Fetish (FET-ish), noun:
a. an item that can be imbued with magic to aid its owner.
b. an object of irrational reverence or obsession: see fixation.
c. any object or nongenital part of the body that causes a habitual erotic response or fixation.
Jared wakes up in the middle of the night with a strangely sinister yet familiar figure looming over him from the shadows.
"Mark?" Jared mutters blearily, squinting at the clock. "It's, uh, two-something in the morning. You're in the wrong hotel room. Get your drunk ass back to bed."
"Mark?" The figure laughs mockingly back. "Mark's down in the bar right now, singing karaoke and getting drunk with the men who play your father and brother. Funny how nobody invited you along, isn't it? Almost like they don't have any use for you outside of the role you play." His laugh is dark and rough, like he's in on a joke that Jared won't enjoy. "I'm not Mark, although he is a good-looking devil, isn't he? My name is Fergus… but you can call me Crowley."
"What the- How drunk are you? " Jared grumbles. "Crowley's your character, Mark, you play him on TV. Did that fucker Jensen put you up to this as some stupid prank?" He leans over to the nightstand to turn on the light, but the figure catches his hand.
"Let's keep the lighting soft and intimate, shall we?" If he's drunk, Mark is doing a remarkably good job of staying in character. The accent is spot on.
Jared wrenches his wrist free from the man's surprisingly strong grip and cradles it, unconsciously rubbing over the spot where the fingers had pressed in. "I know we just wrapped for the season and everyone's punchy, tired and/or drunk, but it's too late for this shit, so whatever the hellph–"
Two fingers press against his lips, and suddenly Jared's voice vanishes. He chokes for a second, coughs, and tries to speak again, but nothing comes out. He tries to sit up, only to find out that for some reason he can't. It feels like some invisible weight is pressing down on him, pushing him into the bed and holding him immobile.
"Much better. Like I said, Jared, not Mark. Crowley. I'm the real deal, king of Hell, lord of the crossroads contract. One of the bad guys – hell, THE bad guy these days. And what's rule number one of dealing with bad guys? Never interrupt their fucking monologues. It's rude."
Not-Mark – Crowley – sits down next to Jared, patting him on the head and ignoring the way the actor's eyes dart around in panic. "Rule number two, this is really happening. I know, I know, this is impossible, there's no magic in this dimension, look what happened the last time Sam and Dean came through, all those people died, yadda yadda yadda." Stubby fingers brush along Jared's jaw, scritching lightly through his stubble. "It's all rather tedious, isn't it? Hello, King of Hell here, I've got tricks those angels only wish they knew."
Jared pales a little, thinking back to the horrible shooting that had ended Season 6 so tragically early, and nearly ended the series entirely. The days leading up to it are strangely foggy – security had eventually concluded that he and Jensen had probably been given some kind of low-grade drug so their imposters could slip in – but nothing would block out the images of his crewmates nearly bleeding out on the asphalt. Gen had even told him Misha was killed, although he turned out to be only mostly-but-not-entirely dead. If this guy had anything to do with it…
He tries to speak again, managing only an angry squeak, muscles tensing even though he can't move. All things considered, it's not very impressive.
Not-Mark doesn't even seem to notice it as he blithely continues, "And finally, rule number three, dear boy – don't take this personally. It's really not about you. It's about Sam."
Jared's brow furrows. Sam, his character?
Crowley-Not-Mark rubs his finger across the nape of Jared's neck. "You see, Dean and I, we've gotten very close, BFFs really, but I can read the writing on the wall. I can see it in his lovely black eyes – it's not you, it's me, blah-blah-blah." He sighs. "Some things are just too beautiful to last." He leans in close to Jared's head, so close his beard tickles the actor's ear. "But I've gotten used to my Winchester fix, so if I can't have the squirrel... then the moose it is."
Jared's skin crawls as the intruder skims his fingers down Jared's neck to his chest. "I think we can both agree that Sam is a very special boy, even if he does have more issues than a Times Square newsstand. So butch in all his plaid, such a puppy dog on the inside." He leans in close to Jared's ear again. "Just wants to be loved, doesn't he? Wants it all to be simple, to know he's doing the right thing and be a good boy... Just like you."
Crowley's breath is hot against Jared's skin, lips almost brushing against his ear. "I can work with that. I want to work with that, really I do, oh my, the things I can do with that." He stands back up abruptly, scowling. "But after Dean, I'm not taking any chances. 'If you love something, set it free.' Free, my arse! If you love something, chain it up in the basement and never let it go."
Crowley smirks down at Jared, stroking his hair. "Remarkably, for once Dean isn't in my way. Unfortunately, even without his brother, Sam is too smart for his own good. If I do anything to him directly, he'll detect it and figure out some way to counter it. Or that wretched angel will, even though he's not much of a threat lately. And I can't get to dear little Sammy in the bunker anyway, too many layers of protection... but I can get to you."
Crowley's finger's curl in Jared's hair, pulling his head back sharply so he can lick a long stripe up his chin. "Magic has laws, you see, and mummy dearest just happens to be a witch and taught me all about them. Do you want to know what my favorites are?"
Jared tries to shake his head no – no to the answer, but also no to the licking, no to the stroking, no to the whole waking-up-to-a-rapey-intruder-in-your-room vibe. Just no. Said rapey intruder just smiles and uses his leverage to bob Jared's head up and down in a parody of yes.
"Of course you do. They're going to be very important to you in a minute! What I love are the Laws of Contagion and Similarity. The first one says that you can bespell a target by casting magic on something close to it. The second says that you can make an effect happen by imitating it on something else." He chuckles darkly, releasing Jared's hair. "Now you, you're basically Sam, just an alternate version of him, and it doesn't get closer than that, and that means that I can make what happens to you, happen to Sammy. You're just an overgrown voodoo doll, Jared, and do you know what another term for voodoo doll is? It's fetish. And you're mine."
The king of hell curls his hand around the still-befuddled Jared's sheet and blanket. "Sammy boy's been alone for a long time, and it's been so hard for him carrying the burden all by himself, especially with his brother being such a little devil these past weeks." Jared's thoughts flicked to Jensen, his best friend on camera, and the way the man ignores him the minute the shot is called. Of course, he's brought some of that on himself, been a real jerk right back, which is why Jensen and JDM and Mark and Misha are out drinking and he's here in his hotel room missing his wife.
"He's already called me and asked for help," Crowley continues. "I said no, of course – it would be far too suspicious otherwise. But, when I show up in a day or so all grumpy because Dean's double-crossed me and now I want to help, he'll absolutely fall for it."
The worst part about this whole nightmare scenario is, Jared knows his character well enough to agree.
"It'll take a little while for the magic here to trickle over there. Sam'll think himself right into some psychological explanation for how everything he's beginning to feel and fantasize about is all his subconscious acting out, or who knows, maybe just more of his unresolved Daddy issues and pathetic repressed sex life. And meanwhile I'll be there, the poor pathetic hooked-on-feelings king of hell, helping him track his brother, who just wants a kiss for a favor, just wants to be loved... Maybe I'll even dangle the possibility of reforming me in front of his eyes. By the time I've sunk my claws in him, he won't know what hit him, and there'll be no spell or supernatural effect for Castiel or anyone else to detect. It's going to be glorious… Just like this will be."
Crowley whips the bedding off the actor, revealing tanned skin, a gorgeous six-pack of abs and a soft brown treasure trail leading into a pair of tight black boxers.
"Don't worry," the demon smirks. "It won't be exactly unpleasant for you, either." He looks sharply at the ring on Jared's left hand and frowns. "Although a few of the modifications will be." He sighs. "In fact… let's just rip this particular Band-Aid off first, shall we?"
Jared's eyes – the only part of his body he can move – track the man as he walks around the room, finally stopping in front of the dresser holding the picture of Gen and the boys that Jared always takes with him on these trips. God he misses them, but right now he's glad they're as far away from this maniac as possible.
"Quite the happy little family here, but I'm sorry, the wife and kids can't stay. I need you to be as identical to Sam as possible, and Sam is definitely not married to anyone or anything except his pathetic co-dependence on his brother. That means wifey and the boys have to go. So do me a favor and think of any of your single male friends... hmm, Tom is it? Well, Tom's about to be a lucky man, Jared." Crowley shakes the picture once, twice, and then tosses it in the air, pretending to shoot it with his finger. Flame burst out of the frame, which disappears in front of Jared's eyes. "It looks like Tom's just inherited a perfectly lovely family. I'm sure they'll all be very happy together." He rolls his eyes sarcastically. "Besides, you're better off this way – families bring you nothing but trouble."
Something breaks in Jared, just for a moment, like he has just lost something incredibly precious to him... if he can just remember what it was. Something... and then it's gone. He blinks tears out of his eyes, wondering why he's sad. His left hand? Feels different. Reluctantly, he looks away from Crowley, but sees nothing out of the ordinary. If he and Sandy hadn't broken up, there might have been a wedding band on it, but for now he's still single and lonely.
"There, there," Crowley says reassuringly. "I have a very strong suspicion you won't be lonely for long. Now, where was I?" He walks back over to the bed, and a chill settles into Jared's spine.
"With that little bit of unpleasantness out of the way, we can get on with the fun stuff. You see, Jared, I want Sam off his guard, compliant, obedient, and needy. Which means I need you off your guard, compliant, obedient and needy."
With a snap, Jared's boxers vanish.
Cool night air rushes in over his cock and balls. Jared is not a small man, but right now he wishes he were as Crowley lifts his unintentionally hardening penis. "A shower as well as a grower, eh? Impressive. But I'm afraid from now on you'll only be doing the showing part of that."
Crowley's hand clamps tightly around the base of Jared's cock, and a jolt of electricity flows into him. Cum spurts helplessly from the tip of his dick, but it doesn't feel good, it feels like lava. If he could, Jared would be wailing. Tears form in the corners of his eyes as his mouth opens in a silent scream. It feels like it goes on forever, long past the point where his balls are drained and his cock is unable to shoot anything more than tiny drops of almost clear liquid.
When Crowley lets go, Jared's cock flops down between his legs like a tired dog after a long hunt in the summer heat.
"That's the only pain you're going to feel, a one-time deal, I promise. It had to be done." Crowley pets Jared's soft dick as if it were a kitten. "It was the only way to burn the ability to get an erection out of you. Dicks are hard and aggressive – I want Sam soft and pliant, and submissive, and nothing makes a man feel more meek and submissive than not being able to perform like a real man, right?"
Horrified, Jared tries to prove his assailant wrong. He thinks of the sexiest things he can, like Tom's wife Genevieve, whom he's lusted guiltily after for years, or Sandy that one night she wore the tiny little see-through nightie for him and– but little Jared stays resolutely silent on the matter. Crowley's hand on his cock feels good (feels right, he thinks with no little amount of shame) and a few drops of pre-cum bead up at the end, but when the hand withdraws, his traitorous dick plops lifelessly back down again.
"That's right, no more fucking for you, Jared, and none for Sammy either. That boy's such a monk, he'll probably just chalk it up to stress, but as for you, no more morning wood or inconvenient stiffies, and definitely no more pretty girls. But don't worry, even though you're not a real man any longer" – he dismissively flicks the tip of Jared's useless cock – "you'll make a great boy."
Humiliation and panic curdle around each other in Jared's stomach as he flushes red with shame. Something in Crowley's words and tones makes him feel ashamed and yet flushed, almost… horny? But then he feels how soft his dick is and the humiliation feeds back into it in a terrible cycle of shame and growing arousal.
"You're going to enjoy being on the receiving end more than a big man like you would ever admit. I'm about to make sure of that, in fact. Your cock may be worthless, but you'll be able to come to your heart's content from a nice, stiff rogering." Crowley gently, carefully arranges Jared's dick back between his legs. For just a moment, he feels like a little boy being taken care of by a grown up. It's fucked up and erotic and humiliating all at the same time, just the way he's sure it was intended to feel.
"So let's get on with making those more pleasant alterations I mentioned. I'd like to claim I designed them solely with you in mind, but the truth is, this is part of a set package. You'd be amazed to know what people are willing to trade away for a satisfying sex life." The demon rubs his hands together, ignoring the sudden flush of blood to Jared's cheeks. "This package I'm giving you? I originally designed it for an aging porn star in the '70s – minus the limp cock, of course. Poor guy had the worst performance anxiety, and if you'd ever seen his films, you'd understand why, the '70s had terrible taste in everything, including porn. But after he signed with me, he was the hottest property in town… Everyone wanted a piece of his action. At least until I collected his soul ten years later, anyway."
Soul. Jared whimpers.
"Don't look so scared, dear boy. This won't cost you a dime, let alone your soul. Consider this more like a down-payment for the gift you'll be giving me." Crowley leans down into Jared and kisses him on the forehead and whispers, "And let me tell you, it's worth every penny."
With that, the demon sets to work, passing his hands slowly down the full length of Jared's immobilized body. Everywhere he touches – lips, neck, nipples, abdomen, groin – begins to tingle and burn. When the demon's fingers reach the cleft in Jared's ass, the actor clenches up as best he can, trying to protect his virgin entrance, but the king of Hell is persistent. He rubs a finger gently over Jared's perineum in a soothing repetitive gesture designed to lull him into relaxing, then deftly slips it forward to rub over and around his anus itself, massaging the ring before dipping inside. Much to Jared's chagrin, his body just seems to suck the finger in, shooting off sparks behind his eyelids.
"Want to hear what you've won, or would you rather take it for a test drive first?"
No, Jared thinks frantically. No, no, no, no, no…
"Where's your sense of adventure?" Crowley chides. "A pity. Later, then, perhaps." He pulls his finger back, adds a second finger, plunging them in and out with a small circling motion.
It feels... good, Jared realizes. Like, really, really good, all tingly and sparkly and ohhh. For a moment, he's grateful for his paralysis, knowing he'd be embarrassing himself chasing after it otherwise.
"What you're feeling, Jared, are your pleasure receptors multiplying and becoming much more sensitive. You're growing a whole new set of nerves down there, so to speak, and in your throat as well, replacing that pesky, unnecessary gag reflex. Your prostate is shifting, too, but don't worry, it's perfectly healthy, just... significantly easier to hit. Just think, when it's done, you'll experience sensations no other male in this dimension will ever have the physiology to feel."
Jared's eyes roll back into his head as the changes Crowley is talking about become more obvious. The fingers plunging in and out no longer feel invasive in the slightest. They feel... divine. Miraculous. When the third finger is added, he begins to hears a strange, muffled guttural whimper. By the time Crowley adds the fourth, he realizes the noise is coming from him.
Crowley has been speaking the whole time, and Jared can't help but feel like he's missed something important again, something about tightness and stretchiness and lubrication, but asking him to concentrate on anything is just beyond his capabilities right now.
When Crowley retracts his hand and its (wonderful) (talented) (amazing) fingers, Jared becomes aware once again that his cock is still soft. He's on the verge of coming and his cock is totally soft and… he has no idea how to feel about that.
"Jared? Hello? Am I talking to myself now?" Crowley sounds almost smug as the actor turns toward his voice, dazed and horny.
"Well, I can tell you're going to be a very satisfied customer. But it's not much fun to tell my evil plan to someone who doesn't have the brains to comprehend it, so we'll come back here later." The fingers pull out, and Jared whines. If Crowley would let him speak properly, he'd be begging.
"So needy?" Crowley kisses Jared's forehead. "Don't worry, I won't leave you hanging for long. I'll just run down the highlights, and then we can get back to the fun stuff. You've got a nice build now – lean and lanky, not that overly bulky look you had wandering around soulless – I believe the word is twink? I've tweaked a few things to keep you that way, too. Neither you nor Sam will be winning any bench-pressing competitions from here on out, I'm afraid, but on the upside, you'll look young and pretty for decades."
Jared's eyes glance down as best he can manage; there's a slight impression of a six-pack still there, but he can already see that his waist and chest have shrunk back down closer to the scrawny kid he was back when Supernatural started.
"Your little fangirls will be happy with the changes, I can assure you, they always liked that cute-yet-vulnerable boy-next-door thing you had going" the demon says. "…Not that you'll be in any condition to do anything with any of them." He glances down to Jared's limp cock with a chuckle, then raises an eyebrow in surprise.
"Whoops, forgot the package came with the standard 12 inches." Crowley fondles Jared's now significantly longer but still soft cock. "Some might call that a waste, but not me. I like the aesthetics. It'll look delicious dangling and flopping uselessly about. Let's just make sure you'll keep your legs spread nice and wide at all times so everyone can appreciate the view."
The demon does… something… but Jared can't quite tell what. He's not quite sure what Crowley is muttering on about, either – he never sits with his legs closed. Or stands. Or… anything, really. A cock that big, even a defective one like his, needs the extra space. It's humiliating as shit to feel it hanging there so obviously useless, but it is what it is, he guesses. What other choice is there?
Crowley gives Jared's cock one final squeeze and lays it down flat again. Even limp, it's a monster. "I'd lecture you about practicing safe sex, but let's be real here, you're going to be an absolute cockslut in less than 24 hours, and I think we both know that safety is going to be the last thing on your mind. So… let's just do everyone a solid and make you immune to STDs and any other nasties you might catch from the kind of proclivities in which you'll undoubtedly be indulging."
The king of Hell runs his fingers back up Jared's body, circling his lips with them and pushing inside. Without a second thought on where they'd been just a minute earlier, he opens his mouth obediently and sucks on them. Immediately a blissful, cloudy feeling of contentment slips over him, like a baby with a pacifier.
"The rest of the changes? All up here." Crowley pats Jared's cheek with his other hand. "I can't do anything too obvious or Sam will get suspicious, but a little tweak here and there – ramp up your need to please and feel useful and tie that addictive nature of yours into it, decrease your ability to show dominance while increasing not only your need to be around people but the emotional high you'll get for making them happy, and decrease your self-esteem so you'll be desperate for any attention and positive reinforcement." He laughs gleefully at the thought.
"Oh, and one last gift, just for me – let's jam your daddy kink into overdrive, because anyone with as many problems as Sam had with his daddy has just got to be boiling over with Freudian lust. Besides, what little cockslut doesn't secretly fantasize about getting spanked and having daddy's cock up his ass?"
Jared is embarrassed to note that he is keening a bit and straining to press into Crowley's hand.
"I'll let you discover for yourself all the fun little kinks and extras I've hidden away in your subconscious. Let's have that test drive I suggested earlier, eh?"
Jared wants to say no, but the fingers in his mouth feel so good, so he just tilts his head and looks up at Crowley, sucking on the digits gently. All of a sudden, he can feel his control over his muscles returning. He could stand up, fight – but it just feels so good to sit here and be obedient.
"What a good little cocksucker you're going to be, aren't you?" Somehow Crowley's already gotten his pants unzipped and his dick out, dangling it close to Jared's head.
Almost dreamily, Jared opens his mouth and lets Crowley's fingers slip free, his lips only empty for a second before he sucks Crowley's dick down to the root. It tastes… different. A little salty, a little sweaty, but not bad. It fills his mouth and his throat in a way he wouldn't have expected to enjoy but very much does. He can hear himself moaning around it, lost in the sensation of running his tongue around it.
Crowley pats him on the head, and suddenly the fog over Jared's mind clears. He suddenly scoots back, letting the demon's dick pop out of his mouth as he backs up against the wall. Jared's eyes flick up to Crowley, then immediately down to his cock.
"What did you do to me?"
Crowley raises an eyebrow. "Don't get me wrong, Jared, the blowjob was fantastic, but… I do like a little bit of a challenge. I want Moose to be mine, but I still want him to be Moose, capiche? Frankly, I'd have thought you'd be happy."
Jared shakes his head, trying to figure out how to get out of this, reverse whatever mindfuck Crowley is laying on him–
"Now, now, Jared, don't be shy. Let Daddy show you how good he's going to be to you."
Even though he knows he only wants it because Crowley made him want it, Jared can't help the shudder that runs down his spine at that growled Daddy. It rattles around in his head, a low electric charge playing over his nerves. It doesn't stop him from pressing back against the wall as far away as possible, or from clutching the sheet up around his waist, covering his widespread legs that he just can't seem to clench together.
Crowley looks at him for a moment, nodding approvingly. "Much better. You're terrified of me, terrified of what's going to happen, but your cheeks are flushed, your heartbeat's elevated, and you just can't keep your eyes from sliding down my body. You want this, but not enough to take it unless I make the first move. You're like a rabbit mesmerized by a snake… in every sense of the word."
Part of Jared's mind is trying to convince him to run, to bolt out of the bed and get as far away as possible. The other part can't stop staring at Crowley's "snake." He licks his lips almost subconsciously, then blushes bright red. Crowley smirks.
"Of course–" the king of Hell gesticulates and the bedding rips itself out of Jared's hands – "now that we've cleared that up, why don't you come back over here and let us really sample the goods, yes?"
Jared tries to press himself even further against the wall, willing the plaster to crumble and take him in, eyes darting wildly for potential escape routes that he already knows deep inside he won't be taking.
Crowley sighs. "I asked for this, didn't I? Ah well, it's not like Winchester is going to be any more cooperative than you." He snaps his fingers, and Jared flies forward onto the bed, face down, ass up, knees wide apart. His limp cock dangles down to brush the sheets beneath him like a pendulum.
"That's better," Crowley says, kneeling behind Jared and unzipping his pants. "And now for the really fun part."
Without warning, he places a hand on each side of Jared's hips and pulls him back, impaling him with a single thrust and then pounding into him with abandon. That strange paralysis returns, leaving him unable to do anything but take everything the demon gives him. Not that he wants to do anything else, although… shouldn't he? This is rape, he thinks, I don't want this, but it still feels so good – better than sex with Sandy or –
That unnamed sense of loss returns until Crowley's hand slaps his ass and he forgets all about it. The pain ripples through him like a mini-orgasm, hole clenching and releasing uncontrollably against its intruder with each slap that follows. His world narrows down to the thrust of the demon's thick cock, the slap of his hand against his ass, and the glowing tingling warmth spreading throughout his entire body.
Jared moans in confused lust. He should be hard as a rock right now, he knows that, but even though each rub of the silk against his cock sparks fireworks shooting through him, his dick stays floppy and limp. The contrast between the hardness pounding into him and the softness between his legs is mesmerizing. He feels stripped bare, vulnerable and helpless. And he knows, instantly, that he's going to chase after this feeling again and again.
"That's right, just let it all go," Crowley croons at him. "Isn't it better to think you've discovered some kinks you didn't know you had than to spend every day feeling helpless and violated? You've always been this way, deep down inside. When your friends stumble in here drunk in about five minutes or so, they're going to take one look at you and decide that they do have a use for you after all. And they're going to wonder why they didn't start fucking you sooner. And you're going to let them. And all those delicious echoes are going to cross over to my world, and my Sam, and me."
Crowley swivels his hips in a circle, and Jared gasps with pleasure as the cock rubs incessantly over his prostate. Something important is happening, he knows, he just can't seem to keep his head together long enough to figure out what it is.
The sensations are too much, the overwhelming pleasure of Crowley's cock plunging in and out of his ass, the way his own useless dick swings humiliatingly beneath him like a toy, the filthy pictures the demon's words are searing into his brains. This is what he was meant for, this is what he needs and wants, this is what will make him feel loved, this is what will make others happy–
Jared comes back to his senses a few eternities later, realizing he's being filled with cum by a man who doesn't even care that he has ruined his life. He's not important to him, just a voodoo doll to access someone else who happens to look like him. With each spurt that flows into his ass, the details start to get slippery, no matter how strong he tries to hold on to them.
"Shh, boy, don't think so hard." Crowley slows down his pace, running his fingers down along Jared's hip and thigh as he finishes with a few final thrusts. "Let all those pesky details slip away."
The man – Mark? – pulls a white handkerchief out of his pocket, wipes his cock off, and tucks himself away so he can zip up. Then he stands up and waves his hand, letting Jared collapse to bed like a puppet with its strings cut. Why is he here? Jared wonders sleepily. Did he pick him up at the bar?
"Don't worry, you'll still be one of the stars of your show," his voice somehow manages to be both comforting and condescending, even if the things he makes aren't making sense. "I've got a vested interest in you playing Sam Winchester for a very long time, after all. So none of these new inclinations of yours will endanger your career. In fact, I'll even sweeten the pot a little bit by letting you memorize your lines instantly. That's nice, isn't it? You'll be even better at what you do – which will definitely come in handy, since I suspect your free time may be a little less free once your cast members find out about your… new inclinations. I expect they'll keep you on your knees as often as they can."
He cocks his head. "Oh goody, I do believe they've reached the elevator." With a snap, his midnight visitor is gone. Jared is cleaned up and sprawled across his bed, face down, the night's visitation quickly fading from mind when his midnight visitor vanishes. Huh. Apparently he sleeps in the nude now? He kinda likes it.
A second later, the figure reappears. "Oh, by the way – no matter how many times Jensen fucks you, you will never be sexually attracted to your brother, is that clear? I don't care how erotically and neurotically co-dependent you've been up to this point, from here on out, it's right off the table."
And then he's gone.
Not even a minute later, Jared's hotel door rattles and bursts open, spilling Misha, Mark, Jensen and JDM inside. "See, I told you," Misha proclaims drunkenly, waving his hands about. "Jared's so uptight he even sleeps with his sheets in hospital corn-holy fuck."
Jared stares at them like a deer caught in headlights as the four silently file into the room.
"I only see one tight thing in this room," JDM mutters after an uncomfortably long, leering silence, "and that's Jared's ass."
Jared watches as the man who plays his daddy on TV visibly adjusts himself, groping at his hardening cock through his jeans. He should do something, cover himself up, yell angrily at them to get out, anything – but all he can do is lie there, frozen, a shiver starting at the base of his spine as four pairs of eyes hungrily devour him.
Mark wolf-whistles. "If you're going to put on a show like that, get up on all fours and do it seriously, mate. Give us a good gander, we can hardly see anything like that."
He's only joking, Jared knows he's only joking, but he scrambles to all fours anyway, painfully aware of the way his floppy penis is now on display.
"I don't know about you all, but I'm suddenly not tired anymore." Misha shuts the door.
Jensen doesn't say anything. He just reaches over and turns the lock, never taking his eyes off of Jared's ass. The quiet click of the deadbolt sounds as loud as a prison cell door slamming shut.
Ten minutes later, JDM is holding Jared down, straddling Misha so the man can double-team Jared's ass with Mark. Jared would be freaking out about the fact that two of his friends are jamming their cocks into his ass, but he's a little distracted having his face fucked by Jensen while he and JDM make out above him.
With every thrust, the evening's strange encounter slips further and further from his mind, from real to dream, and from dream back into the ether. Right before it vanishes entirely from his mind, he thinks about the last mysterious comment from the voice. It's a little a confusing, but reassuring too. At first he thought it was talking about Jensen, but then it said brother. Which is a relief, actually, because even though he loves his brother Jeff, he'd rather not be sexually attracted to him.
Jensen, on the other hand, has got an amazing bedroom voice and an even more awesome cock. They probably won't talk any more on or off set than they used to, but that's because Jensen will have better ideas for what Jared can do with his mouth besides talk.
Throat and ass overflowing with cock, Jared drifts in bliss, each thrust rippling through him delightfully.
Nothing else matters. Not Jensen and JDM talking about how great Jared's going to look keeping their cocks warm on set when he's not needed for a scene. Not the way Misha and Mark are taking turns slapping and insulting his soft cock and talking about keeping his ass plugged up with come. Not Mark and JDM talking about how he's going to be the perfect party favor at the show's season's finale party. Not Jensen muttering about getting the studio to get rid of Jared's trailer, because he won't need privacy ever again. Not Misha asking him how many piercings he wants down the underside of his cock, it might as well look pretty since it's only good for decoration.
Jared understand now that this is what he's been missing. Whatever they want, no matter how humiliating or dirty, he'll do it and love it. This is what makes him happy, being a willing cockslut and fuckhole for his friends – their life-size fucktoy. Their doll. (Voodoo doll, his mind inexplicably supplies out of nowhere. Fetish.)
He hopes absently that Sam will find a way to be this happy, too, wherever he is. Which is ludicrous, right? Because Sam's only a character.
* * *
A universe away, Sam wakes up with a gasp from the first wet dream he's ever had about his brother. Where did that come from?