Smoke & Lightning, Heavy Metal Thunder [1/?]
Title: Smoke And Lightning, Heavy Metal Thunder (1/?)
Authors: bloody_adorable and eviltwin
Fandoms: Supernatural RPS
Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki.
Rating: PG all the way to NC-17 in future chapters.
Wordcount: 2,422
Summary: AU. Jared's a classic case of rich kid gone wrong, whose only sense of family comes from his motorbike, the guy he rents a garage from to live in and the precinct cops who know his face better than most already. Jensen's a hard-working student whose family are helping push him towards great things. What happens when their two worlds collide, and will Jared's troublesome nature be too much for Jensen to handle?
Disclaimer: None of the following is true in any way, and no profit is made from this work of fiction.
Extra note: Please feel free to join/watch the comm for updates. We will be posting twice weekly - once at the weekend and once on Wednesday. Feedback is yummy. :)
CHAPTER ONE
It was well after dinner by the time the car pulled up to the house. Jeffrey's growling muscle car slid into the driveway; he eased to a stop and cut the engine.
"This your place, kiddo?" He asked only because the directions given had been rather half-hearted, not because he believed Jensen would steer him wrong on purpose.
Sitting in the front seat, Jensen remained leant back against the leather. "My parents'," he answered. "My dad's a lawyer."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," he smiled. "The Great Alan Ackles. Never loses a case."
Though Jeffrey heard a clear sarcastic tone in the boy's voice, he didn't push the subject. He nodded his head and chuckled. "Not bad." He looked over at Jen, seeing the young man was still clearly feeling bad. "Alright, you," he said. "Let's get you inside, huh?"
Jensen really wanted to agree with him, but every bit of strength he'd had in his bones had left him on the drive across town. All he could manage was a weak nod.
Jeffrey got out of the driver's seat, closing the door behind himself, and headed round to the passenger's side. He opened the door and reached in to help the younger man out. Back at the house, he'd warned Jensen that he might have a cracked rib or two, but Jensen had refused to go to the doctors.
Jensen let Jeffrey help him out of the car. All of his muscles seemed to have seized up, and he felt pretty sore. Someone must have kicked his hip too, because a sharp pain stabbed through it when he walked, causing him to limp. He hadn't realized the damage was so severe, assuming he had been working through adrenaline and shock.
Jensen saw his mother standing in the doorway and smiled at her. "Hi, Mom."
"Oh, my God, Jensen?"
He chuckled and nodded. "I'm okay, Mom."
The storm clouds were still heavy in the sky, the rain still coming down in a dreary, annoying drizzle. Jensen's mother didn't care, and stepped outside in her beach-like white pant-suit and bare feet, to help Jeffrey bring her son inside. "What happened?"
"Nothing," he answered. "I just want to lay down and sleep for oh, eight, ten years?"
Inside the house, Jeffrey didn't have time to admire the grandeur of it all. He followed where Jensen's Mom led, up the wide, curved staircase and into Jensen's room. For a split second, Jeffrey decided that, with only a slight exaggeration, the hallway in the house was wider than his garage. Jensen's room was big and airy, white walls and white bedding. No posters that Jeffrey would have thought typical of a boy his age. A single piece of modern art was on the wall above the fireplace, and a handful of personal items were laid out upon the dresser top.
Jensen grunted as he laid down on the bed. Jeffrey immediately moved to take the young man's shoes off, but Mom stopped him. "Oh, I can do that, thank you."
"Mom, this is Mister Morgan," Jensen said, his eyes closed. Blindly, he gestured to his mother. "Mister Morgan, this is my Mom."
Jeffrey held out his hand to the woman. "Jeffrey," he told her.
"Donna," she smiled. He smiled in return, genuinely pleased to meet her. She turned back to her son, brushing a hand over his forehead. "Jensen, sweetheart," she said softly. "Tell me what happened."
He took hold of her hand, opening his eyes only long enough to glance up at her. "Mom, really," he said. "I just want to sleep for a little while."
Frowning, she gave in. "Alright."
Being extra careful, she and Jeffrey left, their footfalls silent on the plush carpet. Jeffrey turned just outside the young man's doorway and watched Donna close the door quietly. "He ended up at my house," he told her. "My boy found him at the gas station pretty beaten up."
Concerned, Donna stood closer to him to whisper. "Did he say what happened?"
Jeffrey shook his head. "All he said was that he was mugged."
"Mugged?!"
"That's what he claims," he shrugged. "I'm not inclined to believe that, though. I've seen muggings before. That looks more like a beating."
Donna sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh, his father won't be pleased."
It was Jeffrey's turn to frown. "Go easy on the boy," he advised. "He's had a rough day already."
She looked surprised at his manner, but agreed that he was right. "Alan and I are very thankful to you."
"My pleasure, Mrs Ackles. I'll show myself out. It was good to meet you, ma'am."
Breakfast was out on the table for him by the time he got up. The sunlight slanted through the kitchen windows at an angle that told Jensen he'd easily slept through his morning classes. Still moving gingerly, but better than before, Jensen shuffled to the breakfast nook and helped himself to the cold blueberry pancakes. Mom always made blueberry pancakes for him when he wasn't feeling well.
As he ate, he had mixed emotions about missing school. Part of him wanted to show up, late or not, just to prove to Doug that he hadn't gotten the better of him. Another part of him was thankful for the reprieve. And yet another part was dreading the earful he'd get from Dad. He didn't know what Mom had said to the man to get him to let Jensen skip classes that day, but he had a feeling he would be owing his Dad more than just an explanation.
Donna arrived home while Jensen was still thinking over his pancakes and orange juice. She entered the house through the side door and smiled brightly at him when she saw him at the table. "Hi, sweetie," she greeted.
"Hey, Mom."
In her arms was a glorious bouquet of flowers of all shapes, sizes, and colors. "Aren't these gorgeous?" she asked, setting them down upon the kitchen counter.
"Yeah, really great," he answered. "Who're they for?"
"I was thinking you could bring them to your friend."
Jensen shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "What friend?"
"Mister Morgan," she said. "Jeffrey, I think he said his name was?"
After seeing their house, Jensen was pretty sure the flowers would be out of place. "What are they going to do with flowers, Mom?"
"That's not the point, Jensen," she said. "It's the idea of it. You're thanking him for bringing you back home."
"I thanked him, Mom."
She set her hands upon her hips and sighed at him. "Jensen Ross," she reprimanded. "You're going to bring these flowers to them and thank them for what they did. Invite them to dinner, we'd love to have them."
Sliding out of the breakfast nook, Jensen laughed. "Dad said that?"
"Of course he didn't," she returned, gathering up the fresh-cut flowers. "He doesn't make all the decisions here."
Jensen just looked at her, clearly disbelieving her story.
Donna pushed the flowers towards her son, the plastic crinkling loudly. "Take them, Jensen," she told him. "It's the least we can do."
"Ow, Jesus fuck."
Jensen arched his eyebrows at the curse. In his parents' house, he and his siblings weren't allowed to utter a single swear. And Dad had made a list for them to refer to, too.
Stepping closer, Jensen peeked inside the garage and saw someone there. He thought it must be the guy from the gas station. Jared, was it? He was shirtless and bent down in front of a very sporty motorcycle. Suicycle was scribed on the side, making Jensen's eyes flare out of fear for just a second. His attention returned to Jared, and he suddenly realized that all of the colors, lines and shading on the man's muscled shoulders formed into one big, continuous tattoo. The ink trailed down his right arm, most of the shapes undefinable upon a quick glance. A hint of another tattoo could be seen creeping out from underneath the waistband of his boxers, shown quite blatantly since his jeans were a bit too big and gaping at the waist.
Interrupting Jensen's staring game, there was the sound of metal upon metal and then a tool falling to the cement floor of the garage.
"Ow, God-fucking-dammit!"
Swallowing nervously, Jensen cleared his throat.
Jared turned his head to see who was there eavesdropping. It took him just a moment to recognize Jensen, and he stood to face him. "What's with the preppy look?"
Confused, Jensen shook his head. "What?"
"You look like you should be named Hoight Devonshire the Eighth, on a boat with your Irish Setter and smoking a pipe."
Jensen chuckled. The plastic that the flowers were wrapped in crinkled in his hands. "No," he said. "Jensen will do."
"Alright," Jared agreed. He picked up a rag and tried, unsuccessfully, to wipe the grease off his hands. As he did, he stepped closer. "What can I do for you?"
Jensen noticed two silver rings pierced through Jared's nipples. He averted his eyes and handed the man the flowers in his arms. "These are for you," he said. "Well, not for you. Well, they are. For you and your Dad, I mean. As a thanks. For yesterday."
Jared eyed the flowers and nodded. "Great," he said, devoid of any real emotion other than sarcasm. "Those'll look smashing on the mantle."
Jensen was sure that he'd just been made fun of, but didn't know what to say. He inched the flowers closer to Jared, hoping the man would just take them so that he could leave.
"Just put them inside," Jared told him, turning back to his bike.
He faltered for a moment. "You want me to put them inside?"
Jared grunted as he used the wrench on the bike, trying to get something loosened or tightened, Jensen couldn't tell which. "You've seen the place already, haven't you?"
"Yeah," he shrugged.
"Then you know there's jack-shit to steal."
Jensen's brow furrowed for just a second as he stared down at Jared's tattooed back. "Oh..." he mumbled softly, "...kay."
The garage was filled to the brim with, well, everything. There were boxes and bags, hoses and rope. Screwdrivers hung on the wall, as well as a roll of paper towels that looked to be rather ancient. A column of drawers stood beside one of the work benches; some were open and some looked painted shut. Besides Jared's blue Suicycle, there was an older bike there. Jensen could barely make out the word "Ducati" on the side. Jensen didn't know anything about bikes, but that one looked like it had been quite the beauty in past times.
After weaving through the assorted junk in the garage, Jensen let himself into the house through the side door. "Hello?" he called. No one answered. It was still mid-day though, and he figured that Mister Morgan was probably at work. There wasn't any sign of a female presence in the house. This was clearly a bachelor pad, so Jensen figured he wouldn't find a vase. Still, he searched under the sink, and in the cupboards above the refrigerator. While he was there, standing on a kitchen chair he had slid across the floor to the refrigerator, Jensen came across a few dusty photos that had been left atop the fridge. He picked them up and blew the dust off of them with one heaving breath.
In one of the photos was a very young Jared, no nipple rings or tattoos in sight. He was smiling brightly, his hair shaved short in the back rather than shaggy like it was now. His eyes sparkled brightly as he smiled, Jeffrey standing next to him. Jeffrey had no beard in the picture, but it was unmistakably him. Gazing down at the shot, Jensen smiled.
"Voyeurism run in your family?"
Startled, Jensen nearly fell off the chair as he turned to see Jared standing in the doorway to the garage. "Holy crap," he breathed. "I didn't hear you come in."
"Clearly."
Jensen cleared his throat and held the photo out. "I'm sorry, I was looking for a vase and found that."
Boots thumping on the cheap tile floor, Jared neared him. He took the picture from him and looked down at it. A smile flashed across his face as he remembered the day it was taken.
Jensen noticed a dreamy look in Jared's eyes and smiled. "Your Mom take that?"
Jared's demeanor quickly deteriorated. "My Mom's dead," he answered quickly. "Just put those in the sink. Jeff'll take care of them when he gets home."
Instantly, Jensen jumped down from the chair. He spoke over his shoulder as he did, trying to make their conversation last. Something about Jared's smile in the photo made him curious. He didn't remember ever smiling like that. "I'm sorry, you don't call him Dad?"
Jared stopped just before the doorway to the garage. "Why would I do that?" he asked, looking back at Jensen.
Jensen put the flowers in the sink and then brushed his hands off. "Be..cause...he's your Dad?"
"Did I say he was my Dad?"
"I'm sorry," Jensen said again. "I just assumed."
Clearing his throat, Jared turned back around to face Jensen and took a few steps closer. "Jensen, is it?" He smiled sarcastically when he saw the preppy boy nod his head. Leaning in closer, he spoke softly. "Stop apologizing."
"Oh," Jensen said. He stared up at Jared, suddenly noticing how long the man's lashes were. "Okay."
In the garage once again, Jensen made sure to close the door behind him. He weaved through the junk once more, pausing beside Jared. He watched him work for several minutes, his hands jammed into his pockets, calming down enough to speak again. "So, what kind of bike is this?"
Chuckling, Jared turned and looked up at him from his place on the garage floor. "You know about bikes?"
"Sure," Jensen scoffed, shrugging his shoulders.
Still smiling, Jared motioned to the old bike that was mostly in pieces. "That one's a Ducati, this one's a Kawasaki."
"Yeah, alright," he nodded. "Rock on."
Laughing again, Jared shook his head. "Jesus Christ, you know nothing, do you?"
Jensen didn't join in on the laughter. He hung his head and sighed. "Not really."
It was silent for a moment as Jared thought to himself. "What are you doing for the rest of the day?"
"Nothing. I'm skipping school today, I guess."
"Alright. Grab some cardboard to sit on. Fuck history. You're going to learn bikes today."
--TBC--
Authors: bloody_adorable and eviltwin
Fandoms: Supernatural RPS
Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki.
Rating: PG all the way to NC-17 in future chapters.
Wordcount: 2,422
Summary: AU. Jared's a classic case of rich kid gone wrong, whose only sense of family comes from his motorbike, the guy he rents a garage from to live in and the precinct cops who know his face better than most already. Jensen's a hard-working student whose family are helping push him towards great things. What happens when their two worlds collide, and will Jared's troublesome nature be too much for Jensen to handle?
Disclaimer: None of the following is true in any way, and no profit is made from this work of fiction.
Extra note: Please feel free to join/watch the comm for updates. We will be posting twice weekly - once at the weekend and once on Wednesday. Feedback is yummy. :)
CHAPTER ONE
It was well after dinner by the time the car pulled up to the house. Jeffrey's growling muscle car slid into the driveway; he eased to a stop and cut the engine.
"This your place, kiddo?" He asked only because the directions given had been rather half-hearted, not because he believed Jensen would steer him wrong on purpose.
Sitting in the front seat, Jensen remained leant back against the leather. "My parents'," he answered. "My dad's a lawyer."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," he smiled. "The Great Alan Ackles. Never loses a case."
Though Jeffrey heard a clear sarcastic tone in the boy's voice, he didn't push the subject. He nodded his head and chuckled. "Not bad." He looked over at Jen, seeing the young man was still clearly feeling bad. "Alright, you," he said. "Let's get you inside, huh?"
Jensen really wanted to agree with him, but every bit of strength he'd had in his bones had left him on the drive across town. All he could manage was a weak nod.
Jeffrey got out of the driver's seat, closing the door behind himself, and headed round to the passenger's side. He opened the door and reached in to help the younger man out. Back at the house, he'd warned Jensen that he might have a cracked rib or two, but Jensen had refused to go to the doctors.
Jensen let Jeffrey help him out of the car. All of his muscles seemed to have seized up, and he felt pretty sore. Someone must have kicked his hip too, because a sharp pain stabbed through it when he walked, causing him to limp. He hadn't realized the damage was so severe, assuming he had been working through adrenaline and shock.
Jensen saw his mother standing in the doorway and smiled at her. "Hi, Mom."
"Oh, my God, Jensen?"
He chuckled and nodded. "I'm okay, Mom."
The storm clouds were still heavy in the sky, the rain still coming down in a dreary, annoying drizzle. Jensen's mother didn't care, and stepped outside in her beach-like white pant-suit and bare feet, to help Jeffrey bring her son inside. "What happened?"
"Nothing," he answered. "I just want to lay down and sleep for oh, eight, ten years?"
Inside the house, Jeffrey didn't have time to admire the grandeur of it all. He followed where Jensen's Mom led, up the wide, curved staircase and into Jensen's room. For a split second, Jeffrey decided that, with only a slight exaggeration, the hallway in the house was wider than his garage. Jensen's room was big and airy, white walls and white bedding. No posters that Jeffrey would have thought typical of a boy his age. A single piece of modern art was on the wall above the fireplace, and a handful of personal items were laid out upon the dresser top.
Jensen grunted as he laid down on the bed. Jeffrey immediately moved to take the young man's shoes off, but Mom stopped him. "Oh, I can do that, thank you."
"Mom, this is Mister Morgan," Jensen said, his eyes closed. Blindly, he gestured to his mother. "Mister Morgan, this is my Mom."
Jeffrey held out his hand to the woman. "Jeffrey," he told her.
"Donna," she smiled. He smiled in return, genuinely pleased to meet her. She turned back to her son, brushing a hand over his forehead. "Jensen, sweetheart," she said softly. "Tell me what happened."
He took hold of her hand, opening his eyes only long enough to glance up at her. "Mom, really," he said. "I just want to sleep for a little while."
Frowning, she gave in. "Alright."
Being extra careful, she and Jeffrey left, their footfalls silent on the plush carpet. Jeffrey turned just outside the young man's doorway and watched Donna close the door quietly. "He ended up at my house," he told her. "My boy found him at the gas station pretty beaten up."
Concerned, Donna stood closer to him to whisper. "Did he say what happened?"
Jeffrey shook his head. "All he said was that he was mugged."
"Mugged?!"
"That's what he claims," he shrugged. "I'm not inclined to believe that, though. I've seen muggings before. That looks more like a beating."
Donna sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh, his father won't be pleased."
It was Jeffrey's turn to frown. "Go easy on the boy," he advised. "He's had a rough day already."
She looked surprised at his manner, but agreed that he was right. "Alan and I are very thankful to you."
"My pleasure, Mrs Ackles. I'll show myself out. It was good to meet you, ma'am."
Breakfast was out on the table for him by the time he got up. The sunlight slanted through the kitchen windows at an angle that told Jensen he'd easily slept through his morning classes. Still moving gingerly, but better than before, Jensen shuffled to the breakfast nook and helped himself to the cold blueberry pancakes. Mom always made blueberry pancakes for him when he wasn't feeling well.
As he ate, he had mixed emotions about missing school. Part of him wanted to show up, late or not, just to prove to Doug that he hadn't gotten the better of him. Another part of him was thankful for the reprieve. And yet another part was dreading the earful he'd get from Dad. He didn't know what Mom had said to the man to get him to let Jensen skip classes that day, but he had a feeling he would be owing his Dad more than just an explanation.
Donna arrived home while Jensen was still thinking over his pancakes and orange juice. She entered the house through the side door and smiled brightly at him when she saw him at the table. "Hi, sweetie," she greeted.
"Hey, Mom."
In her arms was a glorious bouquet of flowers of all shapes, sizes, and colors. "Aren't these gorgeous?" she asked, setting them down upon the kitchen counter.
"Yeah, really great," he answered. "Who're they for?"
"I was thinking you could bring them to your friend."
Jensen shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "What friend?"
"Mister Morgan," she said. "Jeffrey, I think he said his name was?"
After seeing their house, Jensen was pretty sure the flowers would be out of place. "What are they going to do with flowers, Mom?"
"That's not the point, Jensen," she said. "It's the idea of it. You're thanking him for bringing you back home."
"I thanked him, Mom."
She set her hands upon her hips and sighed at him. "Jensen Ross," she reprimanded. "You're going to bring these flowers to them and thank them for what they did. Invite them to dinner, we'd love to have them."
Sliding out of the breakfast nook, Jensen laughed. "Dad said that?"
"Of course he didn't," she returned, gathering up the fresh-cut flowers. "He doesn't make all the decisions here."
Jensen just looked at her, clearly disbelieving her story.
Donna pushed the flowers towards her son, the plastic crinkling loudly. "Take them, Jensen," she told him. "It's the least we can do."
"Ow, Jesus fuck."
Jensen arched his eyebrows at the curse. In his parents' house, he and his siblings weren't allowed to utter a single swear. And Dad had made a list for them to refer to, too.
Stepping closer, Jensen peeked inside the garage and saw someone there. He thought it must be the guy from the gas station. Jared, was it? He was shirtless and bent down in front of a very sporty motorcycle. Suicycle was scribed on the side, making Jensen's eyes flare out of fear for just a second. His attention returned to Jared, and he suddenly realized that all of the colors, lines and shading on the man's muscled shoulders formed into one big, continuous tattoo. The ink trailed down his right arm, most of the shapes undefinable upon a quick glance. A hint of another tattoo could be seen creeping out from underneath the waistband of his boxers, shown quite blatantly since his jeans were a bit too big and gaping at the waist.
Interrupting Jensen's staring game, there was the sound of metal upon metal and then a tool falling to the cement floor of the garage.
"Ow, God-fucking-dammit!"
Swallowing nervously, Jensen cleared his throat.
Jared turned his head to see who was there eavesdropping. It took him just a moment to recognize Jensen, and he stood to face him. "What's with the preppy look?"
Confused, Jensen shook his head. "What?"
"You look like you should be named Hoight Devonshire the Eighth, on a boat with your Irish Setter and smoking a pipe."
Jensen chuckled. The plastic that the flowers were wrapped in crinkled in his hands. "No," he said. "Jensen will do."
"Alright," Jared agreed. He picked up a rag and tried, unsuccessfully, to wipe the grease off his hands. As he did, he stepped closer. "What can I do for you?"
Jensen noticed two silver rings pierced through Jared's nipples. He averted his eyes and handed the man the flowers in his arms. "These are for you," he said. "Well, not for you. Well, they are. For you and your Dad, I mean. As a thanks. For yesterday."
Jared eyed the flowers and nodded. "Great," he said, devoid of any real emotion other than sarcasm. "Those'll look smashing on the mantle."
Jensen was sure that he'd just been made fun of, but didn't know what to say. He inched the flowers closer to Jared, hoping the man would just take them so that he could leave.
"Just put them inside," Jared told him, turning back to his bike.
He faltered for a moment. "You want me to put them inside?"
Jared grunted as he used the wrench on the bike, trying to get something loosened or tightened, Jensen couldn't tell which. "You've seen the place already, haven't you?"
"Yeah," he shrugged.
"Then you know there's jack-shit to steal."
Jensen's brow furrowed for just a second as he stared down at Jared's tattooed back. "Oh..." he mumbled softly, "...kay."
The garage was filled to the brim with, well, everything. There were boxes and bags, hoses and rope. Screwdrivers hung on the wall, as well as a roll of paper towels that looked to be rather ancient. A column of drawers stood beside one of the work benches; some were open and some looked painted shut. Besides Jared's blue Suicycle, there was an older bike there. Jensen could barely make out the word "Ducati" on the side. Jensen didn't know anything about bikes, but that one looked like it had been quite the beauty in past times.
After weaving through the assorted junk in the garage, Jensen let himself into the house through the side door. "Hello?" he called. No one answered. It was still mid-day though, and he figured that Mister Morgan was probably at work. There wasn't any sign of a female presence in the house. This was clearly a bachelor pad, so Jensen figured he wouldn't find a vase. Still, he searched under the sink, and in the cupboards above the refrigerator. While he was there, standing on a kitchen chair he had slid across the floor to the refrigerator, Jensen came across a few dusty photos that had been left atop the fridge. He picked them up and blew the dust off of them with one heaving breath.
In one of the photos was a very young Jared, no nipple rings or tattoos in sight. He was smiling brightly, his hair shaved short in the back rather than shaggy like it was now. His eyes sparkled brightly as he smiled, Jeffrey standing next to him. Jeffrey had no beard in the picture, but it was unmistakably him. Gazing down at the shot, Jensen smiled.
"Voyeurism run in your family?"
Startled, Jensen nearly fell off the chair as he turned to see Jared standing in the doorway to the garage. "Holy crap," he breathed. "I didn't hear you come in."
"Clearly."
Jensen cleared his throat and held the photo out. "I'm sorry, I was looking for a vase and found that."
Boots thumping on the cheap tile floor, Jared neared him. He took the picture from him and looked down at it. A smile flashed across his face as he remembered the day it was taken.
Jensen noticed a dreamy look in Jared's eyes and smiled. "Your Mom take that?"
Jared's demeanor quickly deteriorated. "My Mom's dead," he answered quickly. "Just put those in the sink. Jeff'll take care of them when he gets home."
Instantly, Jensen jumped down from the chair. He spoke over his shoulder as he did, trying to make their conversation last. Something about Jared's smile in the photo made him curious. He didn't remember ever smiling like that. "I'm sorry, you don't call him Dad?"
Jared stopped just before the doorway to the garage. "Why would I do that?" he asked, looking back at Jensen.
Jensen put the flowers in the sink and then brushed his hands off. "Be..cause...he's your Dad?"
"Did I say he was my Dad?"
"I'm sorry," Jensen said again. "I just assumed."
Clearing his throat, Jared turned back around to face Jensen and took a few steps closer. "Jensen, is it?" He smiled sarcastically when he saw the preppy boy nod his head. Leaning in closer, he spoke softly. "Stop apologizing."
"Oh," Jensen said. He stared up at Jared, suddenly noticing how long the man's lashes were. "Okay."
In the garage once again, Jensen made sure to close the door behind him. He weaved through the junk once more, pausing beside Jared. He watched him work for several minutes, his hands jammed into his pockets, calming down enough to speak again. "So, what kind of bike is this?"
Chuckling, Jared turned and looked up at him from his place on the garage floor. "You know about bikes?"
"Sure," Jensen scoffed, shrugging his shoulders.
Still smiling, Jared motioned to the old bike that was mostly in pieces. "That one's a Ducati, this one's a Kawasaki."
"Yeah, alright," he nodded. "Rock on."
Laughing again, Jared shook his head. "Jesus Christ, you know nothing, do you?"
Jensen didn't join in on the laughter. He hung his head and sighed. "Not really."
It was silent for a moment as Jared thought to himself. "What are you doing for the rest of the day?"
"Nothing. I'm skipping school today, I guess."
"Alright. Grab some cardboard to sit on. Fuck history. You're going to learn bikes today."
--TBC--