spn_springfling | And It’s On The Table by homo_pink for <user site="livejournal.

Title: And It’s On The Table
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: R
Any warnings: None

Written by

checkthemargins!

It was actually fine during the summer. It was perfectly fine when he had only one class on Tuesday mornings and could work his schedule around it; wasn’t a thing. But when school starts back up again, he finds himself with more on his plate and just not a big enough mouth and yeah, then it becomes a thing.

Luckily Jeff is cool enough about letting him take night shifts instead and doesn't gripe a whole lot about finding a suitable daytime replacement; and aside from a notch or two of elevated weirdness from the evening clientele – who are less concerned about hiding their floggers and nipple clamps behind the more cutesy, novelty items like flavored lube – it’s pretty much business as usual. Granted, after eleven p.m., the products he has to get down from the shelves do begin to increase in not only expense but dodginess as well.

Then again, it is called TabuToys for a reason and hey, Jensen's not judging anyone for whatever they choose to get up to in the privacy of their own home.

Not even geriatric Mr. Walt Pickens, whose name Jensen only has memorized because he insists on making a show of handing over his identification each time he walks in as if he’s not ridiculously of age to be on the premises, with his odd requests for a self-heating hollow strap-on or wanting to know Jensen’s specific opinion on certain items – like the Stallion Tail pony plug.

Most of the time, he’s able to bluff his way through consumer experience and personal know-how, been-there and Oh yeah, bought that one the day we got shipment. As far as electro probes go, can’t beat it and all with a smile on his face.

It is, to be truthful here, the sort of job that doesn’t require much etiquette or censorship and pays enough that he can stay afloat his mass of bills that someone his age shouldn’t be reduced to. There’s sex, there’s discussing sex, then there’s getting paychecks for excelling at both. It’s basically perfect.

--

The only real downside is the other thing that comes along with the night shift: the peculiar guy who insists being only referred to as Collins and uses a shit ton of hand sanitizer. Jensen thinks he gets it, mostly. Hey, they sell things to some of the grubbiest, germiest looking folks out there. It’s not discriminating if it’s true.

Jensen only knows his first initial because in the back, on the corkboard with everyone’s shifts and phone numbers, he’s listed as M. Collins. When he asks Jeff about it, his boss just shrugs. Jensen doesn’t care enough to keep poking.

Working with Collins turns out to be not that bad. They get along well, hold down the fort when the other takes a long break, and – aside from that time Jensen accidentally walked in on him snapping a photo of his dick being held in his hand adorned in one of the purple latex gloves they use to test out purchases in front of the new owners before they walk out – it could be worse.

--

“This 13" beast will pick you up at the bus stop and leave you dazed and confused in a Tijuana Motel Room!"

Between counting the registers every hour and assisting customers with finding the perfect vibrator for his or her needs and pulling items up from the back room, Jensen amuses himself with reading the labels on things that even after three months of employee history, he still hasn't been able to get to all of. He reads everything, even battery sizes. Not out of personal interest most of the time, usually just a sickeningly morbid curiosity.

He’s holding something called The LA Special in his hands the moment that it happens.

The chime goes off, distantly Collins greets their newest patron in a botched Australian accent and Jensen turns around just in time to catch sight of a guy with longish hair and a shied cub sort of look about him disappear down the rows and rows of DVDs.

And he’d be hard to miss anyway, dude’s like seven feet tall hunched down into his hoodie.

Five minutes later, the guy is at the counter and from the corner of his eye, Jensen can see him drumming against his thigh like a nervous tic and devouring his thumbnail enthusiastically.

--

It’s not a lie what they say, that it’s always the ones you least expect. Someone somewhere came up with that for a reason. Jensen’s seen it all in his time at the shop: girls with mohawks come in and seek out prissy, vanilla things like the Rabbit they saw on Sex and the City; suits and ties with gold nameplated briefcases try to be conspicuous but end up heading right for the tranny section and come back with things like black patent women’s heels made specifically in men’s sizes. Downtown Austin is where crazy breeds.

Nothing shocks him anymore.

--

Thursday has always been his lucky day and it gets confirmed when, not a week later, the same guy wanders back into the shop and this time, Jensen’s behind the counter to welcome him, check his license and offer to be of any service.

And when he gets a close up look at this guy – all high cheekbones and sweetly colored eyes and fuck, dimples – he really means that. Any service.

“Thanks,” the guy – Jared, says. He glances around and spies a wayward customer or two that Jensen couldn’t give a fuck about right now and ducks his head. “I’ll—uh, I’ll let you know.”

He ambles his way through various areas of the store, Jensen paying careful attention to which areas exactly, looking for telltale signs that he’s in Jensen’s league, or shit, just playing in the same ballpark even, but aside from a couple of lingering glances at a neon blue touch bullet – that could be for anything – Jensen gets rewarded only with the feeling of being a stalkery lurker.

When he leaves, it’s with a paperback book on Kama Sutra and a small tube of organic lube and with Collins behind the registers next to Jensen, back from his twenty minute break. The items pretty much tell nothing aside from the fact that the guy obviously enjoys sex but given the circumstances, it’s hardly enough to even be called moot.

If not for the awkward smile and mumbled thanks, despite Jensen only lifting a finger to ring him up, the whole exchange would have been depressingly void of anything like semblance. The smile though, is just for him and it might last for two seconds but just as with a speeding bullet, two seconds is all it needs to hit him right between the eyes.

His brain is out cold for roughly the next three hours, until the end of his shift.

So yeah. Thursdays.

--

“Any particular model I can help you find?” Jensen asks, two weeks later.

Like a startled horse, Jared backs up from where he'd been standing in front of the man-made body parts and looking half scandalized. When he sees it’s Jensen, he shoots him a small grin, shoulders shrugging and he awkwardly goes back to studying different boxes.

“I’m good.”

His cheeks are pink and Jensen knows he’s probably making the kid uncomfortable and he’s just about to pack it in when Jared reaches out and grabs one of the fleshlight boxes – the Jesse Jane one. Jensen’s insides don’t slump in despair and he absolutely doesn’t hide himself in the employee break room like someone just poured pig's blood over his head. He’s still a professional.

He tells Jared that he’s made a fine decision, that it’s a very popular replica and he leaves him to finish his examinations in peace. Stupidly, and not a little spitefully, he almost suggests the pocket asses and it’s on the tip of his tongue to throw in how much tighter and better they are than the pocket pussies. He leaves with his bitterness and disappointment still in check, but. It’s a close thing.

Tall, built, good looking guy like that – probably plays basketball and listens to country and says yes ma’am like his mama instructed – of course he’d be untouchable. Still, Jensen can’t help feeling shot down.

He doesn’t ring Jared up when he leaves, but from where he’s standing at the other register, he can clearly see one of Jesse's films from earlier in her career being packed into the bag along with Jared’s ‘Guaranteed, or your money back!’ fake vagina.

Jensen doesn’t look again.

--

The routine is simple: He punches the timeclock, puts his things away, squeezes his lunch into the small fridge in back, heads out to the floor and stops looking forward to his shifts - even on the nights when he’s pretty sure the guy'll show.

Jared starts coming in more often after that, enough for Jensen to vaguely make out some sort of pattern. ‘Probably whenever he runs out of lube for Jesse,’ his mind unhelpfully supplies.

It’s always for this or for that, nothing too exciting and eventually Jensen stops paying attention altogether.

--

Collins is handling the floor and with the building a dead zone, Jensen slips in his earphones, cranks it up and hunkers down to start in on an essay, his back to the door and nothing on his mind except for a passing grade. An hour goes by and he’s steadily jotting words down, lightly bobbing his head to the music, chewing his lip in layered concentration when a hand rests on his elbow and pulls him – kicking and screaming – out of his little world.

It’s bad enough that he’s reacted so strongly from a single touch – Jesus H, was this person rubbing carpets before they grabbed him!? – but it’s much worse when he yanks an earbud out and looks up to find Jared standing there.

“Sorry,” he says, looking every bit apologetic.

Jensen waves it off, about to yell for Collins to come assist someone when Jared asks what he’s listening to while simultaneously ignoring rules about personal space as he picks up the discarded headphone and pops it into his ear.

Floored, Jensen can only stare and squirm on his stool when Jared’s dimples strike in full force and he starts grinning and tapping his fingers on the counter along to the beat. A minute later, he starts singing. Jensen’s sweaty palm seeps into his homework and he never notices. Thirty seconds more and they’re trading off on the vocals, living out their inner Cornell and Vedder and when Collins comes by and lifts a brow at them, Jensen waves him off.

It's the greatest four minutes he's had in the last four months.

“Oh man,” Jared says, when their impromptu concert is over and he’s handing back the other bud. “I love Temple."

Jensen holds the tiny thing tight in his fist and nods drunkenly.

“Right?”

--

Turns out, Jensen was right.

Jared does shoot hoops and he does favor Pat Green and he does speak to his elders with respect, something Jensen finds out the first time ol’ Walt comes in while Jared’s still loitering around and keeping Jensen company on his breaks.

But he’s also wrong, too.

Jared prefers to watch on TV rather than play but he’s 'gigantic' and it’s something to do. He’s just started at UT this semester and Jensen can’t believe he’s never seen him on campus before, a whole head above practically the entire school. That and about a thousand times more gorgeous. He’s also freshly eighteen — info that does funny things to Jensen’s guts despite his best efforts — and while tear-in-my-beer songs sort of come with the territory, he’d take anything from the Seattle grunge era over them any day.

And.

He also has a secretly vulgar mouth when no one else is around.

Jensen would get down on his knees and pray for this unwanted infatuation of his to go away if it didn’t mean he'd be sorely tempted go ahead and do something else instead while he was already conveniently down there.

--

The price of apartments near campus sucks, a fact Jensen knows firsthand. Jared’s having a moment of self loathing; something about the library not paying enough and his current roommate bringing chicks home and just generally being douchey and saying how he wishes he had something to take his mind off of it all.

A middle aged couple is skimming the Ebony Fetish titles and aren’t paying them the slightest mind when Jensen can’t keep himself from asking, “Fleshy not workin’ out for ya?”

It was meant to come out as a tease, but he sounds more like a jealous rival and Jared goes beet red all the way down to his chest.

“Dude, that wasn’t for me. I’m not into that sort of thing,” he says, still embarrassed but very much offended. In there somewhere, Jensen knows he’s saying something about the roommate, Chaz or Brad or Thumbelina for all the good his ears are doing, but he’s still stuck on the part about Jared not being into that sort of thing and then his mind is cluttering itself with questions that he’s half desperate enough to debate asking.

What sort of things are you into then? Have you ever tried the pocket ass? Have you ever tried the real thing? Wanna go try it right the hell now?

“Collins is getting transferred to daytime,” is what he actually ends up saying. Someone had to cover Jensen’s old shift and Jeff was getting tired of doing it himself and hey, now we have an opening and night shift pays way better than the public library and he’s rambling and talking too fast and getting ahead of himself, knows he is, can’t stop, and If you want, I can put in a good word and Jeff’ll hire you like, right now, and —

And Jared leans down to shut him the fuck up. Right there next to the innocent rows of glass buttplugs, Jared kisses Jensen for the first time and Jensen speaks only in noises.

Okay. So some things do still shock him. Sometimes.

--

There’s sex, there’s discussing sex, then there’s getting paychecks while illicitly partaking in both all over the employee break room after hours with your barely legal, big-all-over, hands like the devil boyfriend. This time, it's actually perfect.