Cemetery Dreams by ephermeralk for <user site="livejournal.com"

[springflingmod.livejournal.com]

Title: Cemetery Dreams
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: underage (around 17)

Jared likes graveyards. Deserted, abandoned places that nine times out of ten lead to Jared sinking his teeth into unsuspecting flesh. Home, food, comfort. Safety, above all. Cemeteries across the world have been his hallowed ground for over two-thousand years.

And then Jared discovers Jensen.

At first glimpse, Jared almost slithers back into the cold, gothic-style mausoleum that he’d claimed, fearful that this man—no this boy--is one of God’s. Sent to smite him into the bowels of hell.

Then the last rays of sunshine disappear behind the Blue Ridge Mountains, relieving the golden glow from the boy’s head and Jared sees him for what he is. Human. Nothing more, nothing less.

Sun-kissed blonde hair, bowed-legs, and freckles.

Mortal.

Delicious.

Soon to be his.

*

The gears of Jared’s 3-speed cobalt blue bike that he’d stolen last September click mercilessly as he follows the boy into town. And right before soft, pale hands open the white-picket fence leading to 820 Clifford Street, Jared runs him down.

“Oh, gosh-darnit, I’m so sorry,” he says, extending out a hand as if it was an accident. Jared’s had many bodies over the years, taken over the skin, flesh, and memories of those he’s eaten, but Jared likes this one the best. Six feet and four inches of olive skin and shaggy hair. Already broad shoulders on the cusp of filling out. They never will. “I’m so clumsy—just get caught up in thinking and forget to look where I’m going.”

“No worries,” the boy grumbles, looking at the gravel embedded in his blood smeared hands, voice lower than Jared had imagined, “I’ll live.”

“I’m new around here,” Jared continues on, “Jared.”

“Jensen.”

“Sorry about your lip, Jensen,” Jared says, throwing his hands into his pockets and scuffing the toe of his shoe into the ground. He’s also trying to swallow down his desire to suck on Jensen’s lip, drain it completely of blood.

“Eh, as long as it heals by the weekend, I guess I’ll let you get away with it.”

Jared wants to ask about the importance of Jensen’s weekend plans, the he’s already slipped past, retreated into the sanctuary of his own home.

*

Jared enrolls at Cedar Mills High the next day. Two stories of winding stair cases filled with algebra, biology and English lit. He’s never been one for school before, but Jensen clearly is. He sits quietly in the front of the class, wire-rimmed glasses perched high on his slightly crooked nose. Jared kind of wants to take a bite out of it. He puts an unsatisfying piece of sugary pink bubblegum in his mouth instead.

Jensen’s pleasant to him after class, gives him a half-grin through a still puffy lip, but aloof. Out of reach.

It takes all of Jared’s will power to not shove him up against the cherry-red lockers and delight in the look of surprise on Jensen’s face—press his lips against Jensen’s. He doesn’t though. Instead, he watches as Jensen trades his calculus books for history of western civilization, and then steps up, loudly smacking his gum to catch Jensen’s attention.

“Got Western-Civ next?” he asks, trying to sound casual. It’s a good thing that he’s actually nervous. Makes him sound like he’s the true owner of this almost eighteen-year old body, not a two-thousand-year-old-monster.

“Yeah. You too?”

“Mhm. I’ll carry your books, if you show me the way,” he says, looking down at Jensen from underneath his bangs, tongue darting out of his mouth as Jensen worries the gash on his lip open.

“Alright,” he replies finally, handing Jared his books, cheeks turning red. Their hands meet over the spines of Dante and Aristotle, and Jared thinks, in this single moment, one amid a life time of life times, he might actually be in love.

*

There’s not enough death in this small, civil-war town for Jared. Once—once it had seen the passing of hundreds of men, but their flesh has long since rotted off bleached bones, leaving nothing for Jared to eat.

He doesn’t sleep, so he gets a job in the next town over. Digs graves at night, moving dirt with a rusted, puke-yellow back-hoe that squeaks. He eats, too, in the dead of the night, where no one can catch him gnawing on the bones of a recently deceased relative.

It puts a pink glow on his cheeks, which Jensen notices the next day during class. If he had a beating heart, it would have skipped. He’s not quite sure if it’s him, or the residual memories that this body still holds on to (it was in love with a green-eyed, freckled boy once), that makes Jared feel young again. Either way, it feels right, so Jared grins and knocks his foot against Jensen’s.

Jensen ignores him, pushes up his glasses further on his nose, and tries to concentrate on Shakespeare’s sonnets.

“You know,” Jared mentions casually, after they’re in the hallway, stalling for time between classes, “Shakespeare wrote a lot of those to a boy he had a crush on.”

“Hm,” Jensen says, putting his books back into his locker. He tenses slightly when Jared slips his hand into Jensen’s, the same way he’d like to slip the rest of his body into Jensen.

“I like you,” Jared whispers, “I like you a lot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He wants to kiss Jensen, scrape his teeth on Jensen’s alabaster skin and lick into every hidden crevasse. Jensen pulls away though, leaving only their hands intertwined before Jared has the chance to bite down.

By lunch time, he’s thoroughly agitated, throwing an apple the color of Jensen’s eyes into the air. There’s a hunger in Jared’s bones that can’t be contained by a shitty school lunch, or the plastic, fake-wooden table between them.

“What’s up, Jared?” Jensen asks, when he finally takes his nose out of his book.

“Dunno. Don’t feel like sitting around.”

They’ve still got thirty minutes left, and Jensen suggests a run around the track to calm his nerves. Jared would prefer pushing Jensen up against the brick wall and biting into the soft crease of Jensen’s thigh, but he agrees anyways.

Despite Jared’s long legs, Jensen runs faster than him. Laps him, even, going on their third mile.

“Fuck you,” Jared huffs, after they’ve finished their fourth mile in twenty-minutes. There’s not a part of Jensen’s face that isn’t flushed pink with blood, or dripping sweat, and this time Jared can’t help himself. He nuzzles into the junction of Jensen’s jaw bone and licks a stripe up his face.

It’s a flavor that Jared’s never tasted before—salty, yes but mixed with something both muskier and sweeter all at once. He starts tonguing the hollow of Jensen’s neck with a darker intent, teeth making their way out of his mouth to bite down on the tendons jutting out from underneath freckled skin.

The press of Jensen’s hard length against the thin basketball shorts that he’s wearing brings Jared back from the edge. From where he’d been ready to bite, to claim, to devour.

Something he hasn’t done in hundreds of years.

“Fuck, Jared, goddamn.”

Jared’s own dick rises as Jensen rides his leg, holding on to Jared’s shoulders like they’re the only thing keeping him up.

Jensen closes his eyes when he comes, hips losing their rhythm completely, lips falling slack, legs quivering like those of a newborn foal.

“Sorry,” he mutters, wiping Jared’s spit off his lips, after he’s regained enough of himself to feel shame. “I’ve never lost it like that before…”

Jared looks down to where there’s probably a wet patch on the inside of Jensen’s jeans, only they’re too dark for it to show through.

“Hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Jared replies truthfully, right before he takes Jensen’s hand and guides it to cup his own dick.

*

Jensen invites him to the football game on Friday, gnaws on his bottom lip shyly, and looks up at Jared through wide, worried eyes as if he thinks that Jared’s going to say no. Says that he’ll be out on the field, that he’d love if Jared came and watched.

“You play football?”

Not in his wildest, fresh-blood-induced feverish dreams can he imagine sweet, glasses-wearing, book-loving, Jensen tackling a guy to the ground.

Jensen swallows, and gives him a nervous smile. “No. I’m, uh, on the cheerleading squad. That’s, you know—why I’m wearing this outfit.”

Jared looks him up, and then down again. Long, black pants fit tightly around Jensen’s thighs, accentuating the curve of his ass. On instinct, Jared squeezes it, wishing that he could bite instead, where his fingers are digging in to firm flesh.

“Huh,” he says into Jensen’s lips, “guess I’m dating a cheerleader then. Isn’t that every high school guy’s wet dream?”

Jensen kicks him in the shin for good measure.

“Pretty sure you’re missing the skirt though, sweetheart.”

This time, Jared has to duck to avoid Jensen slapping the back of his head.

*

The football game is boring. Full of average boys who aren’t Jensen chasing balls in spandex and shoulder pads.

Jensen, though. Jensen isn’t average. Not by a long shot. He can do the splits, as it turns out. He can also shake his hips in filthy little thrusts that should only be for Jared’s eyes, and makes his inner monster scratch at the surface. It wants to claw out of his skin and take Jensen on the field. Make it so that no one will ever look at Jensen again without remembering Jared too.

He holds it together. Barely. Until the end of the game, when Jensen’s being touched, grabbed, hugged by people who aren’t him.

“What’s wrong?” Jensen asks, when he sees Jared’s face. “You look like you’re about to murder someone.”

He drags Jensen then, by his sweaty palm, the tops of his cheekbones accented by black paint, to a dark space underneath the bleachers.

It’s deserted, unlit. Exactly the type of place that Jared feels most at home. He quiets Jensen’s questions with soft kisses and teases of his teeth.

“Don’t like anyone seeing you like that, getting to touch you. Watching as you practically humped the air.”

Jensen laughs, full bodied, head thrown back, exposing his throat to Jared. He nips, but doesn’t draw blood.

“You were jealous?”

Whatever it was, it wasn’t a pleasant feeling, and definitely not one that Jared’s used to experiencing.

Jared growls in response, letting his real, razor sharp teeth edge out for a second. Luckily, Jensen’s too busy laughing, hand on Jared’s chest to notice.

What he does discover, however, is Jared’s distinct lack of a heartbeat. He checks to make sure, pressing his ear against Jared’s chest. Listening, even though there’s nothing to hear.

“Jay?” he questions softly. “Why isn’t your heart beating?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.” Jensen gestures to Jared’s un-beating chest. “I believe in that. People don’t just wake up without a heartbeat one day.”

“You’re right. I wasn’t born with one. I’m uh…not human either. I’m a ghoul.”

“A what?”

“A ghoul. The undead, shape-shifting, flesh-eating, creatures that inhabit burial grounds.”

“What’s your real shape, then?” Jensen asks, like he’s waiting for Jared to change on demand.

It doesn’t work that way though. Honestly, Jared doesn’t even remember. He’s been posing as human for too long. “I don’t know. Definitely walked on two feet. Human-like, except with claws and teeth.”

He pauses, “But I consider this my own reflection when I look in the mirror. It’s been mine since he died on the battlefield outside of Rome before the Empire fell.”

“…and you ate him?”

“Of course. That’s what ghouls eat. Humans. Mostly dead, occasionally alive.”

Jensen stumbles, pupils blown wide, holding on to a metal beam for support. “…So what I am to you, Jared? Food? Did you bring me back here to eat me?”

“No, of course not. I mean, sure, you smell delicious, and I’d love to take a bite…”

Jensen turns even paler at that. If he loses any more color, he could be in the running for the world’s most-alive ghost.

“—But I wouldn’t, not unless you let me…” Jared exclaims. “I didn’t lie, Jensen. I like you. A lot. The most I’ve ever liked anyone in my long years on this planet.”

“And how many years exactly is that?” Jensen asks weakly.

“Around two-thousand. Give or take a couple hundred.”

“Great. Every high school boy’s wet dream—having a two-thousand year old boyfriend.”

Jared shrugs, “Thought that kind of shit was popular with your generation.”

“Yeah. Because you’d want me. After everything you’ve seen. Everyone you’ve had. Everyone you’ve eaten. Somehow I’m special? Yeah right.”

Dropping to his knees, Jared nuzzles into Jensen’s crotch. Tries to show him in the best way he knows how, that he wants Jensen. That he’s ready to take whatever Jensen’s willing to give.

“Of course I want you. You’re beautiful, and smart, and a fucking high school cheerleader. What’s not to love?”

He mouths over Jensen’s fattening dick, licks and sucks until Jensen’s gasping puffy breaths of air. When he takes out Jensen’s dick from where it was tucked underneath a cheap polyester-cotton blend, leaning slightly to the left, it jumps towards him. Jared obliges and opens his mouth, swallowing Jensen down to the root. Jensen’s not as big as he’ll get, probably still has an inch or two of growth in both length and thickness. Regardless, he’s already a decent size.

It takes less than a minute for Jensen to come, his hands in Jared’s hair, trying to push him off the instant before he spurts, hot and bitter into Jared’s waiting mouth. Jared swallows it down, feeding his own monster in the process. Just enough to take the edge off. To taste Jensen’s essence without hurting him.

“Still want to be my boyfriend?” he asks, kissing Jensen through his aftershocks, sharing the bitter flavor. “Can’t promise I won’t nibble on you from time to time.”

“Do you live in a graveyard?” Jensen mocks, until he catches the way that this time it’s Jared who’s blushing and looking at his feet. “Seriously?”

“I’ll get an apartment, if you say yes.”

Jensen presses his lips against Jared’s, lets Jared make them wet with spit before he pulls back.

“How’s that for an answer?”


***end**