After the first coffee, the smell of him sharpens, becomes both heavier and slightly acrid. After coffee, it's business, and Jared sighs as he does every morning and pulls on human for the day. He can be careless, early. An uncaffeinated Jensen won't notice if Jared's eyes are a little odd in their shading, if his hair is wilder or his fingernails horned.
Over the day, Jensen's scent grows thicker and richer, complex with the leather and metal of the Impala and dry paper scripts and false blood and moisturiser. After lunch, he smells of food, as if he should be lounging in sunlight, not walking through Dean's lines. Jared touches too much in the afternoon, can't help it, he wants to ruffle Jensen's fur and lick up the back of his neck and curl up in a heap of fattened bellies and legs. Needs to mark Jensen with his scent, wipe out those other human scents, all those people who touch Jensen so carelessly as if he's not already some-one's mate.
Jensen smells richest in the evening, dinner and beer and sweat and laughter. In the evenings, Jensen runs with the pack. Sometimes, it's the set pack, the great pack, and nose twitching Jared watches the family politics play out, the alliances and scuffles and matings. Jared's happy with the great pack, but he's happiest when Jensen easy grin night time sleek is hanging out on the couch with the puppies. Drunk enough, he'll pet Jared's fur, hands strong and supple. Jared sleeps best with his head on Jensen's stomach and one paw curled under his thigh, and he's been known to growl when Jensen thinks about going to bed. "You big girl," Jensen's said affectionately.
He's got no idea. Jensen doesn't know he's pack yet.
"Eh?" Jared asks. The steak's got ten more seconds under the grill and he's keeping a sharp eye on it in case it runs away.
"Some wannabe gangsta. But your dogs... "
"Mm," Jared says, wielding tongs.
"Harley growled, man, and the thing cringed. You been training them in doggy psychic ninja warfare?"
"Steak's up," Jared says, dropping the plates on the table. He looks down at Harley, big brown eyes glinting back at him, and grins. Harley yawns. Sadie's already half asleep.
His pack's under his eye and fed. Jared's happy.
It doesn't take long before the crowd thins, an unconscious, uneasy shift. The man rocks from one foot to another, plucks at his jacket sleeve, frowns. He's still too close. He's got to be a long way down the evolutionary scale, this man, the man at the bar. He's got the defensive instincts of a lemming.
When, finally, the man looks round Jared's eyes have started to change. When Jared snarls, upper lip wrinkling in a way no human's could, he lets his lengthened incisors show. Man at the bar doesn't know his guts are five minutes away from stringing the forecourt like fairy lights, but he pales anyway. He doesn't even remember his coat when he leaves, and his sweat smells sweetly of fear.
"Did you see that guy go?" Jensen asks, bringing home the beer. "Asked for an autograph and ran." He pauses. "It's my manly charms," he says, grinning.
"Yeah, yeah," Jared says.
Jareds bed smells delicious.
Stopping in the doorway, Jared lets his bags drop to the carpet. Housekeeping's been in - the room's tidy: the DVDs are neatly stacked and his socks have been herded away to the laundry room - but Jared's attention is fixed on his bed.
It's freshly made, the counterpane pulled tight over the pillows pristine as a hotel showroom. But the smell of it is heady and enticing, nothing he's ever come home to before. Jared's rolling around in the comfort of it before he's shut the door, wriggling and squirming with all four paws in the air. If he'd been younger, there might have been yelps.
It's only when he's thoroughly scented that he realises what he's smelling.
Jensen's jerked off in his bed.
Recently. Jensen's lain on - in - Jared's bed and run a hand over his chest and down to his dick, tugged and stroked and squeezed and brought himself off. He spent a while doing it, too. Maybe more than once. Then he straightened the covers and thought Jared would never know.
Jared gets territoriality.
And Jensen? Jensen's practically begging.
"Aw," Jared says. "Baby, I'm sorry. Let me see?"
It's a neat slice on the fleshy pad of Jensen's thumb, painful and bleeding freely. "Get your great paws - what - " Jensen says, and Jared licks up the line of it, the taste pleasantly sour.
There's the smallest tingle as his saliva mixes with Jensen's blood. "Kissing it better," he says. "You want a plaster?"
All he's got to do now is wait.
He's been fractious and impatient all week. On set, he forgets his lines, mislays his coffee, fumbles his shots. At home he won't settle, moves from couch to floor to kitchen, doesn't sleep well. He's half hard most of the time and has taken to jerking off in breaks between filming, coming back smelling of sweat and come. It's more than distracting.
"Want a hand with that?" Jared asks, once, and when Jensen hesitates before saying, "Fuck off," he has to hide the teeth in his grin. The wolf in him's salivating. The human, kinder, has stocked up on lube. Jared stalks Jensen hour by hour, possessive and jealous, waiting for the moment when Jensen won't be able to say no.
It's Friday when Jensen texts, 'Beer?' They've been on seperate schedules. It's a bad call, because if Jared had seen the feverish glint in Jensen's eyes or the way he shifts from one foot to another on set they might have made it to the trailer. But in the bar, he's off his own ground and agressively wary. Changed, he'd have been stiff-legged and bristling: as it is, he's halfway to a snarl, possessive and aroused. Even from the car park Jensen stinks of sex, hot and greedy and not yet fucked, the smell of him so strong it makes Jared dizzy with lust. From doorway, it's worse: Jensen's got a cocky tilt to his hips Jared's never seen before and a suppliant, showy looseness to his movements that's nothing other than dirty.
He's talking to Misha.
In the general run of things, Jared likes Misha. Not tonight. Jensen gave up his choices when he laid claim to Jared's bed: too late now if he thinks he's got any left. Jensen's Jared's. Scent of him says mate in at least three different interpretations and one of them's urgent: Jared's so close to dragging Jensen out of the bar by the scruff of the neck his teeth ache. He hasn't got any words left for anyone he might know, and he's seriously pissed off with the way Misha, all bright eyes and interest, watches him stalk through the bar. By the time he reaches Jensen, he's snarling. But the way Jensen's body says yes doesn't need words: smell of it's all over his skin. He's all muscle and heat under cotton when Jared gets a hand round his waist, yet Jensen lets Jared pull him half way to the door before his head realises this isn't a game.
" - what the - Jared - " he's saying, and he's struggling to get his feet under him which isn't happening and is irritating, so Jared drops his head and nips Jensen's neck. It's meant to be a warning, but the way Jensen arches into the bite and his ass rubs up hard against Jared's dick is pornographic. Bitch in heat. It's almost game over right there on the barroom floor, and only the smell of outside keeps Jared moving.
"Fucking mine," Jared hisses through a mouthful of more teeth than he's ever shown in a public space before. "Mine." His voice is almost gone, more growl than human.
"Not like this - " and Jensen's fighting against Jared's grip, wanting out, and that's not happening either. There's trees at the back of the lot that smell of pine needles and sorrel, close enough, and Jensen's no stripling but Jared's stronger. He's got one hand on Jensen's throat, claws pressing in, and the other holding him up by his thighs, which is perfect when both of them tumble down on the pine needle drift. Claws-out rip down the front of Jensen's T-shirt strips it off in fluttering ribbons, and his jeans peel down with a rough susurrus that means they're never seeing another Friday night whole. The trainers go too, claw tucked in the heel that probably catches Jensen's skin because Jared smells blood and sex and can't wait any longer. He's human enough to hope Jensen's done this before but not human enough to stop: rolls Jensen over, tugs his hips up to perfect and opens his teeth on the back of the man's neck to hold him down. He's so hard he doesn't even notice if Jensen tries to stop him, just fucks right on in.
And, oh God, it's perfect, and Jensen screams like a vixen and bucks up under Jared's hips, which means he's fucked himself up the length of Jared's dick without even trying. Both of them flinch with the feel of it, and Jensen yelps while his knees scrabble on the pine needles and Jared growls warnings into his neck. Jensen's so fucking tight it's got to be hurting, hot as hell, and Jared's burning. He's got to move, has to move, manages slow while he pulls almost all the way out and Jensen's ass clings and spasms. It's the last thing he does that's got any trace of human: after that it's an animal fucking, jacked up so fast and hard every stroke's branded with ownership. Jared's claws striping Jensen's back and his tongue licking up blood lines, Jensen yowling as they roll on the pine needles, biting and scratching, Jared's thighs pressing Jensen open. Jared's dick leaking come, fucking Jensen open and slick and wet. Both of them stink of musk, heady drugging scent that makes Jared growl and shake his head, skin of Jensen's neck caught in his teeth and Jensen's hands grabbing at his hair. Jensen's not talking, but his body's bowed round Jared's dick and he's whining and his skin smells of want. When his ass clenches down hard and his fingernails claw down Jared's back Jared knows he's just about to come, gets a paw round Jensen's dick just quick enough to feel it jerk and shudder against his palm. Smell of his come is so familiar, so redolent of pack and home, Jared himself starts to come, deep, heavy pulses of his dick in Jensen's ass. Jensen takes it all, shaking, braced under Jared's weight, and when Jared comes now - pack, mate, claiming - it's five minutes of white light behind his eyes and his come almost scalding as it plugs Jensen's ass.
Afterwards, he doesn't want to pull out. Wants to keep Jensen spread out on his dick forever, or at least until he gets hard and does it all over again, which isn't going to be long. But Jensen pushes and tugs and wheezes graphically until Jared does pull out, and then they're both of them sloppy with Jared's come and he has to roll over and sniff at Jensen's crotch. Jensen smells of sex, come and sweat and a trace of musk, and Jared spreads him open, noses at his balls while Jensen feebly tries to bat him away. Scent's strongest lower down, delicious, and and Jared jams his paws under Jensen's ass and lifts, licks down while Jensen's still trying to pull away. Jared's come is leaking from Jensen's hole, tangible proof of possession, and Jared shivers and growls and licks after the taste of it, curling his tongue into the yielding intrigue of Jensen's ass. Tastes so fucking good he hunkers down and tilts up Jensen's hips and pushes in hard, and Jensen shivers and whimpers and spreads his thighs and five minutes later comes with a scream caught in the back of his throat. Jared's not feeling guilty at all about that first fuck, but Jensen's come is perfect for slicking him open all over again and when Jared pushes in this time he knows it's going to take a while.
Jared tries smiling back, and that seems to go okay. Fairly human. Still a few more teeth than normal, and he's not going to guarantee they'll get all the way home without screwing again, not when Jensen smells the way he does.
"Tell me it's not like this every time," Jensen says, plaintive, and holds one hand up. It's still shaking.
Jared pulls a face and shrugs. He's not going to lie.