Fic: Cupid 97 (This ain't your Hallmark Cupid) (4/5)
Title: Cupid 97 (This ain't your Hallmark Cupid)
Characters: Jensen/Jared, Jensen/JDM, Jared/Sandy, Chris Kane, CW cast and cameos from Grey's Anatomy cast
Author: aeroport_art
Rating: R
Warnings: potty mouths, sarcasm, UST/schmoop, AU
Word Count: ~27,500
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made, go 'way.
Notes: Written for spn_fairytales. My challenge/inspiration was The Saucy Boy by Hans Christian Andersen. A huge thanks to mooyoo for being such a rockstar with the beta!
Summary: Everybody's got a love/hate relationship with their jobs. But for Jensen Ackles, top Cupid in the nation, after a hit goes wrong it's just a long, downhill slide from there. Caution: an ungodly amount of swearing, sarcasm, and schmoop in which Chris Kane is an awesome best friend, Tom Welling's the vacuous son of Zeus, Rosenbaum is Rosenbaum, and Jensen has a penchant for Plans.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
5:00 PM, February 14. Olympus Room, BAA building
Annual Bureau of Amorous Affairs Awards
The crowd applauds at an appropriate volume and length, the sound rising and falling like a familiar soundtrack to the Bureau’s annual BAA Awards. Zeus finishes his speech and steps down, fierce smile on his face as he joins his son’s table in the front of the room.
Jeff’s not really paying attention though. He picks at his chicken and zucchini, trying not to be too obvious about scanning the thirty or forty round tables crammed into the Bureau’s largest ballroom for a familiar face. A particular face.
However, his subtlety is thwarted when Patrick takes notice of Jeff’s restless eyes. His voice cuts in, “What are you looking for?”
Jeff turns around and rubs at his face, hand skimming over short stubble. Patrick Dempsey, C-70 of the Staten Island District and friend of twenty years, reaches over with his fork and steals a carrot off Jeff’s plate. “Didn’t look like you were going to eat that,” he explains offhand, crunching loudly.
“I’m looking for C-97,” Jeff eventually answers, hoping Patrick’s too buzzed off the champagne to put two and two together-
“Oh, you’re looking for Jensen. ”
-or not. “Yeah, I’m looking for Jensen,” he sighs.
“Jeff, why would you do that to yourself?” Patrick asks harshly like he’s taking up a fight that’s been brewing for awhile when thankfully, he gets drowned out by the next wave of applause.
The Venus from Washington, Kate Walsh, walks across the stage and takes the mike to announce the first block of awards to be handed out. While Jeff fixes his attention on Kate, the girl at the table next to them tips her chair backwards, nudges his shoulder, and says, “You’re looking for C-97?”
Not realizing he and Patrick had an audience for their conversation, Jeff quickly brushes his irritation away and replies, “Yeah. You know him?”
“He got discharged last week,” she says, scandalized. “It’s making its way across the room. Pass it on.” She flips her brown hair back over her shoulder, hitting Jeff squarely in the neck, then innocuously tips back towards her own table and dovetails into the conversation there.
Feeling like he’s been hit and run with gossip, Jeff mulls over the information for a moment before swiveling all the way around in his seat and tapping the girl on the shoulder. “Hey, where did you hear that?” he asks, increasing the pressure to more insistent patting when she ignores him, but he quickly gets shushed by the people around him. “Okay, okay,” he says, hands up in defeat.
He reaches for his fork and knife instead. Tries to saw off some of the chicken breast on his plate, but he doesn’t even want any chicken right now, so he just puts the silverware down and pointedly ignores Patrick’s curious expression.
Onstage, Venus continues, “Now I know you all must be dying to hear me talk for the next two hours”-the crowd titters-“But I’ll stop my yammering and let our local Venus, Samantha Ferris, introduce the nominees.”
It’s going to be a long time before they get to the good stuff, like naming the Bureau’s Highest-Grossing Cupid of the year. And while Jeff knows he’s got a good chance of nabbing the award, it still doesn’t make him want to actually sit through all the punctilio-blah blah millenniums of tradition, blah blah and so on-this stuff hasn’t changed since the last equally dull time he’d attended.
Jeff takes a long sip from his champagne, wondering about the validity of that girl’s comment about Jensen being discharged, but it’s so far-fetched he’s tempted to shrug it off. Jensen’s probably just inconveniently hidden from view by one of the Ionic columns or perhaps by some of the, er, larger men and women dappled throughout the room. The champagne runs out before Jeff’s done drinking so he lowers the flute, ready to signal for another from one of the standby waiters when across the room, his eyes land on-wait, really?-his eyes land on Jensen. He’s standing in the open crook of one of the side doors, the ones that lead backstage, and he’s watching Chris Kane receive an award onstage.
He looks out of place though, and that’s when Jeff notices-Jensen’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans, and sneakers. He even remembers that T-shirt from years ago-Jensen strewn across Jeff’s bed, the sunlight playing on his golden skin. Jeff dangling that shirt in his hand, charmed and amused as Jensen jumps for it and misses, crashing into him. Jeff’s thrown backwards ass-first, Jensen’s sprawled all over him and tangled up in his limbs-
It dawns on him that, Jesus, if Jensen’s backstage in his day clothes, that rumor must be true. Jensen’s no longer a Cupid, he thinks wonderingly.
As if he could tell he was on someone’s mind, Jensen turns around and disappears through the discreet door. It isn’t a matter of thinking when Jeff bolts out of his chair; he just knows he needs some answers, some explanations-hell, some explaining of his own to do, he knows that. Jeff ignores Patrick’s alarm and the curious looks of all the seated immortals that he jostles into on his way to the front of the room. Jeff makes it to the side door, slaps his hand on the doorknob and takes a deep breath for fortification before he wrenches it open and dashes in.
-----
It isn’t all that bad, Jensen thinks, sitting back here apart from the crowd, just watching and chilling like it’s a show on TV. Like he wasn’t supposed to be in that table over there, in that empty space between Chris and Chad that the organizers hadn’t had time to rearrange around. At least he got to come at all; Samantha had snuck him in backstage after she’d done her bit in introducing the nominees for Most Creative Hit.
When Jensen hears his boy Kane announced as the winner for that stunt he pulled with the target’s bulletproof vest, Jensen can’t help but want a good look instead of the weird angle he gets from the back, half-covered with curtain and wires. He hopes he isn’t making the ceremony look unprofessional or anything when he opens the door a crack and sneaks out of it, feeling conspicuous in his worn T-shirt and jeans that have hardly seen the light of day since college.
Jensen leans up against the doorjamb and watches the proceedings. Chris gives a goofy little speech that-blink and you’ll miss it-pokes fun at Samantha and the Bureau. “Gotta hand it to her though,” Chris says, “-doling out happy endings out like it’s candy when we can’t hardly get it ourselves. Kinda makes me wish somebody’d just shoot me, working here.” Chris throws out a charming grin that blindsides half the audience, earning scattered but appreciative laughter from the ones who’d caught the small jab at the BAA. Backstage Jensen hears Samantha bellow and he snickers quietly to himself.
He’s gotta admit though, Chris sure got it right. While humans might catch a break getting oversight in their romances, there’s no such system in place for immortals. Nah, stuff like love is as arbitrary and fickle as which socks to wear for the day, and while normally Jensen could appreciate the unfortunate irony in his stumble into love for Jared, he’s too tired for cynicism tonight. Between trying to drag his ass out of Mopedom and ignoring the way Jeff fits in his suit like a well-tailored glove, Jensen can hardly keep himself from fleeing and going home to sleep the day/week/month off. Still, he’s got a duty to his friends.
After Chris’ speech is over, Jensen returns to the relative darkness backstage and lets the door silently shut behind him. Two steps later the door suddenly bursts open and Jensen jumps back, valiantly fighting back a shriek.
“Holy sh-“ he manages, slapping a palm over his thudding chest. “What the fuck, man? Scared the shit outta me.”
The lighting the way it is, way brighter in the ballroom, Jensen can’t see much except the broad figure of the man who’d just barged inside. Still, there’s something familiar in the silhouette…
“Jensen,” the man says. Then after a pause, “Hey.”
…and, of course.
“Jeff,” he says, trying hard not to notice the heady scent that drags memories, kicking and screaming, out from the back of Jensen’s brain. Late, sleepy mornings. Quickies between hits. Solid muscle he loved to explore with hands, mouth, anything. The smell of soap Jeff used to use-and still does, apparently.
“Can we talk?” Jeff says, stepping closer and Jensen involuntarily backs up as light from the stage filters over them, falling over Jeff’s face. Jeff looks older now, his jaw squarer and salt in his peppered stubble. Still hot, though.
Dude, that horny guy sitting on his shoulder needs to shut the hell up. Jensen hesitantly leads the two of them down the narrow hall and into a secluded space out back near the dressing room, sandwiched between curtains and a plywood wall. He briefly checks that they’re good and alone, preparing for what might bubble up to be a spectacular argument. He can feel the pent-up resentment in his bones already.
“What do you want?” Jensen asks, trying hard to weed out the antagonism from his voice. It doesn’t look like he’s succeeding though, if Jeff’s wrinkled forehead is any indication.
“Look, I know I got a lot of explaining to do.”
Hell yeah you do, Jensen thinks. He deserves his own award for keeping that to himself. Instead, he replies nonchalantly, “So start.”
“Hold on,” Jeff says. “I want to know how you got discharged, first.”
Like Jeff gets to decide how this little reunion’s gonna go? Fuck that. Jensen crosses his arms and leans back against the wall. “I’m waiting,” he says.
Jeff watches Jensen for a moment, taking in the defiant stance and slight curl of his lip. He sighs, “Fair enough.” Thinking hard about how to phrase three years of absence and silence without making himself sound like a complete asshole, Jeff starts slowly, “When I left back then, it wasn’t about you.”
Jensen scoffs, ready to shoot back a remark but then Jeff’s palm thuds against the plywood behind him and Jensen’s jolted into swallowing his words. He forces himself not to duck out from under Jeff’s arm because that’d just look weak but dammit, with every inch of proximity gained, he feels his leverage and determination slip like sneakers on mud. From the way Jensen can’t seem to catch his breath, it seems no attraction was lost between the years but that’s not what he needs right now. No, Jensen can’t forget why he’s pissed at the guy. You’ve waited three years for this explanation, he sternly reminds himself.
“It wasn’t about you,” Jeff repeats and Jensen holds his tongue. “You remember my ex-wife?”
Well, that he hadn’t been expecting. Still, Jensen nods cautiously. Jeff continues, “She caught up with me back then. Told me we had a daughter. Six years old; well, nine, now.” Jensen’s eyes widen and he wants to ask more, but Jeff keeps going, “I can’t just ignore something like that, you know? I thought about telling you, I swear I did, Jen, but next thing I knew she was asking me to join her in New York, help her raise our kid.”
Jesus, Jeff’s got a kid. “Does she… does she have a name?”
“Yeah,” he says, genuine smile spilling across his face. It hurts to look at because once upon a time, that smile was reserved for Jensen. “Her name’s Rebecca.”
“You could’ve told me.”
“I know. And damn it Jen, I wish I did. But what we had before, it was so easy, and I just didn’t want to turn it into something complicated and ugly. Long distance would’ve been hard-hell, impossible for us, not to mention the whole daughter thing.”
“It might’ve worked if you tried,” Jensen says grudgingly, even though he knows Jeff’s probably right.
“Yeah, maybe. But I didn’t. I went to New York. Did the daddy thing while I worked part-time and her mom concentrated on her career-that’s why she even told me about Becky at all. She got promoted and couldn’t take care of her on her own.”
Jensen nods along, trying to read between the lines and figure out how all this back-story leads up to Jeff being here, now. It still doesn’t make any sense to him though, so he prompts, “But you’re working again. As a Cupid, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Jeff says. He takes a step closer, the footstep echoing in the dark hallway as behind them, the ceremony continues at a faded murmur. Jensen stuffs down his mounting restlessness as Jeff presses in and says, “Patrick convinced me to start again-“
“Patrick?”
“Friend,” Jeff explains distractedly. “But that wasn’t why I came back.”
Before Jensen has a chance to speculate, Jeff clinches the distance between then, the toes of their shoes butting. He palms Jensen’s jaw to tilt his mouth up and meets it with his own.
It’s a tentative kiss, asking and answering more questions than the ones already bouncing around Jensen’s mind. But it’s a good kiss-really good-tasting warm and sweet. Jeff’s stubble grazes his skin and it’s comforting, recalling all the places that familiar graze used to scrape across-burrowed in Jensen’s neck, sweeping over a bare shoulder, traveling south… He’d missed this. God, he’d missed Jeff.
Still, it’s too much, too soon, and Jensen’s body stiffens. Jeff backs up with an audible parting of mouths. “What is it?” he asks huskily.
Not realizing he’d reached up to card his fingers through Jeff’s short hair, Jensen sheepishly slides his hands out. He stiffens his resolve and says, “I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“I can’t do this. I can’t just…let you waltz back into my life. I mean, what do you want from me? Am I supposed to just let you take me home like I’m some trophy wife?”
“Well, you’re not obligated to stay here anymore. Besides, Jensen, you can do anything you want in New York. All the main offices are there, anyway,” Jeff reasons, thumb tracing distracting circles along Jensen’s cheekbone.
“Yeah, but…” His eyes flutter shut as he leans into the caress, struggling to remember what reasons he has to back away from what Jeff’s proposing. But behind closed lids, it isn’t Jeff he’s seeing. It’s-
Jared’s hands, larger and bonier but hot-so much hotter as they force him to look up. Jared’s mouth is tighter and fierce as it devours Jensen, lips first but the hunger doesn’t stop there, it feels like Jared’s tearing whatever he wants out of Jensen and all that’s left after he opens up and gives Jared everything, all that’s left is Jared’s betrayed expression.
“There’s somebody else,” Jensen says though he hears the words in his ears before he’s even decided; says it before he has a chance to plan what he’ll follow it up with.
“Someone else,” Jeff repeats dumbly. He peers closer and even though it’s dark backstage, he can see the guilt etched in Jensen’s features. “There isn’t anybody else,” he reads.
“Well, he’s not…we’re not-I mean,” Jensen stutters, resolution floundering under Jeff’s knowing gaze. But then he flashes back to Jared and it’s not even a tough call anymore, not really. Jensen straightens up and looks Jeff in the eye. “There’s somebody else.”
There’s no mistaking the message there. Jeff reluctantly pulls his hands away from the sides of Jensen’s neck and pockets them, backing up a few steps until they’re proper again. Jeff pauses, not knowing what to say but when it’s clear Jensen isn’t changing his mind, he finally replies, “Well if there’s ever a vacancy, you know where to find me.”
Jensen runs his hand behind his neck, trying to rub off the tingling imprint of Jeff’s fingers. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay.”
In the silence that yawns between them, they both hastily perk their ears when onstage, beyond the maze of thin plywood walls, curtains and equipment, they hear someone announce the nominees for the year’s highest-grossing Cupid. Jeff’s name comes up in the list so Jensen jerks his head towards the stage. “That baby’s all yours,” he says.
At Jeff’s reluctance, Jensen urges, “C’mon. I was the only Cupid who could give you a run for your money, and now that I’m out of the picture…” Jensen puts his hand out towards the stage, inviting Jeff to the award.
“You know where to find me,” Jeff says one last time, his gaze searching Jensen’s. But then they hear his name called out as the winner, so he turns around and walks out the hallway.
Jensen leans into the wall again and slides down, landing on his ass. He thunks his head against the plywood, closes his eyes, and waits for it...
Out in the ballroom the crowd roars with applause when Jeff appears from the side door. There’s good-natured laughter when he clambers onstage, having come out the side opposite the stairs. Jeff takes the golden crossbow statuette in hand and lifts it high in the air to a cheering crowd.
Jensen takes a deep breath; exhales slowly as the muted clapping winds down.
Even though he’s just turned down what might’ve been his best bet for a Happily Ever After, Jensen thinks it was probably the right choice.
Jared spots him, calling his name as his whole body lights up-eyes crinkling and mouth turned up in glee, shoulders lifting and lungs expanding and yeah, even his stupid hair looked delighted to see Jensen-
Yeah, it was the right choice. It was the only choice, really.
-----
It’s not that he believes him. No, Jared’s pretty damned sure Jensen’s lying through his Crest white teeth just to make it easier on Jared-Oh, let’s let the idiot boy down gently. Let him think I’m crazy, that way he won’t get his little heart all broke. Well, shucks. Fuck that.
So while Jared’s not gullible (usually), he sure as hell is driving himself crazy from wondering about what Jensen’s really been doing, where he’s been going and if he’s still wearing those disgustingly well-pressed suits all the time. Or wondering if he’s even gonna get to see Jensen, ever again. It’s true Jared’s the one who backed out from all this, but that was a week ago. He didn’t realize how invested he was in the whole thing until today when, in the middle of refilling his gas tank, it suddenly hit him that this shitty feeling he’s had all week was because he missed the crazy fuck.
And Jared doesn’t like feeling shitty. So he topped off his gas tank and bounced-well, after picking up a Gatorade at the gas station first (it’s dehydrating being this tall!). After some hesitation, he’d thrown in a chocolate Valentine’s Day thing too-half-off because it’s Valentine’s Day already-off the slightly dilapidated Hallmark display by the front register. The chocolate was for himself, of course. Not for Sandy, seeing as how he’d inadvertently broken up with her when he moaned Jensen’s name the other night. And most definitely not for Jensen because Jensen hates him. Jared sighs.
Running out of ideas for what to do to feel better, Jared starts driving around aimlessly, thinking about nothing much at all except, damn it. He still wants Jensen. Even if Jensen doesn’t want him. Well, tough-tell it to my goddamned face, Jared thinks.
Trouble is, he notices during his fifth loop through Hollywood, is that he doesn’t know how to actually say that to the guy seeing as how he doesn’t have a flying clue as to where he is. But hey…what about Jensen’s confession? That had to have been some truth to that, right? Because the best stories are based on reality, and Jensen’s story had been pretty darned detailed. Like…
Jared wrings his memory like a wet towel, knowing he’s got the information in there somewhere. Eventually it drips out, and he remembers-Wilcox Avenue, between Holly’s and that apartment building. I go there every morning for work, and sure Jared had laughed disbelievingly at that-he’s been to Holly’s and he’d sure as hell remember a 29-story building in the middle of Wilcox-but hey, what’s he got to lose? It’s only a short drive away to double check.
Jared pulls a U-turn at the next intersection and heads on over. Parks his car along the street in front the small bar, understandably deserted in the daytime, and looks for the illustrious Bureau of Love, or whatever it was Jensen had named it.
As expected, there’s nothing there. Just Holly’s, some fenced-off space, and then the apartment building. Still, Jared gets out of his truck, locking it with his keychain as it chirps back, then walks up to the fence-he’s just stretching his legs though, and that sinking rock in his gut is just ‘cause he needs to fill up his gas tank again, twice in as many hours. Right, that’s exactly why he’s feeling disappointed.
Boy, does Jared feel like an idiot.
He flips around and falls against the chain-link fence, springing lightly as he curses under his breath. According to Mr. I’m-Cupid-and-You’re-Dumped, there’s supposed to be a tall-ass building here with a big-ass parking lot. So what is this, Harry Potter? Is Jared supposed to take a running leap at the metal fence?
Maybe, a stupid little voice tells him. Jared frowns and turns back around, loops his fingers through the fence and hesitantly tests its physical properties-nope, it’s real. And Jared’s officially never seeing Jensen again.
Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Jared was supposed to come here, and Jensen’s made up story was supposed to accidentally have some truth to it. There was supposed to be a tall government building here, or wherever it is Jensen really works, and Jared was gonna waltz in, ask the hot receptionist to page him down (do people still use pagers?). Jensen would show up all awkward cute as always and Jared was supposed to smack the truth outta him. Or kiss it out of him, whichever came first. Whatever, Jared’s not picky. Still, he has the whole thing all played out in his head, Jared can even see it-he’s supposed to be staring at the big parking lot behind this chain-link fence right now, studded with some Camrys and Priuses and shadowed by a tall but normal-looking building with an ordinary-Joe door, the brass numbers 1522 nailed into it-
Wait.
Jared backs up unsteadily.
Hang on, this wasn’t here before.
To his far right-yeah, there’s Holly’s. To the left, Jared looks up and sees the side of the apartment building. But in front of him, right in front of his nose is a chain-link fence that stretches almost a block wide as building number 1522 towers over it in all its 29-storyed glory. Jesus.
Feeling numb, Jared walks down the sidewalk and up to the entrance, climbs the four or five steps there and lets his knuckles hover over the wooden door. Is he supposed to-is there a doorbell? Or is there some secret code or something? Jared racks his brain, trying to remember anything of the sort. Nothing comes up though, so he knocks hesitantly at first, then louder when nothing happens.
There’s no reply still, so he hops off the steps and cranes his neck up. Did Jensen happen to mention which floor he worked on? Maybe it’s low enough for some good old-fashioned pebble-tossing. As Jared searches the building façade for any telling details, a wide banner magically appears, forming left to right as he reads: 8053rd-Annual-Bureau-of Amorous-Affairs-Awards-
Well. At least he knows he’s come to the right place. Shoving aside all incredulity for the time being, Jared gets back up the stairs, throws his hand on the brass doorknob and flings the door wide open.
He doesn’t know what he was expecting. But it wasn’t this.
Jared swivels his head around like a disappointed kid at the Humane Society-where are all the cute wriggly puppies up for adoption? What’s with the balding pug and the half-shaven collie and why does everything smell like poo? Except in this case, it isn’t the forlorn animals Jared’s disappointed at, it’s at how…normal everything looks, considering it’s all, you know. Made of magic and stuff.
The lobby looks just as big as it does from outside (damn it, Harry Potter…those liars), and inside, the floor’s made of dusty tiled marble with nondescript paintings adorning the nondescript walls. Between two corridors sits a receptionist’s desk with a corded phone and computer on it and post-its stuck all over. Nobody’s there right now. Sure, there’s a big, giant clock hanging on the wall behind it but it’s just-it looks like a school clock, all functionality and tight-fisted budgets. On the far wall is a row of three brass elevators that might’ve looked grand at one time, but are kind of scuffed and dented now.
So, this is the place that holds the secret to Romance. The big answer to the Inner Workings of True Love…and it all takes place in an office building on Wilcox Avenue on the outskirts of Santa Monica. An office building with floors that need mopping and-he looks back to the empty receptionist’s desk-is understaffed too, apparently.
There’s something poetic in this, but Jared could care less. He just wants to find Jensen already.
Jared starts by picking a corridor and marching down, eyes roving over everything in sight for a clue as he hopes for something awesome to happen again, like when the banner-or hell, the entire building-had appeared out of thin air.
But ten minutes later, after staring into landscape paintings and smudges on the wall that reveal little other than their amazing soporific power, Jared moves along until he’s at the back of the hallway. Here, he has the choice of going through a door or making a left.
Hmm… Jared scratches his chin. Then he sticks his finger in his mouth and holds it up to the air.
Unfortunately this isn’t a cave and Jensen doesn’t make wind-Jared snickers-so he puts his hand back down. He thinks about trying the elevators, maybe checking each floor at a time, when something rumbles through the wall on the right and echoes loudly into the deserted hallway. It sounds like…
Jared inches closer to the white plaster wall and cocks his ear to listen properly. There it goes again-it sounds like laughter. And applause. And then in a crystalline moment, Jared recalls the writing on that banner outside: Annual Bureau of…whatever Awards!
That must be where everybody is! Jared makes a beeline for the closest set of double doors, quickly scanning the brass placard that reads Olympus Room - Back Entrance before pushing in. Immediately hit with both darkness and the delicious smells of a catered lunch, Jared shuts his eyes and pulls a Toucan Sam, sniffing the air as he sweeps his hands in front of him lest he trip over and break something (which wouldn’t be a first).
Jared’s eyes eventually adjust and he finds himself blinking in the anemic light that’s coming from somewhere up front. He must be backstage or something, judging from all the expensive-looking equipment lying around. But hey, even better; this way Jared can probably get a good look at the crowd and if Jensen had been telling the truth before-as all evidence seems to point (scream) towards-that’s precisely where Mr. Cupid-Himself is gonna be.
Yes! Jared cheers inwardly. His week-long cloud of gloom is clearing up by the second, parting aside for something that feels a little bit like-dare he think it?-a ray of hope. If Jensen isn’t a big fat liar then that means…
“…and if you believe me, that’s great. I’ll, um.” Jensen darts his eyes around. “Buy you dinner or something-”
All of a sudden, right next to Jared a tall speaker thunders out an introduction to something called the Highest-Grossing Cupid. Jared’s hand flies up to cover his ears but in his haste to distance himself from a busted eardrum, he trips over a wire and stumbles through a black curtain he hadn’t even known was there. Still cradling his ringing ear, Jared shakes his head a little and looks up to see where he is.
Standing in front of him, is Jensen. Not that Jared can really see anything in this pathetic lighting, but that black silhouette of a profile-those freaking collagen lips-could only belong to Jensen.
Now that he’s actually found the guy, Jared’s excitement is barely containable. He side-steps to get a better look and when the light edges over Jensen’s body, Jared’s mind silently implodes. If he thought he Jensen looked good before-the threadbare hem of Jensen’s shirt rides up against his wrist, jeans tugged low from the pull of his thumbs through his belt loops, exposing a glowing strip of smooth skin-Versace ain’t got nothing on an old university tee and snug pair of jeans.
Through the sheer awesomeness of Jared’s willpower, he pries his eyes away long enough to look up before finally noticing Jensen’s troubled frown. I can fix that, he thinks giddily as he steps forward-
“-Patrick?” Jensen calls out.
Jared freezes as he wonders, Who the fuck is Patrick? And why would Jensen be waiting for a guy named Patrick backstage? He opens his mouth to demand answers when just then, something causes Jared to pause.
He can’t put his finger on it, but there’s something off about Jensen’s face, his body language-the sad excuse for lighting here paints his features with more shadows than it does actual visibility, so Jared creeps forward until he’s standing just a few yards away, squinting all to hell in order to figure out what it is that’s…
Jensen gasps-soft but sharp. His full lips part and then-it’s the weirdest thing, they indent. Like there’s a hand pressed over his mouth but Jared’s straining his eyes as hard as he can, and there’s nothing there. There’s nothing there, until he remembers...
…Amorous-Affairs-Awards…
Jared remembers the banner; remembers staring straight at it for awhile before it’d appeared to him, like he had to be looking for it first. His gaze instantly flicks to the empty space in front of Jensen and inexorably, like a liquid cascade of muted color, there’s a man.
There’s a man holding, kissing Jensen, and Jensen’s kissing him back.
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Characters: Jensen/Jared, Jensen/JDM, Jared/Sandy, Chris Kane, CW cast and cameos from Grey's Anatomy cast
Author: aeroport_art
Rating: R
Warnings: potty mouths, sarcasm, UST/schmoop, AU
Word Count: ~27,500
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made, go 'way.
Notes: Written for spn_fairytales. My challenge/inspiration was The Saucy Boy by Hans Christian Andersen. A huge thanks to mooyoo for being such a rockstar with the beta!
Summary: Everybody's got a love/hate relationship with their jobs. But for Jensen Ackles, top Cupid in the nation, after a hit goes wrong it's just a long, downhill slide from there. Caution: an ungodly amount of swearing, sarcasm, and schmoop in which Chris Kane is an awesome best friend, Tom Welling's the vacuous son of Zeus, Rosenbaum is Rosenbaum, and Jensen has a penchant for Plans.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
5:00 PM, February 14. Olympus Room, BAA building
Annual Bureau of Amorous Affairs Awards
The crowd applauds at an appropriate volume and length, the sound rising and falling like a familiar soundtrack to the Bureau’s annual BAA Awards. Zeus finishes his speech and steps down, fierce smile on his face as he joins his son’s table in the front of the room.
Jeff’s not really paying attention though. He picks at his chicken and zucchini, trying not to be too obvious about scanning the thirty or forty round tables crammed into the Bureau’s largest ballroom for a familiar face. A particular face.
However, his subtlety is thwarted when Patrick takes notice of Jeff’s restless eyes. His voice cuts in, “What are you looking for?”
Jeff turns around and rubs at his face, hand skimming over short stubble. Patrick Dempsey, C-70 of the Staten Island District and friend of twenty years, reaches over with his fork and steals a carrot off Jeff’s plate. “Didn’t look like you were going to eat that,” he explains offhand, crunching loudly.
“I’m looking for C-97,” Jeff eventually answers, hoping Patrick’s too buzzed off the champagne to put two and two together-
“Oh, you’re looking for Jensen. ”
-or not. “Yeah, I’m looking for Jensen,” he sighs.
“Jeff, why would you do that to yourself?” Patrick asks harshly like he’s taking up a fight that’s been brewing for awhile when thankfully, he gets drowned out by the next wave of applause.
The Venus from Washington, Kate Walsh, walks across the stage and takes the mike to announce the first block of awards to be handed out. While Jeff fixes his attention on Kate, the girl at the table next to them tips her chair backwards, nudges his shoulder, and says, “You’re looking for C-97?”
Not realizing he and Patrick had an audience for their conversation, Jeff quickly brushes his irritation away and replies, “Yeah. You know him?”
“He got discharged last week,” she says, scandalized. “It’s making its way across the room. Pass it on.” She flips her brown hair back over her shoulder, hitting Jeff squarely in the neck, then innocuously tips back towards her own table and dovetails into the conversation there.
Feeling like he’s been hit and run with gossip, Jeff mulls over the information for a moment before swiveling all the way around in his seat and tapping the girl on the shoulder. “Hey, where did you hear that?” he asks, increasing the pressure to more insistent patting when she ignores him, but he quickly gets shushed by the people around him. “Okay, okay,” he says, hands up in defeat.
He reaches for his fork and knife instead. Tries to saw off some of the chicken breast on his plate, but he doesn’t even want any chicken right now, so he just puts the silverware down and pointedly ignores Patrick’s curious expression.
Onstage, Venus continues, “Now I know you all must be dying to hear me talk for the next two hours”-the crowd titters-“But I’ll stop my yammering and let our local Venus, Samantha Ferris, introduce the nominees.”
It’s going to be a long time before they get to the good stuff, like naming the Bureau’s Highest-Grossing Cupid of the year. And while Jeff knows he’s got a good chance of nabbing the award, it still doesn’t make him want to actually sit through all the punctilio-blah blah millenniums of tradition, blah blah and so on-this stuff hasn’t changed since the last equally dull time he’d attended.
Jeff takes a long sip from his champagne, wondering about the validity of that girl’s comment about Jensen being discharged, but it’s so far-fetched he’s tempted to shrug it off. Jensen’s probably just inconveniently hidden from view by one of the Ionic columns or perhaps by some of the, er, larger men and women dappled throughout the room. The champagne runs out before Jeff’s done drinking so he lowers the flute, ready to signal for another from one of the standby waiters when across the room, his eyes land on-wait, really?-his eyes land on Jensen. He’s standing in the open crook of one of the side doors, the ones that lead backstage, and he’s watching Chris Kane receive an award onstage.
He looks out of place though, and that’s when Jeff notices-Jensen’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans, and sneakers. He even remembers that T-shirt from years ago-Jensen strewn across Jeff’s bed, the sunlight playing on his golden skin. Jeff dangling that shirt in his hand, charmed and amused as Jensen jumps for it and misses, crashing into him. Jeff’s thrown backwards ass-first, Jensen’s sprawled all over him and tangled up in his limbs-
It dawns on him that, Jesus, if Jensen’s backstage in his day clothes, that rumor must be true. Jensen’s no longer a Cupid, he thinks wonderingly.
As if he could tell he was on someone’s mind, Jensen turns around and disappears through the discreet door. It isn’t a matter of thinking when Jeff bolts out of his chair; he just knows he needs some answers, some explanations-hell, some explaining of his own to do, he knows that. Jeff ignores Patrick’s alarm and the curious looks of all the seated immortals that he jostles into on his way to the front of the room. Jeff makes it to the side door, slaps his hand on the doorknob and takes a deep breath for fortification before he wrenches it open and dashes in.
-----
It isn’t all that bad, Jensen thinks, sitting back here apart from the crowd, just watching and chilling like it’s a show on TV. Like he wasn’t supposed to be in that table over there, in that empty space between Chris and Chad that the organizers hadn’t had time to rearrange around. At least he got to come at all; Samantha had snuck him in backstage after she’d done her bit in introducing the nominees for Most Creative Hit.
When Jensen hears his boy Kane announced as the winner for that stunt he pulled with the target’s bulletproof vest, Jensen can’t help but want a good look instead of the weird angle he gets from the back, half-covered with curtain and wires. He hopes he isn’t making the ceremony look unprofessional or anything when he opens the door a crack and sneaks out of it, feeling conspicuous in his worn T-shirt and jeans that have hardly seen the light of day since college.
Jensen leans up against the doorjamb and watches the proceedings. Chris gives a goofy little speech that-blink and you’ll miss it-pokes fun at Samantha and the Bureau. “Gotta hand it to her though,” Chris says, “-doling out happy endings out like it’s candy when we can’t hardly get it ourselves. Kinda makes me wish somebody’d just shoot me, working here.” Chris throws out a charming grin that blindsides half the audience, earning scattered but appreciative laughter from the ones who’d caught the small jab at the BAA. Backstage Jensen hears Samantha bellow and he snickers quietly to himself.
He’s gotta admit though, Chris sure got it right. While humans might catch a break getting oversight in their romances, there’s no such system in place for immortals. Nah, stuff like love is as arbitrary and fickle as which socks to wear for the day, and while normally Jensen could appreciate the unfortunate irony in his stumble into love for Jared, he’s too tired for cynicism tonight. Between trying to drag his ass out of Mopedom and ignoring the way Jeff fits in his suit like a well-tailored glove, Jensen can hardly keep himself from fleeing and going home to sleep the day/week/month off. Still, he’s got a duty to his friends.
After Chris’ speech is over, Jensen returns to the relative darkness backstage and lets the door silently shut behind him. Two steps later the door suddenly bursts open and Jensen jumps back, valiantly fighting back a shriek.
“Holy sh-“ he manages, slapping a palm over his thudding chest. “What the fuck, man? Scared the shit outta me.”
The lighting the way it is, way brighter in the ballroom, Jensen can’t see much except the broad figure of the man who’d just barged inside. Still, there’s something familiar in the silhouette…
“Jensen,” the man says. Then after a pause, “Hey.”
…and, of course.
“Jeff,” he says, trying hard not to notice the heady scent that drags memories, kicking and screaming, out from the back of Jensen’s brain. Late, sleepy mornings. Quickies between hits. Solid muscle he loved to explore with hands, mouth, anything. The smell of soap Jeff used to use-and still does, apparently.
“Can we talk?” Jeff says, stepping closer and Jensen involuntarily backs up as light from the stage filters over them, falling over Jeff’s face. Jeff looks older now, his jaw squarer and salt in his peppered stubble. Still hot, though.
Dude, that horny guy sitting on his shoulder needs to shut the hell up. Jensen hesitantly leads the two of them down the narrow hall and into a secluded space out back near the dressing room, sandwiched between curtains and a plywood wall. He briefly checks that they’re good and alone, preparing for what might bubble up to be a spectacular argument. He can feel the pent-up resentment in his bones already.
“What do you want?” Jensen asks, trying hard to weed out the antagonism from his voice. It doesn’t look like he’s succeeding though, if Jeff’s wrinkled forehead is any indication.
“Look, I know I got a lot of explaining to do.”
Hell yeah you do, Jensen thinks. He deserves his own award for keeping that to himself. Instead, he replies nonchalantly, “So start.”
“Hold on,” Jeff says. “I want to know how you got discharged, first.”
Like Jeff gets to decide how this little reunion’s gonna go? Fuck that. Jensen crosses his arms and leans back against the wall. “I’m waiting,” he says.
Jeff watches Jensen for a moment, taking in the defiant stance and slight curl of his lip. He sighs, “Fair enough.” Thinking hard about how to phrase three years of absence and silence without making himself sound like a complete asshole, Jeff starts slowly, “When I left back then, it wasn’t about you.”
Jensen scoffs, ready to shoot back a remark but then Jeff’s palm thuds against the plywood behind him and Jensen’s jolted into swallowing his words. He forces himself not to duck out from under Jeff’s arm because that’d just look weak but dammit, with every inch of proximity gained, he feels his leverage and determination slip like sneakers on mud. From the way Jensen can’t seem to catch his breath, it seems no attraction was lost between the years but that’s not what he needs right now. No, Jensen can’t forget why he’s pissed at the guy. You’ve waited three years for this explanation, he sternly reminds himself.
“It wasn’t about you,” Jeff repeats and Jensen holds his tongue. “You remember my ex-wife?”
Well, that he hadn’t been expecting. Still, Jensen nods cautiously. Jeff continues, “She caught up with me back then. Told me we had a daughter. Six years old; well, nine, now.” Jensen’s eyes widen and he wants to ask more, but Jeff keeps going, “I can’t just ignore something like that, you know? I thought about telling you, I swear I did, Jen, but next thing I knew she was asking me to join her in New York, help her raise our kid.”
Jesus, Jeff’s got a kid. “Does she… does she have a name?”
“Yeah,” he says, genuine smile spilling across his face. It hurts to look at because once upon a time, that smile was reserved for Jensen. “Her name’s Rebecca.”
“You could’ve told me.”
“I know. And damn it Jen, I wish I did. But what we had before, it was so easy, and I just didn’t want to turn it into something complicated and ugly. Long distance would’ve been hard-hell, impossible for us, not to mention the whole daughter thing.”
“It might’ve worked if you tried,” Jensen says grudgingly, even though he knows Jeff’s probably right.
“Yeah, maybe. But I didn’t. I went to New York. Did the daddy thing while I worked part-time and her mom concentrated on her career-that’s why she even told me about Becky at all. She got promoted and couldn’t take care of her on her own.”
Jensen nods along, trying to read between the lines and figure out how all this back-story leads up to Jeff being here, now. It still doesn’t make any sense to him though, so he prompts, “But you’re working again. As a Cupid, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Jeff says. He takes a step closer, the footstep echoing in the dark hallway as behind them, the ceremony continues at a faded murmur. Jensen stuffs down his mounting restlessness as Jeff presses in and says, “Patrick convinced me to start again-“
“Patrick?”
“Friend,” Jeff explains distractedly. “But that wasn’t why I came back.”
Before Jensen has a chance to speculate, Jeff clinches the distance between then, the toes of their shoes butting. He palms Jensen’s jaw to tilt his mouth up and meets it with his own.
It’s a tentative kiss, asking and answering more questions than the ones already bouncing around Jensen’s mind. But it’s a good kiss-really good-tasting warm and sweet. Jeff’s stubble grazes his skin and it’s comforting, recalling all the places that familiar graze used to scrape across-burrowed in Jensen’s neck, sweeping over a bare shoulder, traveling south… He’d missed this. God, he’d missed Jeff.
Still, it’s too much, too soon, and Jensen’s body stiffens. Jeff backs up with an audible parting of mouths. “What is it?” he asks huskily.
Not realizing he’d reached up to card his fingers through Jeff’s short hair, Jensen sheepishly slides his hands out. He stiffens his resolve and says, “I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“I can’t do this. I can’t just…let you waltz back into my life. I mean, what do you want from me? Am I supposed to just let you take me home like I’m some trophy wife?”
“Well, you’re not obligated to stay here anymore. Besides, Jensen, you can do anything you want in New York. All the main offices are there, anyway,” Jeff reasons, thumb tracing distracting circles along Jensen’s cheekbone.
“Yeah, but…” His eyes flutter shut as he leans into the caress, struggling to remember what reasons he has to back away from what Jeff’s proposing. But behind closed lids, it isn’t Jeff he’s seeing. It’s-
Jared’s hands, larger and bonier but hot-so much hotter as they force him to look up. Jared’s mouth is tighter and fierce as it devours Jensen, lips first but the hunger doesn’t stop there, it feels like Jared’s tearing whatever he wants out of Jensen and all that’s left after he opens up and gives Jared everything, all that’s left is Jared’s betrayed expression.
“There’s somebody else,” Jensen says though he hears the words in his ears before he’s even decided; says it before he has a chance to plan what he’ll follow it up with.
“Someone else,” Jeff repeats dumbly. He peers closer and even though it’s dark backstage, he can see the guilt etched in Jensen’s features. “There isn’t anybody else,” he reads.
“Well, he’s not…we’re not-I mean,” Jensen stutters, resolution floundering under Jeff’s knowing gaze. But then he flashes back to Jared and it’s not even a tough call anymore, not really. Jensen straightens up and looks Jeff in the eye. “There’s somebody else.”
There’s no mistaking the message there. Jeff reluctantly pulls his hands away from the sides of Jensen’s neck and pockets them, backing up a few steps until they’re proper again. Jeff pauses, not knowing what to say but when it’s clear Jensen isn’t changing his mind, he finally replies, “Well if there’s ever a vacancy, you know where to find me.”
Jensen runs his hand behind his neck, trying to rub off the tingling imprint of Jeff’s fingers. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay.”
In the silence that yawns between them, they both hastily perk their ears when onstage, beyond the maze of thin plywood walls, curtains and equipment, they hear someone announce the nominees for the year’s highest-grossing Cupid. Jeff’s name comes up in the list so Jensen jerks his head towards the stage. “That baby’s all yours,” he says.
At Jeff’s reluctance, Jensen urges, “C’mon. I was the only Cupid who could give you a run for your money, and now that I’m out of the picture…” Jensen puts his hand out towards the stage, inviting Jeff to the award.
“You know where to find me,” Jeff says one last time, his gaze searching Jensen’s. But then they hear his name called out as the winner, so he turns around and walks out the hallway.
Jensen leans into the wall again and slides down, landing on his ass. He thunks his head against the plywood, closes his eyes, and waits for it...
Out in the ballroom the crowd roars with applause when Jeff appears from the side door. There’s good-natured laughter when he clambers onstage, having come out the side opposite the stairs. Jeff takes the golden crossbow statuette in hand and lifts it high in the air to a cheering crowd.
Jensen takes a deep breath; exhales slowly as the muted clapping winds down.
Even though he’s just turned down what might’ve been his best bet for a Happily Ever After, Jensen thinks it was probably the right choice.
Jared spots him, calling his name as his whole body lights up-eyes crinkling and mouth turned up in glee, shoulders lifting and lungs expanding and yeah, even his stupid hair looked delighted to see Jensen-
Yeah, it was the right choice. It was the only choice, really.
-----
It’s not that he believes him. No, Jared’s pretty damned sure Jensen’s lying through his Crest white teeth just to make it easier on Jared-Oh, let’s let the idiot boy down gently. Let him think I’m crazy, that way he won’t get his little heart all broke. Well, shucks. Fuck that.
So while Jared’s not gullible (usually), he sure as hell is driving himself crazy from wondering about what Jensen’s really been doing, where he’s been going and if he’s still wearing those disgustingly well-pressed suits all the time. Or wondering if he’s even gonna get to see Jensen, ever again. It’s true Jared’s the one who backed out from all this, but that was a week ago. He didn’t realize how invested he was in the whole thing until today when, in the middle of refilling his gas tank, it suddenly hit him that this shitty feeling he’s had all week was because he missed the crazy fuck.
And Jared doesn’t like feeling shitty. So he topped off his gas tank and bounced-well, after picking up a Gatorade at the gas station first (it’s dehydrating being this tall!). After some hesitation, he’d thrown in a chocolate Valentine’s Day thing too-half-off because it’s Valentine’s Day already-off the slightly dilapidated Hallmark display by the front register. The chocolate was for himself, of course. Not for Sandy, seeing as how he’d inadvertently broken up with her when he moaned Jensen’s name the other night. And most definitely not for Jensen because Jensen hates him. Jared sighs.
Running out of ideas for what to do to feel better, Jared starts driving around aimlessly, thinking about nothing much at all except, damn it. He still wants Jensen. Even if Jensen doesn’t want him. Well, tough-tell it to my goddamned face, Jared thinks.
Trouble is, he notices during his fifth loop through Hollywood, is that he doesn’t know how to actually say that to the guy seeing as how he doesn’t have a flying clue as to where he is. But hey…what about Jensen’s confession? That had to have been some truth to that, right? Because the best stories are based on reality, and Jensen’s story had been pretty darned detailed. Like…
Jared wrings his memory like a wet towel, knowing he’s got the information in there somewhere. Eventually it drips out, and he remembers-Wilcox Avenue, between Holly’s and that apartment building. I go there every morning for work, and sure Jared had laughed disbelievingly at that-he’s been to Holly’s and he’d sure as hell remember a 29-story building in the middle of Wilcox-but hey, what’s he got to lose? It’s only a short drive away to double check.
Jared pulls a U-turn at the next intersection and heads on over. Parks his car along the street in front the small bar, understandably deserted in the daytime, and looks for the illustrious Bureau of Love, or whatever it was Jensen had named it.
As expected, there’s nothing there. Just Holly’s, some fenced-off space, and then the apartment building. Still, Jared gets out of his truck, locking it with his keychain as it chirps back, then walks up to the fence-he’s just stretching his legs though, and that sinking rock in his gut is just ‘cause he needs to fill up his gas tank again, twice in as many hours. Right, that’s exactly why he’s feeling disappointed.
Boy, does Jared feel like an idiot.
He flips around and falls against the chain-link fence, springing lightly as he curses under his breath. According to Mr. I’m-Cupid-and-You’re-Dumped, there’s supposed to be a tall-ass building here with a big-ass parking lot. So what is this, Harry Potter? Is Jared supposed to take a running leap at the metal fence?
Maybe, a stupid little voice tells him. Jared frowns and turns back around, loops his fingers through the fence and hesitantly tests its physical properties-nope, it’s real. And Jared’s officially never seeing Jensen again.
Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Jared was supposed to come here, and Jensen’s made up story was supposed to accidentally have some truth to it. There was supposed to be a tall government building here, or wherever it is Jensen really works, and Jared was gonna waltz in, ask the hot receptionist to page him down (do people still use pagers?). Jensen would show up all awkward cute as always and Jared was supposed to smack the truth outta him. Or kiss it out of him, whichever came first. Whatever, Jared’s not picky. Still, he has the whole thing all played out in his head, Jared can even see it-he’s supposed to be staring at the big parking lot behind this chain-link fence right now, studded with some Camrys and Priuses and shadowed by a tall but normal-looking building with an ordinary-Joe door, the brass numbers 1522 nailed into it-
Wait.
Jared backs up unsteadily.
Hang on, this wasn’t here before.
To his far right-yeah, there’s Holly’s. To the left, Jared looks up and sees the side of the apartment building. But in front of him, right in front of his nose is a chain-link fence that stretches almost a block wide as building number 1522 towers over it in all its 29-storyed glory. Jesus.
Feeling numb, Jared walks down the sidewalk and up to the entrance, climbs the four or five steps there and lets his knuckles hover over the wooden door. Is he supposed to-is there a doorbell? Or is there some secret code or something? Jared racks his brain, trying to remember anything of the sort. Nothing comes up though, so he knocks hesitantly at first, then louder when nothing happens.
There’s no reply still, so he hops off the steps and cranes his neck up. Did Jensen happen to mention which floor he worked on? Maybe it’s low enough for some good old-fashioned pebble-tossing. As Jared searches the building façade for any telling details, a wide banner magically appears, forming left to right as he reads: 8053rd-Annual-Bureau-of Amorous-Affairs-Awards-
Well. At least he knows he’s come to the right place. Shoving aside all incredulity for the time being, Jared gets back up the stairs, throws his hand on the brass doorknob and flings the door wide open.
He doesn’t know what he was expecting. But it wasn’t this.
Jared swivels his head around like a disappointed kid at the Humane Society-where are all the cute wriggly puppies up for adoption? What’s with the balding pug and the half-shaven collie and why does everything smell like poo? Except in this case, it isn’t the forlorn animals Jared’s disappointed at, it’s at how…normal everything looks, considering it’s all, you know. Made of magic and stuff.
The lobby looks just as big as it does from outside (damn it, Harry Potter…those liars), and inside, the floor’s made of dusty tiled marble with nondescript paintings adorning the nondescript walls. Between two corridors sits a receptionist’s desk with a corded phone and computer on it and post-its stuck all over. Nobody’s there right now. Sure, there’s a big, giant clock hanging on the wall behind it but it’s just-it looks like a school clock, all functionality and tight-fisted budgets. On the far wall is a row of three brass elevators that might’ve looked grand at one time, but are kind of scuffed and dented now.
So, this is the place that holds the secret to Romance. The big answer to the Inner Workings of True Love…and it all takes place in an office building on Wilcox Avenue on the outskirts of Santa Monica. An office building with floors that need mopping and-he looks back to the empty receptionist’s desk-is understaffed too, apparently.
There’s something poetic in this, but Jared could care less. He just wants to find Jensen already.
Jared starts by picking a corridor and marching down, eyes roving over everything in sight for a clue as he hopes for something awesome to happen again, like when the banner-or hell, the entire building-had appeared out of thin air.
But ten minutes later, after staring into landscape paintings and smudges on the wall that reveal little other than their amazing soporific power, Jared moves along until he’s at the back of the hallway. Here, he has the choice of going through a door or making a left.
Hmm… Jared scratches his chin. Then he sticks his finger in his mouth and holds it up to the air.
Unfortunately this isn’t a cave and Jensen doesn’t make wind-Jared snickers-so he puts his hand back down. He thinks about trying the elevators, maybe checking each floor at a time, when something rumbles through the wall on the right and echoes loudly into the deserted hallway. It sounds like…
Jared inches closer to the white plaster wall and cocks his ear to listen properly. There it goes again-it sounds like laughter. And applause. And then in a crystalline moment, Jared recalls the writing on that banner outside: Annual Bureau of…whatever Awards!
That must be where everybody is! Jared makes a beeline for the closest set of double doors, quickly scanning the brass placard that reads Olympus Room - Back Entrance before pushing in. Immediately hit with both darkness and the delicious smells of a catered lunch, Jared shuts his eyes and pulls a Toucan Sam, sniffing the air as he sweeps his hands in front of him lest he trip over and break something (which wouldn’t be a first).
Jared’s eyes eventually adjust and he finds himself blinking in the anemic light that’s coming from somewhere up front. He must be backstage or something, judging from all the expensive-looking equipment lying around. But hey, even better; this way Jared can probably get a good look at the crowd and if Jensen had been telling the truth before-as all evidence seems to point (scream) towards-that’s precisely where Mr. Cupid-Himself is gonna be.
Yes! Jared cheers inwardly. His week-long cloud of gloom is clearing up by the second, parting aside for something that feels a little bit like-dare he think it?-a ray of hope. If Jensen isn’t a big fat liar then that means…
“…and if you believe me, that’s great. I’ll, um.” Jensen darts his eyes around. “Buy you dinner or something-”
All of a sudden, right next to Jared a tall speaker thunders out an introduction to something called the Highest-Grossing Cupid. Jared’s hand flies up to cover his ears but in his haste to distance himself from a busted eardrum, he trips over a wire and stumbles through a black curtain he hadn’t even known was there. Still cradling his ringing ear, Jared shakes his head a little and looks up to see where he is.
Standing in front of him, is Jensen. Not that Jared can really see anything in this pathetic lighting, but that black silhouette of a profile-those freaking collagen lips-could only belong to Jensen.
Now that he’s actually found the guy, Jared’s excitement is barely containable. He side-steps to get a better look and when the light edges over Jensen’s body, Jared’s mind silently implodes. If he thought he Jensen looked good before-the threadbare hem of Jensen’s shirt rides up against his wrist, jeans tugged low from the pull of his thumbs through his belt loops, exposing a glowing strip of smooth skin-Versace ain’t got nothing on an old university tee and snug pair of jeans.
Through the sheer awesomeness of Jared’s willpower, he pries his eyes away long enough to look up before finally noticing Jensen’s troubled frown. I can fix that, he thinks giddily as he steps forward-
“-Patrick?” Jensen calls out.
Jared freezes as he wonders, Who the fuck is Patrick? And why would Jensen be waiting for a guy named Patrick backstage? He opens his mouth to demand answers when just then, something causes Jared to pause.
He can’t put his finger on it, but there’s something off about Jensen’s face, his body language-the sad excuse for lighting here paints his features with more shadows than it does actual visibility, so Jared creeps forward until he’s standing just a few yards away, squinting all to hell in order to figure out what it is that’s…
Jensen gasps-soft but sharp. His full lips part and then-it’s the weirdest thing, they indent. Like there’s a hand pressed over his mouth but Jared’s straining his eyes as hard as he can, and there’s nothing there. There’s nothing there, until he remembers...
…Amorous-Affairs-Awards…
Jared remembers the banner; remembers staring straight at it for awhile before it’d appeared to him, like he had to be looking for it first. His gaze instantly flicks to the empty space in front of Jensen and inexorably, like a liquid cascade of muted color, there’s a man.
There’s a man holding, kissing Jensen, and Jensen’s kissing him back.
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