"Seriously," Jared says, slipping his fingers under the hem of Jensen's t-shirt to find skin to touch and stroke, "they gonna think you were in on this? Is Mike gonna think you're a traitor? Or are they all gonna think you're incompetent? 'Cause, let's face it, you're in here, fooling around with me, watching as we steal two-point-five million dollars from the Coalition. It don't exactly look good for you either way."

Briskly, Jared tugs down Jensen's fly. Jensen hisses, cuffed hands instinctively moving to stop him.

"You want me to stop?" Jared says. "You're not gagged, sweetheart. You want me to stop, you just gotta say so." He brushes his lips against Jensen's earlobe, teeth grazing the delicately furled skin. "'Course, this is a real bad day for you as it is, so you might as well get something out of it."

"Please," Jensen says.

"Please stop?" Jared says.

Jensen makes a choked noise. "Just fucking touch me."

Feeling an unpleasant rush of victory, Jared pushes Jensen to his feet just long enough to drag his jeans and shorts down his thighs. Jensen's half-hard already, legs spreading easily and his expression miserable and needy. He gives a punched-out breath as Jared grips his cock and jacks him crudely, working him to no particular rhythm, just firm, hard pulls that make Jensen's hips twist and buck.

Jared would be lying if he said he isn't getting off on this. It's not just Jensen all spread out and slutty on his knee he likes, though yeah, that he likes. It's that he's doing this to Jensen while he makes him watch his side lose. It's that the only power Jensen has right now, over Jared, over anything, is the word 'stop', and it's Jared who gave him that power. It's a power he allows Jensen to have.

On screen, the financial transfer is almost complete.

Jensen's tiny, fast breaths have slipped into full, drawn-out moans. He's bracing himself back against Jared, his ass rubbing into Jared every time he moves so all Jared can think about is fucking him. His cock is hot and flushed, wet with precome, and Jared wishes he could stick his hand down his own pants, could jerk himself off before he does something crazy like come in his pants.

"God," Jared says, "so beautiful, aren't you? So fucking hot like this." He bites down hard on the soft, vulnerable stretch of skin on Jensen's throat, below the jaw, worries it brutally between his teeth, sucks until Jensen's crying out wordlessly and his cuffs are rasping across the desktop. "C'mon, Jen, wanna make you come for me, wanna make you filthy for me."

The financial transfer is complete and Jared celebrates with a particularly demanding jerk of his wrist, which has Jensen coming all over his thighs and Jared's hand. As Jensen comes down, he's trembling and sweaty, and he won't look at Jared.

Jared leans forward to the laptop, validates the transaction, then drops a kiss at Jensen's hairline.

Idly using the hem of Jensen's t-shirt to wipe his hands off, Jared says, "Congratulations. You just lost two-point-five million dollars and an advanced tech microchip, and you moaned like a whore through the whole thing."