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15 April 2016 @ 07:30 pm
Wednesday Night Down at The Anti-Christ's (1/3) Jared/Jensen  
Title: Wednesday Night Down at The Anti-Christ’s
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 21680
Summary: Jared Padalecki always thought he was just an average guy, until the day his dad told him all about the family business. Now he’s trying to rule hell, and deal with minions who keep offering him virgin sacrifices. If that wasn’t bad enough the latest offering just happens to be the man of his dreams.
Disclaimer: Here be fiction, folks. This isn’t real nor is it meant to reflect the relationship between the two men, whose names and faces I’m borrowing.  This is my very own little take on reality or as I like to think of it now, the wrong trouser leg of time, where our universe and this one split apart, and this universe is bathed in a rosy pink hue.
Author’s Notes: Just in case anyone is wondering, this story was started a long, long time ago and was inspired by a conversation with stir_of_echoes about the colour of Jared’s eyes!  It’s amazing where my imagination goes if it’s left to its own devices. As always many thanks go to bigj52 for her tireless work in turning my scribbles into English. Also a big thank you to milly_gal for encouraging (nagging) me to keep working on this, so if you don’t like the story now you know who to blame *G*.

Wednesday Night photo imageedit_5_2133456062_zpsok1fs7or.gif

In the cavernous dining hall of Lucifer’s palace, four of the highest lords of hell were gathered together. Their collective malevolence would’ve been enough to bring forth the end of days, drown the world in blood, and bring about eternal damnation for the human race. They were the chief advisors to the ruler of hell. The Anti-Christ.

 By rights the four demons should’ve been discussing how to increase the torment for the poor sinners in the pit, but instead they were busy contemplating the new addition to the décor of the dining room.

 In the centre of the room was an unfinished statue, the gleaming white marble block nearly as high as the ceiling, was being carved into a muscular male form.  Astaroth tilted his head to one side, and stared at the work in progress, “It’s.......”  He started then stopped, at a loss for words.  He flicked his tail in bemusement as he contemplated the new work of art. As a demon, Astaroth was uncertain of how to deal with neo-classical sculpture, being much more at home with the abstract 'art' of the racks.  He found the quivering mounds of flayed flesh, intestines and bones, piled high, aesthetically pleasing and familiar.            

Orias was standing beside Astaroth and nodded in agreement, “Oh, it’s... alright,” he commented, worrying at his lip with yellowing fangs. Alistair, grand duke of hell, had commissioned the statue as a gift to the new ruler of hell, to commemorate his ascension to the throne. But in Orias’s opinion, it was Alistair showing the ability to kiss ass on a grand scale.

Zepar shrugged his misshapen shoulders. “I think the word you’re looking for is, impressive.”  He sounded uncertain, saying the word tentatively as if trying it for size.

The last of the demons stood there impassively, his orange eyes fixed firmly ahead; a forked tongue flickered over his lips. “I suppose impressive is one word for it, I can think of others.  Specifically, huge ugly assed thing. Just out of curiosity, has anyone actually asked Lucy Jr. if he likes the damn thing?” Bael turned and asked.

There was a collective hiss, as the other demons drew a sharp breath. Orias found his voice first. “Speak not of the Anti-Christ in such blasphemous terms, lest he.....”

Bael looked scornfully at Orias. “Lest he what? Flick his stupid floppy hair?  Pout at me? I know he’ll whip out the puppy eyes.”  Bael waved his hand dismissively. “It’s hard to be scared of a kid who wears flip-flops.  Our lord Lucifer should never have allowed him to be brought up amongst humans.”  Bael looked searchingly at the others. “Have you ever seen him lose that stupid grin? Let him rant. I bet it’s like being savaged by a puppy hell hound.”

“Hmmm, let’s not forget what a puppy hell hound did to Loki,” Astaroth said dryly, and the others winced in sympathy.

 “It was a tragic accident; Loki should’ve known better than to tease the hounds.  But looking on the bright side, Loki has a lovely soprano range these days,” Zepar said solemnly, as he tried not to laugh.

Astaroth struggled to keep a grin off his face, as his fellow lords sniggered at Loki’s misfortune. Finally, Astaroth regained control of himself, and turned his attention to the statue once more. He took a breath and asked his fellow lords of hell plaintively, “Is it me, or are the eyes on that damn thing just creepy?” Then he shivered as the statue seemed to stare back at him.

The other demons looked up, and contemplated the statue’s creepy eyes again, trying not to flinch as it stared back at them. The demons were so lost in thought, they didn’t hear the huge doors of the dining room swing open, as a man entered the room.

The man smiled when he saw the demons, and strolled leisurely towards them. To a casual observer he seemed more than a little out of place in hell. He wasn’t covered in blood or in possession of claws, a tail or wings.  He appeared to be perfectly ordinary, albeit very attractive, with chocolate-coloured hair that curled loosely around his face.  Even his clothing seemed out of place. Instead of wearing a stylish suit that oozed menace and power, he wore a pair of faded jeans, an Avengers T-shirt and flip-flops that slapped against the glossy black marble floor as he walked.  His long stride soon took him to where the demons gathered at the foot of the statue. He followed their collective gazes upwards and grinned, and then he whistled in appreciation. “Damn, that’s a huge.....”

The four demons spun round, and as one dropped to their knees, Orias spoke for them all. “Greetings, O dread lord, brightest and most beautiful, second only to the Morning Star.  We beg your indulgence, my prince,” he said, as they grovelled before the new ruler of hell.

“For the last time, guys, please call me Jared.  Better yet, call me Jay.  I was wondering, does anyone want a game of Madden on the XBox with me?”  Jared grinned happily at the four bemused demons.

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Jared said, and ignored the way his ‘advisors’ flinched. “Dad might’ve been a stickler for protocol, but as he left me in charge, we're going to do things differently now.”

 Jared bent over and pulled Orias to his cloven hooves, giving him a hearty slap on his leathery back as he did.  Orias staggered sideways and flapped his wings frantically. “Guys, please get up. You know I don’t go in for all this bowing and scraping.”  Jared said, as he ducked out of the way of Orias’s wings.

Jared gestured for the others to get to their feet.  They looked uncertainly at one another and then did as he asked. Jared nodded encouragingly at them, and turned his attention back to the statue. “Oh, that’s new. Who’s it supposed to be?”

There was a nervous shuffling and coughing, as the four lords of hell found the floor fascinating. Astaroth looked round, hoping one of the others would answer Jared, but Bael and Zepar were engaged in an intense game of rock, paper, scissors. And Orias stood there with his eyes closed and fingers crossed. Astaroth sighed, and took it upon himself to answer his lord's enquiry. Steeling himself, he spoke nervously. “It’s you, my lord.....sorry, it’s you, Jared.  Many of your subjects felt this was the best way to commemorate the start of your glorious rule in hell.”

Jared’s eyes widened in shock. “Err, that’s nice, I suppose. But why am I naked?”  He focused his attention on the statue, and turned scarlet. “Who the fuck knew about my birthmark?”  Jared blurted out, then muttered to himself. “Jesus, it’s bigger than my head.”

Bael stepped forward, and said seriously, “Well, you’re depicted naked to display your virility and dominance over your enemies. I would be more than proud to call such a glorious passion rod my own.” Bael stood with his chest puffed out, ignoring the sniggering and whispered repeats of passion rod from behind his back.

Jared went an even deeper shade of red, and finally managed to force his eyes upwards, away from the placement of the birthmark. He frowned as his gaze reached statue’s face. “What’s wrong with the eyes?” he asked, looking into the empty eye sockets nervously.

Zepar followed Jared's gaze. “Ah, that would be because of a slight difference of opinion about the colour of your eyes.”

“What’s the problem with the colour of my eyes?” Jared asked warily.

Zepar threw up his hands in despair. “You have to ask really? We have artisans fighting to the death over it. One says blue, another says brown and the one who said green had one of his arms torn off.  Then he was beaten to within an inch of his life with the soggy end.  A few artists have suggested going for yellow, in honour of lineage.

Jared shook his head furiously. “No, my eyes are hazel, not blue, brown or green.  And no way are you using yellow, alright?”  As he spoke there was a strange echo to his voice, and the demons nodded obediently at him.

“Right, hazel. Of course, Jared. We’ll get right onto it,” Astaroth said quickly, shaking his head, trying to clear the hypnotic effect of the Anti-Christ’s voice.

Jared’s broad smile lit up his face again, and he rubbed his hands together. “Alright then. How about that game of Madden?”

 Bael looked sourly at Jared, his patience with his lord and master finally snapping. “I don’t feel these games are a suitable pastime for the ruler of hell.”

“Oh, ok. How about Halo then?”  Jared winked at the frowning demon.

“You are making a mockery of us. You’re the ruler of hell!  There should be tormenting of souls, the crushing of hopes and dreams, a rejoicing in the suffering of others. Not suggesting we have Friday night Karaoke,” Bael snarled angrily.

“Come on, Bael. Have you heard Orias sing Barbie Girl? Surely that’s torment enough for the poor sinners in the pit.”  Jared grinned. “If you don’t like my suggestions, what would you normally be doing on a Wednesday night?”

Bael growled. “By all that's unholy, I recall the great days of hell, when our lord, the Morning Star, sat upon his throne of bones, and cast the unworthy down into the pits of despair." He smiled happily at the memories. "Glorious, glorious days.”

“Yeah, I got that part, but what did you actually do on a Wednesday night?”  Jared pressed on persistently.

Bael nearly sobbed with frustration. “Oh, for the love of... Alright, that was the night virgins were offered to the Morning Star. Fair maidens sent to his bedchamber to be plucked of their purity, and the sounds of their sobs, sweet music to our ears. Now instead of that, we have video games and Twister tournaments to encourage team bonding.”   Bael shuddered in disgust at how hell had changed.

Jared crossed his arms and glared at the demon. “And how many times have I told you, we don’t do that kind of thing anymore. You better not be telling me dad cheated on mom during his Wednesday night poker games.”  Once again the eerie echo was back in Jared's voice.

“No, no, my lord. We all know Lucifer is faithful to his beloved consort.  Bael was just reminiscing about the bad old days,” Orias said in an attempt to placate his new lord and master.

From behind him, Orias heard Zepar say thoughtfully to Bael, “You know, thinking about it, it would explain why the dialogue coming from the Morning Star’s bedchamber always reminded me of my favourite porn movie. I wonder what was really happening in there.”

“They were probably playing tiddlydywinks or Clue,” Bael hissed bitterly.

 A cold sweat broke out over his scales and Orias asked Jared nervously, “Does that mean you’ve been displeased with our ‘gifts’ to you? I would’ve thought a strong, virile young ruler of hell would’ve been overjoyed by the selection of female company we’ve offered.” He wrung his clawed hands together. “It’s what we’ve always done on a Wednesday night!” he finished mournfully.

Jared rolled his eyes, and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “No, I did not like your gifts. You don’t go round kidnapping poor innocent girls and offer them up to me.  This is the twenty-first century. You ask them out, or poke them on Facebook. Go speed dating if you’re that desperate.  You do not drag them off to hell.”  Jared looked down at the shame-faced demons shuffling around guiltily. And he suddenly felt like a high school principal telling the football team that stuffing the mascot in a locker was wrong. They were on detention for a week, and no, they couldn’t go to the prom.

Jared took a breath and carried on. “By the way, did you manage to get Sandy home last week? I think she was really nice about what happened.  Especially after you guys grabbed her, as she was on her way to her Yoga class with Yogi Misha Collins.”

The four demons breathed a shared sigh of relief, and Zepar found his voice first. “She was returned unharmed my lo.....Jared.  She even thanked us for the ritual bath, saying how relaxing it was. And I believe she gave Loki her number before she left.”

“Boy, is she in for a shock when things get steamy. Remember Fido?”  Astaroth hissed out of the side of his mouth to Orias.

“Oh, that’s alright then, and she got Loki’s number?  I’m glad she got something out of the night after all. It was fun to just sit down and watch TV with someone. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed Criminal Minds. There’s just something about Reid....” Jared stuttered to a stop, his fond reminiscences about last Wednesday gave way to panic, as he noticed his demons grinning evilly at one another. Jared winced; those kind of looks amongst his ‘advisors’, never boded well for him.

“So, you have a problem with us kidnapping young virgin girls, girls who were to be honoured with knowing your passion rod. Possibly one of them could even have become your consort?”  Orias asked, a look of innocence sitting uncomfortably on his misshapen face.

 “I’m not too sure that Sandy, Genevieve, Katie or any of the other girls you sent me were virgins, if it comes down to it.” Jared stopped speaking, his advisors seemed entirely too pleased with themselves. “What have you done now?” he demanded, a surge of power coursing through his body, as his demons cackled with glee.

“As you say, Jared, this is the twenty-first century.  We thought perhaps an offering of a different flavour might appeal to your appetite instead.”  Bael smirked nastily. “Although, he’s as comely as any wench dragged, sorry, invited from above.  If you do not want him, I’m sure I can accommodate him in my chambers.” Bael threw back his head and engaged in a little evil laughter, celebrating finally wiping the ever-present smile off Jared’s face. After months of putting up with Lucy Jr’s attempts at making changes, some things were enshrined in tradition. Threatening pretty young things and laughing about it was as traditional as it got. Bael had every intention of enjoying the moment.

Bael’s laughter was short lived, as he and his companions found themselves flying through the air, and slamming against the cold unyielding stone of the statue. Orias wheezed as his ribs contracted, and his lungs felt as if they were being liquidized inside his chest. “My Lord?” he begged, panic stricken, shocked at this sudden unexpected display of power from Lucy Jr.

Astaroth watched in fascination as Jared’s hair blew about his face, the air around him crackled with electricity and his eyes glowed with a golden light. He turned his face away, unable to face whatever doom was hurtling towards him.  He looked up, and for the first time in his existence, he felt pity for another creature.  Bael was higher up the statue, and was squashed up against the birth mark on the statue’s.....

“Where is he?”  Jared demanded, in a deep commanding voice that echoed round the room.

“He’s in your bedchamber, being prepared for the great honour of servicing you, sire.” Zepar squeaked, and then he moaned as the pressure increased. “If it helps at all, it’s not really a blind date. You actually know him from above.”

The demons drew a welcome breath as the pressure lessened, and Jared looked at them uncertainly. “Oh god, who’ve you grabbed?  Please don’t let it be that douche bag, Steven. I know he’s got great abs, but I caught him making out with Justin, and you don’t do that behind your boyfriend’s back.”

The demons shook their head furiously, and Orias managed to gasp out. “No, it’s not Steven; the young man owns your favourite coffee establishment.  We thought if the night’s festivities went well, he could make you your favourite beverage in the morning.  You say no one makes a spiced mocha latte macchiato like he does.”

The power holding them in place flickered and died. The four demons slid down the stone and crashed to the floor. They looked up at their dread lord, waiting to hear their fate. The wrathful prince of hell was gone, and now Jared stood there. He was running his fingers nervously through his hair in a futile attempt to tame its wild waves, hopping from foot to foot, agitatedly. “Jensen!  You brought Jensen down here?” he asked, wild eyed, then breathed on his hand, grimacing as he smelt it. “Shit! I better go clean up, and apologize for standing him up that night.”

 Jared noticed the puzzled but relieved looks on the battered faces of his advisors. “I was supposed to be taking Jensen to dinner.... and never mind. You guys don’t go in for the whole dating thing, right?” Four heads shook in unison, then Jared looked at them thoughtfully. “Errm, will Jensen be having the usual ritual bath?” he asked, attempting to sound nonchalant.  Zepar lifted his head and gave a shaky thumbs-up, still too winded to speak.

Jared bounced excitedly at the prospect, then he pulled himself together and looked sternly at his minions. “I’d better go and make sure he gets home safely. I’ll see you in the morning, and we’ll discuss this kind of behaviour further.” Jared spun on his heels, and strode determinedly towards the door. Breaking into a run as he exited the hall, hoping at the very least to catch a glimpse of Jensen’s naked shoulders before he sent him home.
“Well, that answers one question,” Bael said breathlessly, as Astaroth managed to lift his head and look at his mangled co demon. “Jared’s got his daddy’s eyes.”

Jared sprinted towards the highest tower in the palace where his ‘luxurious’ suite of rooms was situated. When Jared had first been shown round his new home, Orias had proudly told him these rooms afforded him the best views of the lava pits, and Hell Hound Kennels.  All Jared managed in response was a weak nod, still overwhelmed by the colour scheme and the seriously scary interior design that greeted him.

Everywhere Jared turned, his suite was red or black with the occasional splash of sludge green. The furniture was all angles and dull bare metal, guaranteed to give interior designers raptures. But Jared was convinced he’d do irreparable damage to his back, if he sat on the couch for more than five minutes.

If Jared thought the living quarters were bad, his bedroom was infinitely worse. Like the other rooms it had been lovingly decorated by his subjects, meaning yet more red and black. Looking at the collection of whips and chains adorning the walls, Jared was sure that there was at least one Fifty Shades of Grey fan amongst his advisors.

Then Orias had asked if he liked the bed. Jared stared at it in horrified fascination, debating whether it would be better to sleep on the couch, rather than risk being eaten alive by his new bed.

 The imposing bed dominated the room; it stood on a raised dais and was crafted out of ebony. The thick barley twist posts reached up to the vaulted ceiling, and were draped in blood red silk. The hangings were complemented by a matching comforter and black satin sheets. Jared refused to look too closely at the intricately carved headboard, just in case one of the figures on it moved.  Every time Jared went to bed, he felt as if he should be using bad porn dialogue.  Despite his demons turning him into the first prize in a twisted version of The Bachelor, he still didn’t have anyone to share his bed and appreciate the cheesy lines.

 Jared’s musings on the interior design of the palace was interrupted by raised voices, coming from inside his private quarters.  Jared entered cautiously, ready to apologize for barging in. Then he heard a woman say, “Please come down. I’ll get in trouble if I don’t finish preparing you.” Jared headed quietly towards the open bedroom door.

“Hell no, you’re not covering me with that crap,” a man responded angrily to the woman’s heartfelt pleas.  The familiar sound of those deep husky tones went straight to Jared’s crotch; he’d know that voice anywhere. Jensen really was here; he’d half hoped his advisors had been trying to prank him.  Then Jared ruefully remembered, demons did not come equipped with a sense of humour.

In yet another misguided attempt at team bonding, Jared had encouraged a little prank war between his subjects, only to discover the demon equivalent of a whoopee cushion was to explode some poor unfortunate sinner all over the lounge. The rug in front of the fireplace had never stood a chance.

“Look, I promise it’s nothing nasty; I just have to anoint you for when you meet....” she tried again.

“Meet? You make it sound like some sort of blind date,”  Jensen growled. “More like for when I’m served up like a Thanksgiving turkey to the friggin' Anti-Christ.”

Jared smiled fondly at the familiar voice. Jensen usually reserved that tone of voice for awkward suppliers, bad tippers, and Chad. The last time he heard Jensen sound like that, Jared ended up asking him out.

The whole thing had been like a cross between a cheesy rom-com, and an eighties action flick. Jared was getting his daily coffee and Jensen fix, when some poor misguided idiot tried to rob the coffee shop. After waving a knife around and scaring the customers, Jensen finished the espresso he was making, and then hurled a stale muffin with deadly accuracy.

The muffin struck the man between the eyes, and he staggered back in shock.  Jensen followed the move by vaulting over the counter, and battering the robber with the porta filter from the espresso machine. Jensen stopped and stood over the now unarmed robber, as he cowered on the floor pleading for mercy. He turned to Danni and told her to call the cops.

  Jared was entranced by Jensen; he was magnificent as he stood there breathing heavily.  His black T-shirt clung like a second skin, showing off his broad shoulders, his biceps bulging impressively as he brandished the broken porta filter like a club.  Before he could stop himself, Jared stepped over the fallen robber stood in front of Jensen, and asked him to dinner in front of everyone.

An expectant hush fell over the coffee shop, and Jared shuffled nervously as Jensen blushed, lowered his eyes and rubbed at the back of his neck. Then Jensen lifted his downcast eyes. “That would be great.”

Jared ignored the muffled cheers from the kitchen, and Danni’s muttered, “finally” as she punched the air in victory. “I’ll be here at eight. Is Italian ok?” Jared said with a broad smile.  If he’d known all it would take to give him to courage to ask Jensen out, was to see him commit an assault with a piece of catering equipment, he would’ve given Jensen a milk jug, and pointed him in the direction of Chad months ago.

Sadly, for Jared the best-laid plans of mice and Ant-Christ’s often go awry. That night as Jared was heading out to meet Jensen, he was suddenly surrounded by four terrifying creatures. They looked like something straight out of one of Chad’s Hellraiser comics, and instead of tearing him apart on the spot, they’d 'invited' him to an audience with Lucifer.

Jared materialized in the throne room, and much to his surprise, he saw his dad seated on a throne. Jared was still processing this new development as the four demons fell to their knees. “Dread Morning Star, we have done as commanded, and brought the Anti-Christ, Bringer of Death and Destruction to your presence.”

Jared started in shock. What the hell were they talking about? And who was this Anti-Christ guy? Jared really hoped there was another demon in the room with them, preferably some bad ass with horns, hooves and a tail. He took a quick peek over his shoulder, and when he realized there was no one else in the room, Jared suddenly got a bad feeling about how his evening was going to go.

The following conversation with his dad went along the lines of, "Hi son. Sorry about interrupting your evening, but as my minions said, I’m the devil and you’re the Anti-Christ. As me and your mother are going to retire to Florida, how do you feel about taking over the family business?”

To be fair that wasn’t how the actual conversation went, but there’s really no easy way to tell someone they’re the heir to hell’s throne. His dad had been remarkably patient while Jared cried, shouted and waved his arms around, before finally storming out of the throne room. His dad hadn’t even laughed when he’d run back into the room, and hid behind the throne in terror. Finally, he’d been coaxed from his hiding place and his father calmed him down. Then his father had given Jared his second ‘facts of life’ talk.  This talk wasn’t as embarrassing as the first, but it was certainly more terrifying.

Jared’s head was still spinning when his dad looked at him and said, “Ok, Jared, if you listen to Astaroth, Zepar, Orias and Bael and do exactly the opposite of what they say, I’m sure you’ll do a great job.” He pulled Jared towards him and hugged him tightly. “I promise to swing by in a couple of months to see how you’re getting on.”  Then he grabbed his suitcase and vanished, leaving a bewildered Jared in charge.

From that moment everything changed, a career in advertising hadn't really offered Jared the best grounding in his bid to become ruler of hell, despite his Aunt Susan’s thoughts on his involvement with the Victoria Secrets campaign. Although trying to keep his best friend, Chad out of trouble at the photo shoots did give Jared some expertise in handling unruly creatures.

The closest Jared ever got to dealing with widespread death and destruction, were the nights spent playing World of Warcraft online.  Or the Black Friday he spent helping Katie from H.R. in her pursuit of new shoes.  Jared had never realized the lengths some women would go to in order to get their hands on a pair of half-price Christian Louboutin’s. His shins and his psyche still bore the scars.

Jared stopped the self-pitying internal monologue. He could pretend all he liked, but the whole Anti-Christ thing wasn’t going away anytime soon. For months he’d done nothing but wish he could reconnect with his old life, and now he had the chance.

 All he had to do was go into his bedroom and speak to Jensen.  Somehow he didn't think the best ice breaker was going to be, "Hey Jensen, I hope you enjoyed the ritual bath. Now how do you feel about being my virgin sacrifice?"

  Jared took a moment to steady his nerves, and looked in the ornate mirror on the wall. His nondemonic reflection smiled back at him. At least he wouldn't freak Jensen by having horns and a tail, although the whole being kidnapped and dragged off to hell might've unsettled Jensen just a little.

Jared wondered what he could do by way of apology; he considered using his powers to do something nice for Jensen. Perhaps he could conjure a romantic meal for two? He quickly dismissed the idea, as he didn’t have that much control over his abilities yet. He really didn’t want to give Jensen food poisoning or worse, end up with a re-enactment of the chestbuster scene from Alien, when one of the dishes exploded in Jensen’s stomach.

No, he would just have to do this old school - go in and apologize for the way Jensen had been treated tonight. Jared went to run his fingers through his hair, to try and smooth it down.  He stopped and stared at his reflection in shock; he was fading away. He looked down at his hands and wriggled his fingers, watching as one by one they vanished. Jared looked in the mirror again and grinned with delight as he faded away, and like a Cheshire cat his smile was the last thing to disappear. Once he was fully invisible, Jared slipped quietly through the open bedroom door.

As he stepped inside Jared told himself all he was going to do was catch a glimpse of Jensen, just to make sure he was alright. Then he’d be a gentleman, go back out, knock on the door and announce himself properly.

 Jared’s good intentions flew out of the window when he looked up at his bed. For a moment, Jared thought one of his fantasies had come true when he spotted Jensen. All Jared could focus on was that Jensen was in his bedroom, wearing nothing but a towel. He took a moment to appreciate how good the deep red material looked against Jensen’s pale skin, accentuating his slim waist, the bulge of his biceps and the way his strong thighs were wrapped tightly around the bed post. Dear god, did Jensen have freckles everywhere? Jared headed for the bed, determined to discover if Jensen did indeed have freckles every….Hang on. Strong thighs wrapped around the bedpost?

Jared paused at the thought of Jensen doing an impromptu pole dance in his bedroom and then he quickly looked down, relieved to find he was still invisible. The last thing Jared wanted was to have to explain to Jensen why he'd suddenly appeared in the middle of the room, with his tongue hanging out.

Now Jared was more than a little intrigued. Why had Jensen climbed one of the posts and was now looking like the world’s angriest pole dancer?  He really wanted to find out, but how could he do that without drawing attention to himself?  As Jared was pondering this, the woman gave a sad little sniff.


From the somewhat dubious safety of his perch, Jensen watched the bedraggled hooded figure as it clutched the small ornate jar to its chest. He heard another sniff and its shoulders began to shake.  He wasn’t too comfortable with calling whatever was under the hood, female, no matter what 'she' sounded like. Not with the way his night was going.

Less than a couple of hours ago he’d closed up shop, and was ready to head upstairs to enjoy another fun-filled night of watching TV alone. Then he heard noises from the kitchen and called out. "Kane, if you've got another one of your ladies back there, there's gonna be trouble.  Do you know how long it took me to sterilize the work surfaces, after you and Beth had finished in there last time?" When there was no answer, Jensen walked towards the kitchen, pausing only to grab a weapon. It wasn't his favourite porta filter, but he was pretty sure he could do some serious damage with the metal jug he was holding.

Jensen reached the door to the kitchen and turned the handle. Jensen took a deep breath and charged inside, shouting at the top of his voice.  His blood curdling war cry died on his lips, when he was confronted by something straight out of a nightmare. Jensen stared slack jawed as four horned, scaly winged demons, were stood in his kitchen eating the leftover pastries and cupcakes.

Jensen made a strangled noise as one the demons turned to face him. Then the short squat one with orange eyes grinned at him malevolently. “My, my, Zepar, you weren’t wrong when you said the boy was pretty.” Bael bowed. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Bael, Head of Infernal Powers and advisor to the ruler of hell.” He took a step towards Jensen, and purred threateningly. “If you come quietly we won’t hurt you… much.” Bael looked over his shoulder and smirked at the others, convinced the pretty human would do as he was told.

Bael turned back just as Jensen swung the jug with as much force as he could muster. There was a loud crunch as it connected and Bael laughed delightedly.  “That’s the spirt, my pretty,” he said, as he and the others advanced, leaving Jensen staring at the badly dented jug in shock.

Before Jensen could turn and run from the kitchen, he was grabbed by two of the creatures. He struggled futilely against the tight hold on his arms, and then his eyes started to water as the stench of rotten eggs filled the air. Jensen’s ears popped, and the room whirled out of focus as a wave of vertigo washed over him. Jensen’s knees buckled so he was glad of the scaly hands holding him up. Once he’d regained his equilibrium, he stared round him in shock. His kitchen was gone; instead he was stood in a strange bedroom.

Bael stood in front of him and smiled. “Welcome to our lord’s bedchamber. Tonight you are to be offered as a gift to the Anti-Christ, ruler of hell and its dominions.” Bael clicked his fingers again, and a small figure in a hooded robe stepped forward. The demon pointed at Jensen. “Prepare him well, and you will be rewarded for your efforts.”

That was the final straw for Jensen, he managed to break free and sprinted for the door. He’d barely gotten five feet, when he was tackled to the floor. “Now, now, Jensen, there’s no need for any of that. How about a bath?  We want you nice and relaxed for your evening with our lord,” Astaroth said happily, as he unceremoniously hauled Jensen to his feet.

Jensen glared over his shoulder at the demon holding him tightly, and then the familiar nasally tones of Bael grated on his last nerve. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes for your bath.” There was another click, and Jensen squeaked as his clothes disappeared. Blushing, he tried to cover himself with his hands, as he was dragged towards an open door and his relaxing bath.

Much to Jensen’s consternation, he was accompanied into the bathroom by the hooded figure.  He was ‘gently’ lowered into a large sunken black marble bath by Astaroth. As the large demon held him in place, Jensen saw the figure roll up the sleeves of its robe and he tensed.  Astaroth patted him on the shoulder.  “You two have fun now.”  He glanced over at the robed figure, and with a smirk said, “Remember to wash behind his ears.” With demonic laughter ringing in Jensen’s ears, Astaroth vanished, and he was left alone with the mysterious robed figure.

Now as Jensen looked down, he realized the little demon was crying! Since when did demons cry?  He wondered if this was some sort of trick.  He watched the soaking wet creature warily, as water dripped from the overlong sleeves of the robe onto the floor.

It sniffed again, and then sat on the edge of the bed and put the ornate jar down beside her. “I’m going to get into so much trouble for this.” The demon pulled back its hood, and in a very human gesture pushed her glasses back up her nose, and tried to smooth down her wet hair.

  The woman looked up at Jensen. “I really thought my luck was improving getting this job.  How many of us down here can say, they’ve been able to ritually bathe and anoint the Anti-Christ’s chosen consort?  And I go and mess it up.” She sighed sadly.

Jensen’s frayed nerves twanged. “Consort? I’m a freakin' consort now! This shit just keeps getting better and better.”  Jensen groaned and rested his head against the dark wood.

The woman gave Jensen a hopeful smile. “Look, it’s not that bad. I promise he’s really a nice guy.”

Jensen shook his head, trying to comprehend the latest strange twist to his night. “The Anti-Christ is a really nice guy? Well, that’s one of the strangest things I’ve heard. But when your best friend is Christian Kane, very little fazes you anymore,” he muttered under his breath.

 The woman continued. “I’m sorry about the bath. I know rose petal covered water isn’t really very masculine. But it’s got to be better than the asses’ milk Orias wanted me to bathe you in.” The woman lifted her hands, and from the way the robe moved it looked as if she was making air quotes with her fingers. “Just the way Cleopatra used to. If you ask me, he spends way too much time in that woman’s company.” She rolled her eyes dismissively, and then flexed her fingers.  “I spent all afternoon milking over a hundred bloody donkeys. I think my fingers are going to drop off.”

Jensen was fascinated as the small woman...demon? ranted on. “I’m flattered, I think. How come I ended up getting dunked in rose-scented water and not asses’ milk?” he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

She looked up at him again and shrugged her shoulders. “After I tipped the last bucket of asses’ milk into the bath, I went to get the fine oils to anoint you with. I forgot one small detail.” She looked embarrassed and gestured to her surroundings. “This is hell and it gets a little warm down here. I didn’t do the temperature warding, so by the time I got back, I had a bathtub full of donkey cheese. I never thought I’d get rid of the smell.”   The woman let her hands fall into her lap and her shoulders slumped.

Jensen couldn’t help it; he started to laugh, but his laughter died away when he realized the woman had started to cry softly again.

“Oh God, I hope they send me back to the Hell Hound Kennels, and not to the sulphur pits. I liked it there.” She wiped at her face with the sleeve of her robe, then sighed in frustration as the wet material smeared her glasses. She gave up trying to clean them, and picked up the hem of her overlong crimson robe and wrung it out.

Jensen came to a decision; he was getting tired of clinging to the post, so he carefully slid down it. As he did, he was sure he heard heavy breathing but he dismissed the notion. There was only the two of them in the room.

Jensen looked over at the bedroom door and considered making a break for it. But how far was he going to get wearing only a bath towel? Also, he’d left his demon fighting milk jug back in the coffee shop.  Mind made up, he sat beside the weeping woman. If he was going to be stuck here, he might as well do a little intel gathering to see if he could find another way out.

Jensen steeled himself, reaching out to pat the woman’s knee sympathetically. She looked at him in surprise, as he gave her a shamefaced look. “I’m sorry if I’ve got you into trouble with your boss. I didn’t mean to. Tonight’s been a little stressful.”

The woman sat up a little straighter. “I’m not surprised you’re stressed, having the four musketeers turn up and drag you off to hell like that. If it’d been me, you’d still be trying to coax me from under the bed. I’m even surprised you want to talk to me, especially after the way I scrubbed your back with that loofa. It’s no wonder you pulled me into the bath.” To prove a point, she wrung more water out of her robe. “I’m much more used to bathing Hell Hounds, than preparing the latest virgin sacrifice.” She groaned and covered her face with her hands. “Oh bugger, me and my big mouth!”

Jensen smirked at the embarrassed woman, and decided to have a little fun. “Are you saying that bathing a dog is more fun than bathing the Anti-Christ’s chosen consort?”  She looked at him and blushed so hard, steam rose off her robe.

She shook her head. “God, no. As much as I love those mutts, this was meant to be my big break. I’d just finished cleaning the kennels out when I was called up here.” She winked at Jensen. “I tell you something, if you grew roses in hell, they’d be amazing. Hell Hound crap would make awesome fertilizer.”  She fiddled with her robe again. “It’s great down there. No one notices me.  So what if the hounds’ drool is a little caustic, I get new robes every week.  And once you learn to watch out for the spiky tails, they’re kind of sweet.”

Jensen shook his head, picturing terrifyingly monstrous creatures. “Hell Hounds are kind of sweet?” he echoed weakly.

“Oh yeah. They love having behind their ears scratched, and if you give them chocolate they’ll love you forever,” the woman said happily, as she settled more comfortably on the bed.

Jensen was intrigued by the change that had come over her, the shy frightened creature was gone.  Instead, she was enthusiastically telling him all about her ‘job’ down in hell.  Jensen mentally filed the information about chocolate away, it could come in handy to bribe the Hell Hounds if he managed to escape.  There was just one small problem. “Where do you get your hands on chocolate down here?”

“Oh, that’s easy. All you do is head over to the third circle of Hell, the gluttony department.  They’ve got mountains of chocolate over there.” She shivered with revulsion. “Trust me. After you see what they do with it, you’ll never look at a Reese’s Peanut Butter cup in the same way ever again.”

Jensen grimaced. “Thanks, I’ll take your word for it. Well, as we seem to be getting to know one another a little better, I’m Jensen. What’s your name? I can’t keep thinking o you as robe girl.” He flashed her a winning smile and put out his hand.

The woman pulled up her sleeve and shook the proffered hand. “Hello, Jensen, I’m Sally, pleased to meet you. Shame about the circumstances.” She let go of his hand, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

  Jensen watched Sally appraisingly. “If you don’t mind me saying, Sally, you don’t look much like a demon. I was expecting the whole horns, cloven hooves and tail routine.”  He looked her up and down. “You haven’t got a tail hiding under your robe, have you?”

Sally pushed her glasses further up her nose again, and laughed. “Me a demon? Hell, no. I suppose I’m an Acolyte, technically.  We clean up after the demons.” She leaned closer to Jensen and said conspiringly, “None of us ever want to clean up after one of Loki’s parties, it’s just nasty.”  She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“I get the feeling you’re not exactly cut out for an afterlife in hell. You can tell me to butt out, but were you a serial killer or something?” Jensen couldn’t help himself, but he was really starting to like his new companion.

Sally shook her head. “Serial killer? I wish.  When I was topside I worked in an accounts department. All that’s changed for me is the geography, and the coffee’s better down here. What did I do to end up here? It seems that St Peter doesn’t have a sense of humour when it comes to slash fiction,” she finished with a shrug.

Jensen eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Slash fiction?  As in some hot guy screwing another hot guy?”

Sally nodded. “The whole eternity in hell might’ve had something to do with inappropriate use of Captain America’s shield in one of my Steve/Bucky fics. I was writing a new story, when I choked to death on a peanut M & M.” She shrugged and the sleeves of her robe covered her hands again. “Who knew St Peter had such a downer on Stucky? Perhaps he’s a Peggy/Steve shipper,” she said as she pushed the sodden material back up her arm.

Jensen stared at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. “Shit, I’m really sorry. That’s a tough break. I think St Peter may have over reacted a little. Although, I always thought Steve and Bucky spent way too long with the meaningful looks at one another.”

Sally’s smile lit up the room as she bounced on the spot gleefully. “I know, right? It will never happen, but a fangirl can dream, can’t she?

Jensen grinned. “True, but look at the trouble it’s gotten you into.” Sally gave him an unrepentant smile, as she pushed up the sleeves of her robe again. Jensen frowned, and took hold of her arm. “How come your robe’s too big? Is total humiliation part of the hell experience?” he asked as he rolled the sleeve up.

Sally laughed. “I’ll have you know this robe was made for a supermodel whose deal came due.  She was going to be the one to prepare you, but apparently she took one look at your picture and refused to work with someone prettier than she was.”

Jensen roared with laughter and winked. “Fair enough, but I hate to have tell you, the whole virgin thing?  They may have missed that ship by a few years.  Tommy Welling, my senior prom. Damn, what a night,” he said fondly.

The two of them broke down into uncontrollable giggles, and then Jensen tucked his legs beneath him, pulled the towel up to his chin, and went wide eyed. He grabbed the sleeve of Sally’s robe and said in a tremulous voice, “P-P-l-l-lease, d-d-d-on’t hurt me!  I’ve never been with a man before.”  He looked in horror at an imaginary figure in front of him. “Yy-y-o-u want me to put that where?” Jensen lifted his hand to his forehead, and collapsed onto the bed in a swoon.

Jensen lifted himself onto his elbows. “Do you think I can pass for a blushing virgin?”

As Jensen sat up, the two of them started laughing again.  While they laughed Jensen looked round, still hoping to figure a way out of the mess he was in.

Jared tensed as green eyes passed over the spot where he stood, but Jensen still didn’t respond to his presence. At least the invisibility was still working, giving him the chance to enjoy watching Jensen talking to Sally. It was great to hear laughter for a change instead of the usual screams, and the fact Jensen was nearly naked really, really helped.

Jensen frowned as he looked round. “I hate to insult your supreme ruler, but his taste in furniture sucks.  What’s with all the black, red and whips everywhere? I feel like I’m trapped in an outtake to Fifty Shades.” He shuddered at the thought

Sally shot him a look. “If you’d been cast as Christian Grey, I might’ve been tempted to go and watch the film.” She smirked as Jensen blushed. “According to The Acolyte grapevine, none of this is his choice.”  Sally gestured to the room.

“The four musketeers who grabbed you tonight picked out the decor.  They’re really big on tradition; every time our lord changes something in here they change it back.  I heard he painted a wall yellow to brighten the place up, and Astaroth himself came in and painted it black again.”

Jensen winced. “Kind of reverse rebellion. Most kids paint their room black to annoy their parents.  I bet his dad would’ve grounded him in the sulphur pits for that, and took his branding irons away.”

Sally shook her head. “If water cooler gossip amongst the Acolytes is right, our Lord had no idea his dad is Lucifer.  He just thought his dad was a high-powered corporate lawyer who travelled a lot.”  Sally leant closer to Jensen. “Rumour has it he was born and raised in San Antonio, and was living in Dallas, working for an advertising agency there.”  By now Sally was comfortable enough to be sitting on the edge of the bed, swinging her feet.

Jensen’s eyes widened with shock. “Did you say ‘lives in Dallas, and works for an advertising agency’?” He bit his lip, and frowned. No, it couldn’t be, could it? There had to be hundreds of men who fitted that particular description. But there’d been something weird about the way the four demons kept looking at him, and then smirking at one another when he’d been grabbed.

Jensen thought there was no way in hell, if you’ll pardon the pun, the man Sally was talking about was Jared.  Jared was way too nice and shy to be the Anti-Christ. He was just about to ask her for more pertinent details, such as ‘Does the Anti-Christ have dimples and a really cute ass?’ when he heard a sigh.  The sigh seemed to have come from just behind Sally, and suddenly Jensen got the feeling they weren’t the only people in the bedroom.

Jensen managed to focus on Sally again. “I don’t suppose you happen to know the Anti-Christ’s real name, do you?  Only I think I’d prefer to call him by name, unless he gets turned on by being called your royal evilness.”

Sally gave a little sigh. “Oh, he’s nothing like that, and he’s got the cutest dimples when he smiles. And his eyes are a lovely shade of blue,” she said dreamily.

Jared rolled his eyes and groaned softly. Hazel, damnit. His eyes were hazel. He put his head in his hands and muttered under his breath. Unfortunately, his concentration wavered and he slowly started to reappear.

Jensen watched Sally stare dreamily into space, then she pulled herself together and looked at him.  “So as I was saying, dimples, lovely blue eyes and his name is....”

“JARED?”  Jensen leapt to his feet in shock.

“Yeah, it’s Jared. How did you know?”  Sally asked, then noticed Jensen was staring at something behind her.  In one quick motion she slipped off the bed, turned to face Jared, and fell to her knees.  “O dread Lord, I greet thee...” she said in a tremulous voice.

Jared looked down at her in shock, and then looked back at the now irate man, stood in front of him.  He took a step forward, and Jensen raised his hand to stop him.

“Jesus Christ, Jared!”  Jensen exclaimed loudly.

Chapter 2
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Current Mood: nervousnervous
ladygreytowersladygreytowers on April 19th, 2016 04:35 am (UTC)
sasha_dragonsasha_dragon on April 21st, 2016 12:09 pm (UTC)
Thank you.