whiskygalore: (Jensen 2)
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They're in a pub when they hear the news. It's been a cold, wet and dreich February day. Both of them had been caught up in work; Jensen trying to wrangle a class of wet-weather cabin-fevered eight-year olds into painting sunsets (ironic considering the sun hadn't put in an appearance for days) and Jared, well - being a vet in the middle of lambing season, Jared was presumably up to his armpits in something Jensen doesn't want to contemplate while eating his mince and tatties.

As usual, the small television attached to the wall in the corner of the room is on, sound turned down low, subtitles scrolling along the bottom of the picture. And as usual Jensen hasn't been paying much attention to it; more often than not it's a football game that's playing or the news that’s on and that is never anything but depressing these days. He doesn't even know why he looks up at that precise second, there's just something - something that catches his eye. People cheering, and kissing and Saltires and rainbow flags flying.

"Holy shit!" Jensen gasps, fork slipping through his fingers and clattering onto his plate, gravy splattering everywhere. "Holy fucking shit! They did it!"

"Did what?" Jared asks around a mouthful of mashed potato, his back to the television and utterly oblivious.

"Passed it. I don't believe it. They fucking did it, Jared."

Jared scrunches his nose up in confusion, and twists around to face the TV screen, curious to see what Jensen's raving about. He doesn't seem to notice when his own fork slides right out of his hand and bounces off the dingy pub carpet. "Holy fuck, I can't believe we forgot the vote was today."

When he turns back, he's grinning so hard that his dimples are deeper than Jensen's ever seen them. "I told you. I fucking told you."

"Yeah, you fucking did," Jensen grins back.

Flying high on elation, they smile, euphoric, at each other across the table, desperate to celebrate the way the occasion - momentous, historical, fucking miraculous - deserves. Unfortunately they're both very conscious of where they are; their local pub, a friendly enough place, but the patrons are a mixed crowd, not all of whom would likely appreciate public snogging, let alone public gay snogging between the local vet and primary school teacher.

It's Jensen, and that's a surprise to them both, who throws caution to the wind. "Fuck it," he growls, jumping up, snagging the front of Jared's sweatshirt, yanking him to his feet and dragging him in for a kiss. A real lip smacker that's messy and rough but utterly carefree. They break apart panting and grinning to a chorus of whoops and catcalls. Jensen's face immediately flushes beet red, and he claps his hand over his eyes, groaning as Jared performs a deep bow in every direction.

"You asked him to marry you, Padalecki?" The landlord, Duncan, yells from behind the bar.

"Not yet," Jared calls back.

"Well, don't wait too long; someone else might snap him up - he's a right bonnie laddie." Duncan winks lecherously at Jensen, letting out a booming belly-laugh as his wife slaps his arm. For a moment Jensen honestly thinks his face might combust, but instead the laughter bubbling up in his chest explodes, bursting out like a shower of fizzing champagne, light and joyous. It's a good night.

***


The service is beautiful. Everything they hoped for and more. As soon as Jared takes hold of his hand, Jensen's nerves dissipate, floating away into the ether like a frosted puff of breath. He forgets the cold, and the people watching them. Forgets everything but what's important to him - Jared.

The promises they make, the vows they exchange, were written with a half-chewed biro on the back of an envelope over an Indian take-away, and a couple of bottles of lager, on a night that had ended in spicy kisses and slow hand-jobs on the sofa. The vows aren't traditional, but they're real, honest, every word heartfelt. It's not a traditional wedding in any respect, and it's not religious at all, but it's as sacred and binding as any ceremony held in any church.

When Jared repeats his vows he stops to brush the tears from Jensen's eyes, and as Jensen slips the ring on Jared's finger snowflakes drift down from the sky like confetti. When the registrar announces them officially, legally, married and finally prompts them to kiss, Jensen and Jared fall into one another, drawn together like magnets, and as unwilling to separate. Their guests are clapping in delight by the time they peel apart. The registrar flushed pink and looking skyward.

It's everything Jensen wanted. And thought he could never have. It's beautiful. And magical. And bitterly, ball-shrinkingly, cold.

Hand in hand, giggling like giddy teenagers, Jared and Jensen run through the snow, slip sliding, kicking up drifts, all the way to the shelter of the castle. Their family and friends following close behind as the pretty swirling flakes of snow turns into a face-numbing blizzard.

***


It was a lazy Sunday morning, maybe it had even slipped unnoticed past noon. They'd read every section of the newspapers, drunk coffee and eaten bacon sandwiches, all in bed, dressed in boxers and t-shirts, rumpled and relaxed. Somehow they'd ended up side by side, top to toe, Jared's head at the bottom of the bed, his hand wrapped around Jensen's leg, Jensen's hand lying on Jared's thigh, absentmindedly tracing around the edges of his tattoo.

They might have been edging towards sex, slowly, with teasing touches, or they might have simply been drifting off to sleep, wrapped comfortably in each other. Either way, Jared's question comes out of the blue. Random and cryptic.

"So do you want to?"

"Want to what?" Jensen mumbles, grudging the energy it takes to form words. He's relaxed, and sleepy.

"Do it?"

"Do what?"

Jared huffs as though Jensen should know exactly what he's talking about, and he hasn't just started a conversation mid-way through.

"Get married."

That cuts through Jensen's muzzy half-asleep fog. "What?"

"Do you want to get married?" Jared speaks slowly, clearly, sarcastically enunciating each word.

Jensen slaps his thigh, hard enough to leave a bright pink handprint. "That's not very fucking romantic you wanker."

Jared laughs, rolls over, crawls up the bed on his elbows and climbs on top of Jensen, straddling him so their groins are squashed together and caging him with his arms, dipping his head so they're nose to nose. "Do you, Jensen freckle-face Ackles, want to marry me, Jared hung-like-a-horse Padalecki, in sickness and in sex, for richer or drunker-"

"I don't think that's quite how it goes," Jensen chuckles nervously, his heart battering so hard against his chest that Jared must be able to hear it.

"So?" Jared says, his voice sobering, his eyes not straying from Jensen's. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes," Jensen says on a rush of breath. "Yes, yes, yes. Please."

Jared grins, throws back his head and whoops. Then he’s kissing Jensen, desperate and ecstatic and unrestrained, more a messy collision of teeth than lips, then he laughs again, grabs Jensen's hips and spins them around so Jensen is lying astride him. "You said yes," he says breathlessly. "You said yes!"

"Of course I did, you idiot; I love you."

The kiss, this time, is perfect.

***


While the wedding ceremony may not have been terribly traditional, the party afterwards definitely is. A typical boozy Scottish wedding reception; plenty of food, too much cheap fizzy wine, whisky galore, a fantastically big cake and more than one sappy speech. And then music and dancing that brings the whole room alive.

The dancing actually starts off sedately enough; Jared and Jensen taking to the floor for the bridal waltz. Or rather the groomly shuffle; it’s possible they shouldn’t have just pissed themselves laughing when Jared's sister suggested they take some lessons or at least practise waltzing. The smug smirk Mhairi gives them as she watches their poor effort from the side-lines suggests she is having the last laugh. Thankfully Jared's parents, and then the rest of his family, and then the entire wedding party soon join them. Before long the floor is bursting with couples, old and young, side by side, the newlyweds relaxing as they get lost amongst the crowd. Jared sings along with their favourite Ed Sheeran song, off-key but Jensen doesn't care. Jared's breath tickles Jensen's ear and he lays his head on his husband’s shoulder, closes his eyes and smiles contentedly.

They join in with country dancing. Jensen grumps and pouts, making a show of reluctance, but secretly he enjoys it, especially dancing with Jared, whose enthusiasm more than makes up for his clumsy feet. They dance the Gay Gordon's, obviously, then the Military Two Step, and the Dashing White Sergeant and by the time the accordionist finishes the last note of a frantic Strip the Willow all the dancers are hot, dizzy and giggling. And in need of a stiff drink.

Later on in the evening, when the disco replaces the ceilidh band, Jared snags Jensen away from the bar where he's talking to Alexander; "One last dance, baby," he breathes in Jensen's ear, a demanding plea whispered in heather honey tones. "Then I think we should slip away."

Jensen couldn't agree quicker. The whole day has been incredible, but he's more than ready for their wedding night. They've been apart for days now, at Jared's parent’s suggestion, and Jensen has missed his boyfriend, his husband, more than he thought possible. He desperately needs to have Jared to himself again, needs to have those plains of golden skin under his fingertips, needs to claim him back.

They don't manage to slip away as quietly as planned, but eventually, dusted in confetti and with cheers ringing in their ears, they make their escape. They aren't staying in the castle, even though there is a perfectly good honeymoon suite. Jared was convinced that their friends would sabotage the room, and Jensen, not wanting to deal with an apple-pied bed or a room full of balloons or anything worse, was in full agreement.

Instead, Jensen lets Jared lead him around the estate to a row of stone guest cottages looking pretty under their snow-topped roofs. Jared takes a key from his sporran and unlocks the door to a welcoming little cottage, light spilling out of it's window and smoke swirling out of the chimney.

As soon as they step inside the cottage its warmth envelops them, thawing out Jensen's ice-pop nose and easing his chattering teeth. "This is beautiful," he says gazing around the room; cosy and homey, if a little touristy, with its tartan curtains, throws, cushions and a big picture of a stag above the fireplace. In front of the roaring fire is a luxurious sheepskin rug, a bottle of malt whisky and two crystal glasses. It's a complete cliché, but fuck if Jensen doesn't almost tear up.

"The hotel staff are awesome," Jared says, kicking off his boots and crossing to the rug and the whisky.

"You're awesome," Jensen says, because he knows that Jared must have organised this. Following his husband's lead, he kicks off his boots, takes off his sporran, and strips out of his jacket, then joins Jared and accepts the whisky he offers him, their fingers brushing around the glass.

"To us," Jared says, clinking his glass against Jensen's.

"To us," Jensen agrees, taking just a sip that burns deliciously as it rolls down his throat, kindling the fire in his belly.

In silent agreement, the both set down their drinks. The air between them heavy with tension, Jared's eyes dark and Jensen's mouth suddenly dry.

"I missed you," Jensen admits, voice rough.

"Me too," Jared smiles.

Jensen has no idea why nerves are fluttering against his rib cage; it feels like first date jitters all over again. Jared cradles Jensen's cheek with his hand, Jensen shivers and leans into his touch without thinking about it. They move together, Jared angling his head down, Jensen tilting his up, their lips meeting in a soft moan.

They stand there, the heat of the fire toasting their legs, and kiss until Jensen's lips sting; mapping each other's mouths with lips and tongues as though they've been forced apart for months instead of days. Jensen slides his hands across Jared's chest, feels the muscles ripple under the thin cotton of his shirt, can't help the appreciative hum that leaks from his mouth into Jared's. Jared's fingers start a journey of their own, dragging Jensen's loose tie from his collar, and dropping it to the floor, then tugging his shirt free from the waist of his kilt before fumbling at the impossibly small buttons. It soon turns into a race to see who can rid the other of their shirt first. Jared wins. But so does Jensen. There are no losers when Jared's mouth nuzzles against Jensen's collar bone.

Jared's teeth worrying a brand into his skin doesn't distract Jensen from his task of undressing Jared, of undoing Jared. The sight of him without his shirt, as usual, hits Jensen like a punch in the solar plexus. His arms, still tanned from months of working outside in the summer, are thick with corded muscle. His shoulders broad and strong. His chest sculpted into a work of art, all the more beautiful for the celtic-knot tattoo over his heart, a match for the one inked into Jensen's skin; a tangible symbol of their love, their commitment. Jensen's gaze drifts further down, over Jared's lean waist and his stomach, his defined abs begging to be licked. And Jensen has no hesitation in doing just that.

Fingers gripping into the golden skin of Jared's arms, Jensen pushes his weight forward, urging Jared down. With only a slight grumble of discontent, Jared cedes control, allows Jensen to place him exactly where he wants; flat on his back cushioned by the fluffy sheepskin rug, Jensen between his legs.

Jensen undoes the three leather buckles holding Jared's kilt together, opens it up as though he's unwrapping a Christmas present. Shudders when he sees the surprise waiting for him.

"Fuck, Jared, if I'd known you were going commando I don't think I could've waiting this long to get my mouth on you."

Jared smirks, "A true Scotsman doesn't wear underpants, baby. You know that."

"I'm surprised your nuts didn't freeze off," Jensen snorts.

"Yeah, not going to fib, it was a close call. If you'd turned up late I might have suffered some pretty nasty frost bite," Jared grins, his eyes crinkling up, "A bad case of blue balls you might say."

Jensen groans, "Puns - now, Jared, is it really the time?"

Jared thrusts his hips up into the air, his half-hard cock slapping against his thigh. "Well, maybe you should do something to shut me up."

Jensen licks his lips, tantalisingly slow, deliberate, watches Jared's eyes follow the lazy movement of his tongue. Leans forward, hands braced on Jared's shoulders, pinning him down. Presses a gentle kiss to the side of Jared's neck, just at the spot that makes his whole body quiver. "Maybe I should. You want me to suck you, Jared? Swallow you down? Suck those balls into my mouth until they're tight and full and you're ready to blow?"

"Fuck...yeah," Jared drawls, his eyes flickering shut. He's a sucker for dirty talk, although usually he's the one whispering filth into Jensen's ear. A few years ago, Jensen couldn't even listen to Jared's dirty talk without his face exploding like a splattered tomato, now though, when it's just the two of them, now he has a mouth almost as filthy as Jared's.

"Yeah?" Jensen says, his breath hot against Jared's skin. "I'm afraid you're gonna have to wait, baby."

Jared groans in frustration as Jensen chuckles.

Jensen wants to make the most of their night together. Doesn't want a five-minute quickie in front of the fire. He wants this to be a night to remember. With a self-control that doesn't come easily, he takes his time to feast on Jared's body. Licks a meandering trail across the firm rise of Jared's chest, echoes the path with his fingers, feather soft and teasing. Traces over the ink etched across his heart with absolute reverence. Laps at his dusky brown nipples, turning them into hard little peaks, raw and red, until Jared whines and wriggles, impatient as always. He moves down to Jared's belly, presses sloppy kisses to silky soft skin, swirls his tongue in to the dip of his navel. Sucks purpling marks into the sharp cut of his hips until they're sure to bruise.

Ghosting his breath over Jared's dick, but deliberately by-passing it, he turns his attention to his husband's glorious thighs, his gorgeous never-ending legs; massages every knot of tension loose from powerful muscles, maps the tattoo spread across Jared's thigh with the tip of his tongue. He even slides off Jared's woollen socks and digs his thumbs into the arches of his feet, peppers delicate kisses to his ankle bones.

By the time he does venture anywhere near Jared's dick, the flames in the fireplace are burning low, crackling and spitting as they die, and Jared is bucking his hips up, looking for any kind of friction, his fingers yanking at the rug so hard it's likely to end up bald.

Jensen doesn't torture him any longer, his own resolve and patience strained to the limit. He still doesn't go straight for Jared's cock though; he's far too keen to get his mouth somewhere else.

He loves Jared's balls, doesn't care how weird or just plain slutty that makes him sound. He fucking loves them. They're so big, so fucking beautiful, smell so musky, so intensely Jared. Some nights all Jensen wants to do is drop to his knees and wrap his lips around them, feel them throb inside his mouth, muffling his whimpers, suckle on them until Jared's control splinters, cracks apart, and he fucks Jensen's mouth; desperate, rough and deliciously brutal. Holds his head in place and uses him, dick shoving into the heat of his mouth, heavy balls slamming against his chin until Jared comes in hot spurts down Jensen’s throat. Makes Jensen choke on it. Come leaking from the corner of his ruined mouth, smeared across his face. His lips swollen and his throat raw, his voice a bruised rasp.

Now, Jensen grabs the opportunity to lavish Jared’s balls with the attention they deserve. Licks abstract patterns across the velvet soft skin, kisses them open-mouthed and messy, draws them into his mouth, sucks at them until his cheeks bulge and he can barely breathe, until they're dripping with saliva and Jensen's face is flushed red, spit drooling down his chin, his own dick leaking in satisfaction. One of these days he's going to come just from Jared's balls slapping against his mouth.

Jared's fingers yank at his hair, trying to find purchase in the short strands, his body jerking below Jensen, his breathing laboured. If he still had functioning brain cells he'd be begging.

When Jensen's finally sated his own hunger, he takes pity on his husband and turns his attention to his dick, purple headed with need, jerking in the air and slapping against his belly. Done with every hint of teasing, Jensen swallows him down as much as he can; he's pretty sure only a sword swallower could take Jared down to the root, and that's not one of Jensen's talents. He uses his hands instead; fondling and jerking Jared's cock at the same time as sucking him off, savouring the taste of come dripping against his tongue, salty and a little bitter, and totally addictive, spurring Jensen on. It’s not a perfect blow-job, too sloppy, too impatient, but by the incoherent noises Jared's making, and the way his back is bowing, he doesn't mind.

Jensen wants to keep going, wants to gag on Jared's cock until he spills down his throat, and Jensen thinks that's exactly what's going to happen when he feels Jared's nuts squeezing up, his muscles tensing. But then with a determined burst of effort, Jared shoves Jensen backwards, lies panting for a second, chest heaving. Then he growls, and before Jensen knows it, he's the one flat on his back.

Jared doesn't waste time undoing the buckles on Jensen's kilt, just rucks the heavy material up instead, baring Jensen's thighs, his crotch. The groan that rips free from his throat sends a shiver straight up Jensen's spine and a rush of heat to his belly. "Fucking panties. You've been wearing panties all fucking day. Jensen...I can't even....so bloody sexy."

They are deep red silk, with black scalloped lace-edging, and considering how turned on Jensen is, how goddamn desperate he is, they're probably soaked through.

Jared sits back on his haunches just staring for so long that Jensen's belly starts to twist, his cock twitching against the barely-there restraint of flimsy fabric. And when Jared - a flush of colour splashed across his face and his eyes eaten up by black - finally moves, he doesn't even slide the panties down Jensen's hips, just seals his mouth over the silk and sucks at Jensen's dick through the delicate barrier. Jensen throws his arm across his eyes, biting at his bottom lip to hold back his whimper.

The wet drag of silk against his cock is a torturous pleasure. A blissful torment. Jensen wants more, doesn't want Jared to stop, wants to come as much as he wants this to last forever. Jared's strong fingers span Jensen's hips, holding him steady as he writhes against the sheep-skin rug, nerves afire and skin burning up.

"Fuck," Jared gasps, lifting his head. "Fucking look at you."

Jensen whines, high and needy. Not sure what he wants more; Jared's mouth back on his dick, or Jared's cock in his arse.

Jared solves the problem. "Turn over, Jensen. Bloody hell, need to get inside you right the fuck now."

Jensen scrambles onto all fours, Jared having to help him when he gets caught up in his kilt, the swathes of material tangling around his knees. They still don't stop to remove it; Jared just flips it up over Jensen's back. He does tug Jensen's panties down over the curve of his ass, freeing his erection so it slaps up against his belly. Jensen wiggles his butt impatiently when Jared disappears.

"Okay, you impatient hussy, I'm just grabbing the lube."

Jensen twists his neck and looks over shoulder, sees Jared produce a small bottle of lube from his discarded sporran.

"You had lube in your sporran? What are you a bloody boy-scout?" Jensen sniggers. "Or," he quirks a cheeky grin, "Maybe you just can't last three days without my peachy bum."

Jared smacks Jensen's arse cheek in response, his voice as dark and smooth as bitter chocolate when he replies. "It’s not like you can talk; slutting around all day with panties on. If I'd known that I would have bent you over sooner, fucked you loose and sloppy and sent you back out there with my come leaking out your hole, making a mess of those pretty silk panties."

It might be the filth flowing from Jared's lips, or maybe it's the sharp slap against his bum, but either way Jensen's cock immediately jerks, pulses; a drop of precome dripping onto the rug below him. Jared spanks him again and Jensen drops his head and lifts his butt up higher, eager, his belly squirming and pressure already building in his balls.

Jared doesn't waste much time prepping him; fingers him open with well-practiced efficiency. Even that has Jensen's cock dribbling a steady stream of come onto the floor. One finger, quickly becomes two, then three. Although Jared uses a generous amount of lube to slick the way, there's still a burn, a sharp sting of too much, too soon. Jensen's too carried away to care. Just shoves his ass out more, fucks himself back on Jared's fingers, greedy for the stretch, the fullness.

When Jared slides his fingers out, Jensen grumbles petulantly in dismay. "You really are being a needy slut tonight. It's only been days, Jensen not weeks. Are you that desperate?"

"Yes," Jensen sighs, inhales deeply catching his breath. "For you, yes I am. Always."

He shivers when Jared presses a tender kiss in the middle of his shoulder blades, and then stops breathing altogether when Jared's dick pushes into his hole, steady, insistent, so goddamn thick, filling Jensen up past comfortable. Even as the ache in his ass spreads, radiates up his spine, through his ribs, Jensen groans in approval, and his dick doesn't soften at all.

For all his filthy talk about Jensen's neediness, Jared's just as desperate. Where usually he would wait for Jensen to tell him to move, maybe tease a little, swivel his hips, start off with slow shallow thrusts to make Jensen, beg - demand - more, tonight he pounds into Jensen almost straight away. One hand clasping Jensen's shoulder, the other clamped around his waist, gouging finger shaped bruises into freckled skin.

Jensen submits wholly, gives his body over to Jared. Throws his head back, closes his eyes, lets his jaw fall slack, punched moans breaking free every time Jared slams into him. The rough material of his kilt scrapes across his back, the panties around his thighs trapping his legs together, his dick slapping against his belly with every jarring thrust. The flames of the fire are dwindling low, in danger of flickering out, but Jensen's burning up, droplets of perspiration trickling down his face, catching on his lips, pooling at the hollow of his throat.

"Fuck," Jared says, slamming in hard once more before drawing out all the way, his thick cock dragging against the sensitive rim of Jensen’s hole leaving him whining at the loss. "Want to see you, baby. Need to see your face." Then he's shoving frantically at Jensen, urging him over, scrabbling to haul off his panties, the rip of silk suggesting the panties don't survive. Jensen's kilt goes next, after some choice swear-words from Jared; his fingers, clumsy and clammy, struggling to unfasten the buckles.

Eventually they're both naked, skin against skin, hot to touch and glistening with sweat. Jensen bent in half, his ankles over Jared's shoulders, Jared sliding back into Jensen's slick hole with a satisfied groan. He pounds into Jensen again, an unforgiving rhythm; balls, heavy with spunk, slapping obscenely against Jensen's ass, adjusts his angle, his aim, until Jensen gasps and whines; Jared's cock grazing his prostate perfectly. Ripples of pleasure spreading through his body, his muscles loose, his nerves alight. They know each other's bodies so well, know each other's tells. Jensen knows exactly when Jared is about to blow. The little stutter his hips give, the way his eyes widen, his lips part. It's all Jensen needs, he only has to wrap his fingers around his own cock, his thumb brushing under the head, and he's coming, creamy ropes of spunk exploding over his own belly, over Jared's too, just as Jared squeezes his eyes shut and yells out his own release.

Jared pants above him, his hair sticking to his cheeks, perspiration dripping down his nose and splashing onto Jensen's chest, converging with the sticky mess of come and sweat already coating him.

It’s possible they've had better sex but Jensen doesn't think so. Not when he's flying high on an orgasm that leaves him boneless and shaking. Not when it's his husband - his actual legal and binding with the goddamn paperwork to prove it - husband that's staring down at him, his heart thundering so fiercely that Jensen can feel it pulsing through his own body, in perfect time with the rhythm of his own jack-rabbit heartbeat.

He wishes they could stay like this for ever, lost in each other's eyes, breathing the same air, joined together in every way possible. Unfortunately Jensen is neither a gymnast nor a yoga instructor. "Move your fat ass," he gasps, romance out of the window when he has an almighty cramp in his glutes.

"I love you too, dear." Jared snorts, rolling off of Jensen, and collapsing on the floor beside him. Being a good husband, he manhandles Jensen on to his side and kneads his spasming muscle until the cramp eases.

Jensen leans back against him, happy to be the little spoon until the need to clean up overrides the need to snuggle. "I love you," he says. "Today…today was amazing, absolutely perfect, thank you."

"Thank you for making an honest man out of me," Jared says, nuzzling against the short hairs, damp with sweat, at the nape of Jensen's neck. "And I love you too. So fucking much that it scares me shitless."

Jensen slides his fingers through Jared's, holding his arms around him tight; wordlessly assuring him that he feels exactly the same way. They aren't going to be able to lie there for long. The fire in the hearth is barely more than embers and the cold night is creeping up on them. Another two minutes won't hurt though. And then Jensen might worry about how much it's going to cost to dry clean the rug.

finis
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