Word count: 1350
Kinks: masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism
Summary: Written for the prompt: Every year the porn industry hosts a charity auction where people can buy various adult entertainment stars--at exorbitant prices-- and have them reenact a particular scene from one of their films in a private room. Jensen is the highest bidder for JT Powers.
A/N: Written for Round 2 of spn_masquerade
Jensen is an idiot.
He’s pretty sure his friends would be more than happy to tell him this, if they knew what he was doing. Or, you know, if he had friends. But there’s no way in hell anyone will ever know.
He pulls a meticulously-folded piece of standard printer paper out of his pocket, smoothing it open as carefully as if it’s one of Willy Wonka’s golden tickets. Considering how much he paid for it, it might as well be.
CONGRATULATIONS! You are the high bidder for the JT POWERS PRIVATE EXHIBITION!
Please arrive at the JDM STUDIOS location below at 3:00 PM on March 21, 2015 for your PRIVATE EXHIBITION.
REMINDER: No physical contact, verbal abuse or disrespect is to be directed at our models. This is exhibition is FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY.”
He reluctantly surrenders the paper to the cute red-headed receptionist at the entrance to JDM Studios. The waiting room is disconcertingly bland, just like any office building in the world. But somewhere in one of those back rooms waits JT Powers, so this office is inherently special.
Jensen knows it’s ridiculous and pathetic to blow so much money on a personal exhibition by his favorite porn star. Who even does that? But what the hell, he makes enough money that he never spends because he’s too busy working; he can afford it, so who cares how he spends his money?
Jensen follows the receptionist - Danneel, she cheerfully introduces herself - to a nondescript door down the hallway. She opens the door and motions to Jensen to go in, offering a friendly and professional “have fun!” as she goes.
Jensen walks further into the room and there he is - JT Powers in the flesh. Well, not just in the flesh. He’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, just like any average college student on the street. But Jensen knows he’s far from average.
“Hi, there, I’m JT,” the kid - to Jensen’s 35, 22 feels like a kid, anyway - holds out a hand and Jensen just looks at it.
“It said I’m not allowed to touch you,” he mumbles, and JT laughs.
“Shaking my hand is definitely allowed,” Jensen blushes, but takes JT’s outstretched hand. He tries not to linger like a creep, but JT’s fingers are so long, and slender, and soft. And Jensen knows just how wicked those fingers can be. He pulls his hand away reluctantly.
“So, this is your exhibition, Mr. JA240, what would you like me to do? I have costumes, toys, you name it, I do it. Within reason, of course,” he winks flirtatiously, one slightly slanted eyelid coming down over his multi-colored eye, and Jensen considers vomiting rainbows but manages to restrain himself. Barely.
“Jensen,” he responds, and JT nods. “And I don’t need costumes or toys. Remember your first movie? That’s what I want.”
JT looks genuinely surprised. “But that was just -”
“Perfect,” Jensen sighs. JT’s face softens a bit, becoming less professional and more him, Jensen is sure.
“Okay, why don’t you have a seat,” JT offers, motioning to a comfortable-looking wing chair that Jensen is pretty sure featured heavily in JT’s last movie. Jensen’s reasonably certain he recognizes the pattern on the microfiber, recalls how pretty JT looked bent over the arm while his co-star Tom reamed him from behind. His hand unconsciously strokes the soft fabric of the chair arm.
JT reaches behind his head, grasps the back of his t-shirt, and pulls it over his head. He’s not doing a sexy striptease, just undressing like any guy would at the end of the day. He flicks open the button on his jeans and pulls down the zip, pushing the pants down his long, tanned thighs and calves, taking his underwear with him. He kicks the jeans off and stretches, naked, the lean muscles of his chest pulling and bunching as he moves. His long, cut cock lies soft against his thigh.
Flopping down on the bed, JT closes his eyes, and idly begins to touch himself, just a guy alone in his bedroom. His hand drifts lazily over his chest, fingers tweaking his nipple a bit as they pass, teasing himself. His dick is starting to fill, thickening where it lies over the crease of his thigh. He drops one hand down to it and strokes it lightly, his grip loose, from base to tip, over and over until he’s fully hard, the pronounced downward curve of his cock that Jensen loves so much on full, mouthwatering display.
Jensen sits, motionless and rapt, as JT strokes his dick with one hand while the other roams over his chest and belly, tracing all the hills and valleys that Jensen longs to explore with his tongue. When JT finally drops that wandering hand down to pull on his balls, Jensen can’t help leaning forward in anticipation.
Those fingers roll his balls around, eliciting breathy moans from JT and inaudible ones from Jensen as he grips the chair arms to stop himself from dropping his hand to his own painfully hard dick.
JT has moved his fingers lower now, playing over the ridge of his hole with the pads of his fingertips. His breathy moans are getting louder now, and even from his position in the chair Jensen can see the gleam of pre-come on the tip of his pretty dick. He lingers there for long minutes, dragging Jensen’s anticipation out until it feels like his nerves are stretched. Then he sinks the entire length of his middle finger deep into his hole, arching up off the bed at the sensation. He pulls it back out and replaces it with two, fucking himself down on those fingers like they’re the best thing he’s ever had in him.
Jensen is mesmerized, his eyes darting the short distance between the hand on the long, curved cock and the fingers pumping in and out of that tight, pink hole. JT has pulled his legs up, giving Jensen’s avid eyes unfettered access to the scene. His moans are getting loud now, uninhibited, and Jensen almost thinks he hears his name at one point.
Jensen wishes it could go on and on, but eventually, inevitably, JT is pumping his dick for all it’s worth, pumping the fingers of the other hand in and out of his hole so quickly Jensen is wincing in sympathy for the abused flesh. Then JT’s back arches, almost lifting him off the bed, and he stills at the apex of the arch, a beautiful, living sculpture. Jensen can’t see the muscles clenching around JT’s fingers, but he knows they are, as JT shoots his release in a spray of white that reaches up to his neck. Jensen wishes more than anything that he had the right to lick those droplets up from his skin.
He waits, rapt, while JT comes down from his orgasm, finally blinking those catlike eyes open again and focusing on Jensen. He smiles softly, removing his fingers from his body casually like he didn’t just finger-fuck himself raw in front of a complete stranger. He sits up and walks over to the changing screen set in the corner, grabbing an emerald green silk dressing gown hanging off the edge of it and settling it over his shoulders, belting it at the waist.
Only now, does he look a little shy, a little vulnerable, nibbling at the corner of his lip before he asks, “Was that okay?” Jensen wants to kiss him. He doesn’t.
“That was perfect,” he says. He stands to leave, ignoring the aching hardness of his own dick. He’ll take care of that later, with a whole new set of memories to replay while he strokes himself off.
“So, um, thanks, JT,” he says as he makes his way to the door. Emily Post didn’t exactly write up the rules of etiquette for situations like this.
“Jared,” he hears softly behind him. He nods and walks out, closing the door quietly as he goes.