.

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Walking in Los Angeles is for tourists.

On the other hand, Jeff doesn't have a whole lot of choice…which was probably his mother's evil plan the whole time. Of course, she vastly underestimates Jeff's desperation to get the hell out of there.

"I just don't know how to deal with her when she's like this." Jeff scrapes a hand through his hair, roughly enough that it tugs hard at the root. "I just… She gets her mind on something and then God help anything that stands in her way. Including her children."

"Jeff… Where are we going?" Though he's keeping pace with Jeff, Jensen's expression still holds the same uncertainty as before.

Jeff's fear-brain overdrive cuts out long enough for guilt to kick him square in the ass. He stumbles to a stop and steers Jensen over to the nearest storefront, keeping his back to the direction from which they came. "I don't know," he admits. "I just…I had to get out of there."

"I know that." Jensen nods, scuffing his feet and still looking down. "I don't…I'm not… I was just asking what your plan is."

"It's cute that you think I have a plan." The guilt deepens, sours the sweetness of being this close to Jensen, of wanting to kiss him, feel that pliant mouth open under his.

Jensen's gaze comes up. Jeff can see the flinch in the hyper-clearness of Jensen's eyes, the way Jensen's steeling himself. "It's more than just your mother," Jensen points out, his voice soft, hesitant. "Lady Hathaway, Madame Kreuk…it's an insult. They don't deserve that."

Jeff reaches for Jensen's face and he sees the shiver that runs through Jensen's freckled skin. "Hey," Jeff says, gentling his voice over the plunging sickness in his stomach that Jensen could—does—think that Jeff would be violent with him. "I'm not going to hurt you. I wouldn't…" he sighs, defeated, and lets his hand fall. "I'm not going to hurt you," he repeats, trying—and failing—not to feel hurt.

Jensen blushes, dark heat like sunburn that washes out his freckles. "I. I know that," he says, lids and lashes sweeping down again. "I just. Old habits."

"Yeah." Jeff tucks his hands in his pockets, the only solution he can think of to touching Jensen. "Yeah," he says again, more heartfelt, looking away from Jensen and squinting into the too-bright sun. It's one of those rare days when the sky looks so clear and sharp, it could cut you. "I get that. This is my old habit."

"What is?"

The corner of Jeff's mouth hooks down when he tries to smile. "Running away." Strong whiff of shame coming up from beneath the guilt in sneak attack, tightening his throat familiarly. "It's not just my mom. Hell, I left home at seventeen to get away from the two of them, keep them from turning me into a soulless zombie. So. I know you're right. I know the mature, responsible thing for me to do would be to go back in there and face the music. But I can't do that. I just… I can't." Jeff pauses, some half-made and mostly identifiable thought playing at the edge of his mind. It vanishes before he can tease it out and he shakes his head. "I'm not going to." Jeff's mouth is bitter, like he's been smoking all day, when he hasn't smoked a cigarette in a good ten years.

"Okay."

Whatever Jeff expected, it isn't this easy acquiescence. He lets himself look at Jensen, sees nothing looking back at him but that same waiting patience. "Okay? Just…okay?"

Jensen's eyebrows twitch, tug in. "Do you want me to argue with you?" He bobs a little in place and it takes Jeff a moment to realize that Jensen is fighting against going to his knees. "I don't… You. I think Kane would probably be better at that than I am."

Jensen sounds like it bugs him to admit that Kane's better than him at anything, which makes Jeff laugh. Just laughing feels like taking a deep breath he sorely needed. "Yeah, Kane's definitely better at arguing with me, but I suspect this time, he'll be on my side. He knows my mom, too." Jeff sighs and stretches, feeling the tightness in his back, his shoulders. "No, I don't want you to argue with me. I heard what you said and I know that you're right, but I'm not going to do it anyway. On the other hand, talking to Kane isn't a bad idea."

His phone is a new thing with way too much gadgetry for him, but he has figured out how to, at least, make calls.

"I know your momma isn't letting you make calls from the table," Kane says, without preamble, as he picks up the line. "So. Does this mean you're hiding out in the bathroom, like the giant chicken you are?"

"Oh, I'm a much bigger chicken than that," Jeff says, trying to cover the sting of that truth with flippancy. "We—I—bailed."

"Christ." Jeff doesn't know how to interpret Kane's tone of voice. He has a sneaking suspicion that's the point. That, or his mom's making him paranoid, even odds. "So…you're where? You need me to come get you?"

"No… We're right by Sunset; I can catch a cab. I need you to call my mom and make up some reason that I was called away. Something good."

"Yeah, all right." Kane's chewing gum and he cracks it, loudly, in Jeff's ear. "You coming back to home base?"

Jeff eyeballs Jensen, who seems to be watching their back-trail. That weird sunlight spot lights up his chest again he rubs the back of his fingers against where he feels it, like that's going to do any good.

"Any reason that I need to be home right this second?" he asks Kane and Jensen's gaze darts at him. Jeff takes a moment to marvel at how good Jensen is at hiding just about any emotion except surprise. Surprise will out him, every time and, even half-stupid with…with whatever it is that he feels for Jensen, he can appreciate what a rare quality that is, especially for someone who's been through as much as Jensen has.

"Nothing's on fire."

"Then no." He jams his free hand deeper in his pocket, pushing down the desire to touch Jensen, run the tips of his fingers over the silk and stubble of Jensen's cheek, twine those big, clever fingers with his own. "I think me and Jensen are going to spend some time on the town." Again he gets that startled flash of Jensen's eyes and a weird giddiness cuts through the looming storm cloud of worry.

"Jeff," Kane says, and the uncharacteristic seriousness of his voice drags Jeff's attention back like a wandering dog on a leash. "Be careful, man. You can't keep playing games with your mom like this. Not right now. Not anymore."

Jeff sighs and jams the ball of his thumb into the space where his nose and eye meet, pressing against the headache he feels coming on. "I know." Another sigh and he feels his shoulders get so tight they ache. "I know. I'm not going to fuck this all up for us. I just need this afternoon. I need some fucking space to breathe."

"Jeff—" Kane says Jeff's name and it's not impatient or angry—which is what Jeff expects—but he doesn't know what emotion is behind it and Kane cuts himself off before it gets any further than that one, brief syllable. The speaker rasps as Kane lets his breath out. Then: "Look, go on your date. Have fun. Just… We need to figure out what to do about this, quick, fast and in a hurry. Because we both know your mom's not going to stop until she gets what she wants."

"Yeah," Jeff says, talking through the renewed tightness of his throat. Instinctively, he reaches for Jensen and catches himself before the gesture gets more than half way. He lets his arm swing back down to his side, but Jensen grabs him, instead, curling his fingers through Jeff's. "Yeah, I know. We. We're going to need a war council, talk this out."

"I'll put it together."

"All right, thanks." Jeff's starting to feel too nervy standing out here on the street, just a half-block away from the restaurant. He gives Jensen a tug and they start walking for the nearest hotel marquee. Somebody will be able to get them a cab from there.

"We're not going home?" Jensen asks carefully, as if he's still afraid that Jeff will turn on him, hurt him.

"I wasn't going to." Jeff doesn't know what to do with the linkage of his and Jensen's hand. On the one hand, Jensen made the move, closed the gap. On the other hand, Jeff suspects he only did it because it's what Jeff wants. But pulling away from Jensen may be interpreted as another rejection. "I was thinking…" Jeff does a quick glance-around, making sure they're not going to be overheard. "I was thinking maybe we could hang out a while. Just me and you."

The glow Jensen's face picks up is like a stray beam of sunlight all its own and Jeff feels blinded by it at the same time guilt jabs him like a broken beer bottle. No one should look at him like that; he hasn't done nearly enough to deserve it. Especially Jensen, who deserves a lot more and a lot better than Jeff can give him.

"I'm happy to…" Jensen starts off, the rote words infused with that same eagerness. Then Jensen cuts himself off and looks down, his face coloring pink and red again. "I'd like that," Jensen amends, stifled.

They luck out on a cab; someone's climbing out at the same time they want in and the twenty Jeff waves at him soothes any protests. Jeff leans back against the tired seat back and closes his eyes, physically dizzy with relief as the cab nudges grudgingly away from the curb and into the clotted artery of traffic.

"Are you okay?" The cab is a minivan, big enough that Jensen can kneel on the floor like a good and obedient body-slave. He touches Jeff's knee, though; a light, proper touch that nonetheless sears Jeff's skin through the thin cloth.

"I'm fine." Eyes still closed, he reaches for Jensen, fingers finding the slippery warmth of Jensen's hair, the solid eggshell curve of his skull. Jensen turns his face into the touch, his cheek rubbing across the heel of Jeff's palm like a big cat. "Just…glad to be out of there." He opens his eyes again only to find Jensen's closed his, his expression so unambiguously content that Jeff feels like a voyeur, a pervert peeking in on something he has no right to. At the same time, he feels the tiger-stretch of darker possessiveness, the ugly voice that whispers, Mine, and hungers.

So much hunger.

Jeff clears his throat. "So. I was thinking…" Jensen's eyes open slowly, dazzled and dazzling, so much so that Jeff almost loses his train of thought. "I thought maybe…the museum?"

Jensen shakes his head—not in denial so much as dismissal. "Anywhere. Anywhere is good."

It's Jeff's turn to shake his head, the corners of his mouth turning up despite every inclination to do otherwise. "You sure? We can do anything. Anything you want."

Heat flickers through Jensen's eyes, unmistakable, darkening his irises to something closer to emerald, but before Jeff can do more than register it—and shiver a little in reaction—Jensen blinks and smiles. "Anything is good. I just want to be with you."

"You're going to get us both in trouble," Jeff teases, tapping Jensen's cheek. "Kidding," he amends quickly, when Jensen's smile falters and the uncertainty comes back to his face. "I was just kidding."

The cab drops them off in front of the massive striped façade of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, the sun beating down from straight overhead onto the tops of their heads and shoulders like a giant's hand.

"This is the problem with L.A.," Jeff says, shading his eyes and squinting up at the building like he's never seen it before. "Don't get me wrong, I love it. It's as insane as I am. But getting anywhere without a car is a royal pain in the ass. And even with a car, it's a royal pain in the ass."

Jensen snorts and smiles and, for a brief, shining moment, it's almost like this is a date, after all.

"You ever been here before?" Jeff asks as they stroll under the overhang into the stuffy shade.

"Yes." Jensen says it in what Jeff's come to think of as his slave voice, flat, neutral and divorced from emotion.

"Jensen?" Jeff doesn't know how to ask the question he wants to ask, so he just puts what he can into Jensen's name.

Jensen shakes his head. "Nothing. A…a few of my masters liked to come here, that's all."

"Kilmer?"

Jensen nods. "He wasn't the only one, though."

"We don't have to go inside. We can do anything else. I just…" ...like coming here. The words wilt bitterly on Jeff's tongue, bothered more than is probably reasonable by the idea that he has anything in common with any of Jensen's former masters. Lamely, he shrugs. "It was just an idea."

"I…no. I like the art," Jensen says, looking down and that hectic blush flirting with his freckles again. "I like the museum. It's just…"

"Memories."

Jensen nods. "Memories."