2 Meadowlark (O Happy Bird!)
"Oh my god, you are truly an asshole!" Jared crows. He knows Chad is just too-too, but he can't help it, the ass has somehow managed to crawl under his skin to become something like a friend, not just a job. Not that he'd give Chad a discount to save his life.
Chad, meanwhile, is wolfing down a pastrami sandwich, dripping Russian dressing on the files scattered across the tabletop, wiping it off with the heel of his hand. He mutters, "Fuck, think they'll notice that?" then louder, "No, I'm not cheating. We have an arrangement; she doesn't mind if I get dates once in a while. As long as I don't get, like, emotionally involved."
"So, you're telling me she's cool with you fucking it you pay for it because feelings would mean you're cheating? Your wife actually said those words?"
Another plop of Russian accents Chad's answering snort; this time he gathers it up on his finger and sucks it off.
"Were you listening? What did I just say? Yeah."
Jared drops back against the bench seat, his boot heels knocking against the diner's wooden floor as he suddenly sits upright.
"Dude, I'm worried about you and your wife-no scratch that, I'm reeeeally worried about your wife. And a little bit about you."
"Chill, dude, it works. Though, okay, if she knew about you, she'd probably freak." Chad shrugged, staring pointedly out the window while sucking up the crushed ice left in his glass.
"Because you like me?" Jared asks, stretching his leg out to kick at Chad's shoe. He ignores Chad cursing "motherfucker, these are brand new Florsheims" and hooks his foot, ankle to ankle, with Chad's. "Also, honey, since you like me so much, get me another coffee. We still on for Friday afternoon, right?"
Chad looks a little confused at this sudden shift towards business. "Unh yeah, me and my dick will be there. Your jerk-off roommate is gone for the whole weekend right? Damn, I need a serious-ass drillin'." he says and then snorts laughter, "Hey-ass, drilling, you get-"
"Yes, bitch, please. Fucking comedy gold." Jared shifts in the booth, looking over his shoulder to wave down a waitress and holy fucking shit, it's the guy! 'Oh my god. It's my Mr. Pretty.'
Okay, so Jared has seen him once or twice since then, but always from a distance. Every once in a while, he just happens to catch sight of him so-okay, okay, he's almost stalking him, so sue him. Like, in a long-distance and peeking around the corner kind of way. Jared's initial pissed-offness at what he thought was the guy being a jerk has kind of worn away. Now, his picture of those coke-bottle green eyes is somewhat different. Like they're not full of repulsion. Now when he pictures the day he almost clocked him, he sees that Mr. Pretty's eyes are kind of sad.
In fact, Jared has constructed an entire life for Mr. Pretty. Married young, church-going, naive and closeted of course, too afraid to live his real life. Probably picks up guys, like, maybe not that often, just a little sin, enough to take the edge off before hopping the train back to his suburban split-level, picket fence, Valkyrie blonde of a wife and two kids, probably an AKC pup to beat.
Jared sighs. He's actually never seen any indication that the guy's hanging around the market, but a boy can dream. He watches Mister jump to his feet, drop money on his table and slither into his coat, pausing to let people go past in the miniscule aisle space.
Their eyes meet and Jared's got a second to decide if he's going to duck his head, pretend Mister's not there. Instead, Jared gives him the biggest smile he can, dimples and all, and Miss Thing, he knows how good he looks when he smiles.
Ah! Mister Pretty blushes the reddest red a human can blush! He jerks his head away, and then, slowly turns back, and Jared gets a smile that, holy fuck, melts him right down to his socks. Jared gulps, and raises a hand to twiddle his fingers in some kind of fucked-up wave 'thank you brain for flying out of town just when I need you'.
Mister wraps an, oh nice, Burberry scarf around his neck, gives Jared the tiniest incline of his head and is gone.
"Wow, shit, was that a john? Damn. You think you can talk him into a three-way?"
"No, slime ball, he's just a guy who thinks I'm cute. I think." Jared frowns faintly as he watches Mister hurry down the street. At least today his shoulders are back and he's watching the street instead of his shoes. Jared hopes he's having a good day.
Breakfast-actual breakfast, not just grabbing a coffee and a bagel-with Chad is rare. But here they are, in a slightly more upscale diner with tiled floors and plastic-coated menus; eating eggs, hash-browns, and yummy sausage. His cup's full of French roast coffee, and it's his birthday. In honor of that he's wearing a big straw hat, a rhinestone crown pin he'd found in one of the thrift stores on the street pinned to a tube top he'd also found there, and a pair of jeans with the legs cut off and the ass out-but tastefully so.
Jared is fucking grateful for Chad taking him to breakfast; he'd woke up hungry as fuck. The night before had been a supposed dinner date with the only other one of Jonas's regular clients that he'd hung on to because he was old and stinking rich. The better part of their arrangement was that they didn't always have sex sex and he still got paid. Sometimes he just had to-ew-rub his feet, sometimes just jerk off in front of him and call him Daddy. And sometimes it's this weird fucking thing where Creepy Daddy, or more like Gramps, takes him to "dinner" and then watches Jared not eat the food. He's supposed to pick at it, push it around his plate and not want it-meanwhile the whole time his gut's screaming for something to fill it besides water and a slice of bread.
Creepy Gramps is one weird motherfucker. He fucking gets off on imagining Jared is starving himself. Jared shrugs. Money is money and getting paid not to eat was better than sucking ancient dick. Anyway, he's a world-class asshole, unlike Chaddy, who plays at being one. After all, look who's buying him the full breakfast. He even got a birthday card.
Jared lazily swirls a spoon through his coffee and wonders if Chad stole the card. He'd hardly be surprised if he had.
So, Creepy Gramps and Chad, and the corner. He'd had such high hopes in the beginning, but Jonas's clients drifted. Now, except for Chad and Creepy Gramps, Jared's back on the street. Still, he's got a reliable bunch of repeats there and none of them are really too, too awful. Could be worse. He's got an apartment-small, but not the roach motel he'd lived in with Jonas. Roommate's decent enough-they're not friends but they don't exactly hate each other either. Jared makes sure he's never late on the rent and keeps their joint spaces clean.
But time is marching on, honey, and when he looks in the mirror, it's plain he's not going to pass for underage much longer, not even in the dark-he's middle school skinny, but almost six two and judging by Padalecki genes, he might have a few more inches to go. His jaw's getting wider, his shoulders too. Thank goodness he still has a tiny waist. Sets off his basket just right. Jared laughs to himself before remembering he was bemoaning the loss of his pretty boy looks.
Fucking corner. Fucking chicken hawks. What kind of world is this when Chad's the only half-way normal guy he sees?
Jared sighs, rubs his tongue against the tines of his fork. Twenty-two now. Sitting in a diner with a fucking trick on his birthday. No, no, that's not fair-Chad's more than a trick. He's almost, sort of, a friend. Ish.
Chad looks up from his side of the table, tucking a pen behind his ear and picking up the paperwork he uses to justify his two-hour long lunch breaks, shaking some crumbs away.
"Howdya you like those eggs? Nice place, right? Me looking out for my birthday boy."
"Oh yes, baby. You take care of me so good," Jared says in the breathy Monroe voice he reserves for when Creepy Gramps drops his pants. Chad rolls his eyes and flips him off. "Chad-ala, the birthday boy wants more toast. And jam. Oooo, and some more of the fresh-squeezed OJ."
"Damn bottomless pit. Next time we're doing your birthday at a hot dog stand, bitch."
Jared snorts. It's sweet Chad plans on being in the picture next year. Anyway, twenty-two years old and it's time to get real about the future, like, the fact he wants one. He's been lucky so far. He's had no real trouble, at least nothing he hasn't been able to handle. He's clean-absolutely never without rubbers and he's had to back that up once or twice with fists, fucking perverts. Outside of the street work, he's been taking a few classes at the community college and thinking of the degree he'll have when he's done, maybe go on to a BA in graphic design. That would help with his dream of being this town's Candy Pratts Price, not that he's quite sure how yet. Jared wants things, and he needs money to get there, and he might just have an idea about how to go about getting it.
An escort service has made him an offer. He can be older as an escort-college age, his real age. He'd make more money. Hell, he's smart, he's entertaining, so why the fuck not? It's time he did something real with his life. Like making his dream job come true. He wants so much to be a window dresser; a designer of hot, on trend, fabulous displays for Macy's or Gimbels or Gyre Bros.
There's just one tiny problem with being an escort. He wants to be his own boss, not hand over half his bread to someone else. He needs a partner, someone cool, who gets it, someone like....
"Chad, sweetie, nummy-chops, you know, I've kind of been thinking about the future. Like, college, getting a degree and all, and that means more-"
"Forget it," Chad says, waving Jared away. His squinty eyes went even squintier under his caterpillar eyebrows, the bitch. "I'm not coughing up more bread. Let the other johns take that up."
Jared tosses his fork back onto his plate, ignoring the clash of sound and Chad jumping back with a curse. Oops, looks like a bit of egg yolk splashed. Thank god that tie is the same ugly yellow….
"Okay, first of all, Miss Thing," he snaps his fingers in Chad's face. "You. Are. Cheap. As. Fuck. And second of all...shit. No second. Ain't no other johns right now." Jared drops his head and shrugs. "Well, there are," he says, and grimaces. "Just, you're my only regular. Well, and that other guy, the one I don't like."
Chad perks up. "So, you do like me? Hunh." Shooting Jared a sleazy grin, he says, "Flattered, dude, but I'm still not paying more."
"Oh my god-look, bear with me please, I'm thinking out loud here. I just-I want off the street altogether. I want a steady income, more control over how I make what I make. Escorts make more than hookers on the street. I look good-"
"Modest," Chad smirks, going after the easy joke, and then a second later, "Escort? You?"
"Fuck you. You know I'm hot and classy when I wanna be. You have friends. I'm sure some of them might want a different kind of dance once in a while. Right? So, let them know. We set up dates. You get a cut." Jared ends in a wheedling tone of voice.
"What the fuck? You want me to be your pimp?"
Jared crosses himself-Lord, thank you for not letting this fool scream "Ima pimp" across this diner. at least not until he's finished breakfast.
"Drop a coupla decibels, will you please, Miss Beverly Sills? No, I don't want a pimp. I want to be in charge. You'll be...don't know? Manager? Handler? Something not too skeevy if you can manage that?"
"So, no full-length mink coat, then? Damn, I'd look good in one of those hats, too. If I help you, you gonna be nicer to me?"
"No."
"Shit. Okay. Come up with some kind of plan. I'll look at it."
Chad sits back and tips a cigarette out of the pack in his shirt pocket, makes a production of lighting it before blowing a smoke ring into Jared's face. Jared bats it away, flicks him the finger. He's a bit annoyed, so it takes a second for what Chad said to percolate through his brain.
"What? For real? Just like that?"
"I like you, Jared. You keep treating me like shit, but I like you and I want to help you out, in a way that doesn't cost me a fortune. 'Cause you're a good guy. Does that make you like me any better?" he asked, a soft smile playing around his lips.
"No. You're still a penny-pinching size queen." Jared reaches across the table, snatches Chad's cigarette and puffs out his own smoke ring.
"You are such a bitch," Chad laughs so hard his eyes disappear. "Ah well, fuck, you are offering to make me some money; that's almost a win/win situation. But you still suck, Jay-rad."
"Mmmm. If you have time and an extra fifty, yeah I do."
"Oh my god, I just bought you birthday brunch!"
"For eggs and hash browns, I give you a handy but stop halfway through."
"Oh, fuck you!"
"I love you too, baby-doll."
"Humph."
When they meet at the plaza in a week, Jared has cobbled together something like a business plan, and Chad has a tentative list of friends-and some of their friends, who'd been interested.
Jared thanks Chad for helping him on the way to an actual future and walks off smiling. At the corner he catches sight of Mister Pretty, who's looking completely fuckable this fine afternoon, decked out in a long, dark coat. It's a gorgeous, Jimmy Dean, classic kind of look, and Jared can't help staring. Oh but no, the poor thing is holding a slightly ragged looking bouquet, and his expression is too, too sad. Before Jared can look away, Mister Pretty meets his eyes.
It's a movie moment, a romance-novel chapter; Jared feels like he's suddenly become the princess in a Walt Disney movie, or maybe Marilyn Monroe stepping over a subway grate. No, like taking a sip of rum and getting a punch to the back of the head at the same time.
"Oh my stars."
Mister Pretty looks down at the bouquet, then up at Jared. He's smiling; such a sweet, gentle smile, and he makes a move, like he's going to take a step, but stops. That's okay, Jared doesn't mind taking the first step. He trots over to meet him.
"Hi there!"
"I...hello. I'm. I was going to…" Mister shakes the bouquet a little and multi-color petals rain onto the street.
Jared stares at the shower of petals and dried leaves. He covers his mouth, horror-struck and lets his eyes go wide. Okay, he's camping it up a little; it's too cute, the way it makes Mister blush and bite his lip trying not to smile. Jared fans himself in his mind. Lord.
He points at the sad little bouquet and tsks.
"Tell me those are not for your wife? Oh my god, these poor things have had a very hard life. You might want to pick something, I don't know, a bit peppier?"
"Yeah," Mister Pretty breathes out a soft laugh that sends a shiver right down Jared's spine. "Suppose so. Maybe I'll take her to dinner instead."
"Oh, that sounds good. I mean, who doesn't like eating? Not me! I mean, I do like to eat. I'll eat just about anything." Oh. My. God. Jared feels like an absolute, blithering fool, but refuses to shut up. He's shoved his foot in his mouth, at this point, he might as well swallow it. He just keeps smiling. "Okay, well, enough of my dietary habits. I'm just going to get out of your way now. Time to go to work."
"Oh," Mister says, "Oh, right, you, you, the, umm..." he kind of winds down and Jared's torn between laughing and feeling a bit insulted.
"Yeesss, the Umm. Well." Jared nods. "So. See you around?" He looks at Mister from under his fringe. Smiles slowly as Mister Pretty gulps and blushes even darker and then nods kind of reluctantly. It's like he doesn't want to see Jared, but kind of does too-and then he shoves the bouquet towards Jared.
"Take these?" Mister asks, and then says "Please?" Like Jared would be doing him a favor. "I've seen you around-well, you already know that." He laughs, and Jared feels like he's just ascended into the heavens and angels have sprinkled him with moon dust. Or like a hit of that fucking wicked hash Chad shared with him a couple of nights ago.
"Ah, okay, sure, sure." Jared's head is bobbing up and down like one of those dashboard dogs as he takes the offering and babbles. "Jared. I mean, thank you, my name is Jared. Jared Padalecki."
Mister Pretty bites his lip and again, Jared gets that spine tingle, and also one right under his belt. Oh god, if he had his mouth on that lip, he'd suck the hell out of it. Before migrating lower to suck some more, lord.
"Jared...Padalecki?" Mister says, points on getting it right the first time. "Wow, what a mouthful."
Well, there's no way Jared can just leave that lying there. "Oh, you bet. And so's my name."
There's a few seconds of total silence, long enough for Jared to worry that maybe, he's stepped over some invisible line, and then Jensen is laughing-no, he's howling, bent over at the waist and everything. Poor boy, it must have been a long time since he's had a laugh, because it wasn't that funny. Jared's cheeks hurt from smiling, enjoying Jensen's enjoyment.
"Wooo," Jensen breathes out as he straightens again, rubbing his hand down his face. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I'm so embarrassing," he chuckles. "Jensen Ackles."
Mister-Jensen-holds his hand out, and Jared stares at it before wrapping his own hand around it. Jensen's so warm, he thinks, his hand's so soft. And nicely manicured, quelle surprise. Jared's a little shocked he got a name in return, which proves Jensen's a real human being and not a lost angel after all. Jared squeaks, "Jensen Ackles?"
"Hey, I know." Jensen shrugs as he gives Jared a half-smile. Now that he's closer, Jared can see the freckles under that rosy blush. "Jensen Ackles-weird, right? But yeah, that's me." He glances at his watch and double-takes. "Oh, darn! I've got to run, gotta get the train-s'long!" and he's gone.
Jared stands there, mushing his face into the flowers while his whole soul floats up into the clouds. Mister Pretty has a name! "Jensen, Jensen Ackles" he hisses quietly to himself. God, and it's so damn sexy too, just like him. Jared lowers the flowers and frowns. Everything about this was a positively amazingly perfect meet cute-except for a wife in the picture.
"Oh well, Say-La -Vee." he shrugs and walks off with his free flowers.
All My Children is muttering on the big TV in the background as Jared's knees slide a little against the bed sheets-nice sheets, smooth as glass, dotted with green and orange flowers and they smell like nothing but clean. Fabulous. He shuffles a little, trying to bunch the sheets under his knees to gain traction.
"Oh, oh, fuu-uck…'
He smirks, lets out an evil little chuckle. "It's good, hanh? Yeah, I know it is." He slides in, hot and deep, pulls back and that slick grip around his dick is everything. "You like this, baby? Whatd'ya want? More? Faster…?" He pushes in deep, "Harder?" and snaps his hips. Shit, if he's not careful he's gonna blow first.
Jared grabs the skinny hips rotating under him and yanks so they're up off the bed.
"Touch yourself," he growls, and he's answered by a groan so long and low Jared thinks, oh my god, that must hurt. The bed rustles with the frantic jerking off going on underneath him, so he matches the pace with thrust, feels muscles tighten. He's close, closer. "Oh fuck!"
Jared clenches down all over; static-y waves of pleasure sweep over him, curling his toes and tipping him close to-
"Coming!" Chad yelps. His hole grips Jared tight as he does and that's what flings Jared over the edge. He jerks, moans loud, and empties hard into the rubber. Chad actually screams.
Jared flops on top of Chad, both laughing and moaning, and shaking all over, until he finally winds down, giggling softly into Chad's neck. He knows he's got like a few seconds to breathe before Chad elbows him off. And there ya go.
Jared oofs as Chad bucks up, nailing him in the ribs with his knife-like elbow bones.
"Get off, ya fucking Bumble."
"Ew, don't bring Rudolph into this bed-that reindeer is sacred."
"I didn't say you were Rudolph, I said you were abominable. Y'know, like the Snowman."
"Sacred!" Jared screeches, and kicks Chad out of the bed.
They share a lazy shower, then throw themselves back onto the wrecked bed, still dripping wet and naked. Chad's sitting on the bed with a cookie tin in his lap, grinning happily, while Jared spreads out on his back and checks out the room.
He hadn't really seen it when Chad dragged him in this morning. It's really nice, cool; there's sort of a whole Marimekko kind of thing going on, walls covered with light brown wallpaper accented with an amber and burnt orange arch pattern. It's like, warm, and homey, without being cloying. Across the room, two bucket chairs sit facing the TV. Speaking of…Jared leans over to the nightstand and hits a button on the box sitting there; the TV winks out. So cool
"Jay-rad."
Jared turns and Chad's waving him closer. He's sitting cross-legged with the tin's lid in his lap and rolling doobs. Jared's stomach takes a second to wish there'd actually been cookies in the tin, but shit, is he really going to complain about pot he doesn't have to pay for? Noo-o
"Oooo, thank you, Chadina." Jared grins and rolls over, grabbing the joint and inhaling long and deep. Chap pouts and slaps at his hand.
"Puff-pass, bitch."
"Unh," Jared breathes out like a dragon and giggles. "You're such a greedy fuck."
"Humph. If I was greedy, I'd be deducting the cost of this grass, motherfucker. Just be thankful I got us a nice room. And speaking of room, I have been thinking about your proposal."
Jared stares at him, wrinkling his nose in confusion because what does the room have to do with his business plan?
"Wait." Chad rolls over, flashing Jared his whole asshole as he leans over into the pile of clothes he'd dropped and fishes through it to grab his briefcase. "Okay, so, after I combed through that pile of crap you called a plan, this is what I came up with-"
He passes Jared a handful of papers, neatly typed and paper-clipped: names, sex stuff, plus monetary amounts set up like a damn menu. It's Jared's idea, only it's an actual plan now.
"Oh...wow. Are these friends of yours?" Jared glances at Chad, who's shrugging and frowning and inhaling all at once before handing Jared the joint.
"Enh. Some are friends of friends. Look, I know there aren't a lot of guys listed. I made sure there weren't any psychos, and man, just let me say, I might need to get with a better class of people. But it's a good start. You'll make rent and maybe extra, and I've got my cut, here, see?"
Jared nods, doing the math in his head. Chad's right about rent and occasional extras. He's def not leaving the sandwich shop just yet, but it's "seeya" to the corner, thank the lord. But-
"Wait, these guys can't come to my place. I don't want them knowing anything about me, not to mention the roommate will go ballistic if I bring tricks to the crib."
"Nah, nah dude-I got an 'in' right here. My buddy's gonna let us take a room here-like, the guys will get a room like this, and you come to them. It's nice, impressive. Makes you look high class. Say, have you thought about classing up, get a haircut, drop the makeup. Wear a, I don't know, a suit?"
Jared snatches the joint, inhales and squeaks out,"Have you thought about choking on my dick?"
"All the time, baby, all the time."
It's the end of another long workday and all Jensen wants is to be home. He's walking towards the plaza, pointedly not looking at anything or for anyone. In fact, he's so busy not looking-practically jogging past the shops and stands-that it takes a few minutes before he realizes the area he's in is not the best. Looking around, he's shocked to see he's overshot the station by quite a bit.
He swings back towards the station, hurrying while trying not to seem to be hurrying. It's a useful skill when you don't want to attract attention, like when you're carrying an obviously expensive briefcase through a not-so-hot neighborhood. But he stumbles to a complete stop when he catches sight of Jared up ahead, heading towards a corner of the plaza where if you take a couple of stairs down and turn to the right, there's a very nice hotel, pretty lux, actually.
Jared's dressed conservatively, well, for Jared, he is. He's togged out in a peacock-blue, high waisted, wide-legged pants and a black, fitted jacket. No cowboy hat, no boa, no makeup. It looks like he's meeting up with someone, some older guy, kind of dumpy, in an ill-fitting suit. Ugh. He must be working. Jensen presses a fist against the painful kick in the middle of his chest. Seeing how animated Jared is, all flying hands and head tosses as he laughs, makes Jensen want to shout at him to stop. He's got those beautiful hands all over the old fart, like there's some special connection between them.
Shadows in the passway cover him, and he doubts Jared would see him even if he looked this way. Jensen's glad, because watching him with that ass is making him angry-like, heart-pounding, over the top, so fucking angry he's feeling faint. He's also well aware how stupid it is to feel this way. Not to mention the guilt he's feeling as well, as if he's cheating. Jensen bites his lip. Oh my god, cheating? Is he emotionally cheating on Jeanette?
"Fuck."
Jensen twists away from the sight of Jared and his trick so sharply that his briefcase slaps into his hip. Rubbing it, trying not to pout like a toddler, Jensen walks quickly to the station. Once inside, buckets of two dollar bouquets set around a tiny shop entrance catch his eye. He thinks about it for a moment before buying one for Jeanette. Everything is fine, and she'll love them. Probably. Maybe he'll take her to dinner as well, he thinks, absolutely not thinking about the little stab of guilt he feels every time he thinks about Jared.
Finally home, Jensen shakes out his coat and hangs it on the hall tree before walking into the living room. Of course, Jean's not home, she's probably working late again. The place feels too quiet. He turns the stereo on, dialing to a local station, 10 cc, I'm Not In Love, fills the air, and he sighs deeply.
"Oh god."
Okay, everything being "fine" might be an exaggeration. Ever since Jensen's actually talked to Jared, it feels like life has slipped a little sideways. Like he's floating along with a broken rudder. Life is, well, it's not bad, it's never bad, but he's been feeling as though something is . . . missing. Maybe it's just that Jean's been so busy lately. It's been a little lonely.
Or is he the problem? Work has been overwhelming-not just today but the whole fucking month. The boss has been riding the staff hard, but between Michael and himself, they're usually able to handle it. Morgan…he's a good-looking guy, something he banks on to get away with being a shit. He can be funny and he's got a great laugh. He can also be a hot-tempered sonofabitch, a real dick when he wants to be. Luckily for the whole crew, Jensen has a knack for subtly guiding Jeffery into less dickish behavior, but it takes work, and some days it sucks up Jensen's entire store of patience.
Since he's not sure when Jeanette will be home, Jensen puts a pan of leftover lasagna into the oven, then hunts through the cabinets for a vase to put the flowers in. He sets them on the table and really looks at them for the first time since buying them: classic sunflowers and a couple of white roses, along with some kind of flat-leafed, green sprigs. He stares at the arrangement. He has no damn idea why he chose sunflowers for Jean-she was hardly a sunflower type of girl.
"Oh well, she'll like 'em or she won't," he mutters, but just the idea of her not liking them, or turning her noses up at leftover lasagna or…looking at him the way she does sometimes, like she expects him to scuttle away under a kitchen cabinet when the lights come on, makes him-damn, makes him want to throw things. Makes him cringe. He tries to lay a couple of forks on the table, but his hands are shaking so hard the silverware clatters against the plates.
"Jensen, get a damn grip on yourself, calm down," he whispers. He walks out onto the patio and grips the railing with both hands so tightly his knuckles pop. Tilting his head back, he closes his eyes and just breathes, counting each breath in and out slowly, in…and…out.
Jensen puts his back to the porch railing and lifts his face to the setting sun. Thank god the weather is finally turning, the air still carries some warmth from the day. The scent of freshly turned earth from some neighbor's garden tickles his nose. He's always loved that smell, from when he was just a little kid. It's always smelled like a promise to him. Promise it was going to get warmer, promise that summer was coming and it was going to be fun-and as he grew up, it was the promise of new beginnings.
Soon it'll be time to pack up the gloves and scarves and wool topcoats, dig out the summer weight jackets and polos. Heck, maybe that was the reason for the sunflowers, he thinks. Sunflowers and summers and brightness go hand in hand.
He suddenly has a picture of Jared in his head, strutting along in one of those wild coats of his, like the zebra-striped one trimmed with black fur, or the yellow, bohemian-style one with the pink fur trim he's been wearing with the white cowboy hat lately. Jensen grins-he's a crazy combination, but it works, like pop art. Jared is the definition of a free spirit.
Jensen breathes out a little laugh, mouth curved in a fond smile when it hits him like a two-by-four: seeing Jared has become the best part of his day. And that freezes him in his tracks.
He's doing it again. He's crossing the line.
Against his will, the pictures fill his head: Jared in full summer, in short sleeves, no sleeves, hair bouncing on bare shoulders and ass stuffed into short shorts; strolling across the plaza and sucking on a lollipop the way he does sometimes. It sends a spiky jolt to Jensen's dick, like it does when he sees Jared in real life, and he smothers a small moan behind tightly pressed lips.
Fuck. Me.
No. He shakes his head hard enough to make himself dizzy. This is definitely more than crossing the line, this is pole vaulting over it. No.
There's a click of keys turning in the lock. Jean''s home. Walking back through the patio doors, he calls out, "Hey Jean, Great timing. The lasagna's in the oven and it should be ready to come out."
"Got it," she calls back, and a few minutes later she pokes her head around the corner. "Hon, how many times have I asked you to please not call me Jean? How many years is it going to take?" She smiles, wide enough to bring out dimples in her cheeks. Jensen supposes it's meant to take the sting out of the reprimand, but there's still something chilly about it. Or maybe he's imagining that.
He smiles back, and tries to joke the chill out of the air. "Well, you call me Jen and then we'd be even? Jen and Jean, how cute is that?"
She doesn't crack even a slight smile.
"No, I don't think so," she murmurs. When she sees the vase of sunflowers on the table, she seems mildly surprised and somewhat confused by them, but thanks him anyway.
At the end of the week, it's Jensen who throws the bouquet out. At this point, the flowers look sadly pathetic, drooping in a vase full of murky water. He dumps them, then washes the vase, dropping a bit of bleach and soapy water into it and swirling it around until the vase is clean.
Jeanette walks in just as he's shutting the lid on the garbage can, wilted sunflower faces peeking out.
"Oh," she says, "I forgot about those."
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