Haiyan fic: Mixed Signals: Louder and Clearer (J2, R)
Title Mixed Signals: Louder and Clearer
Author brutti ma buoni
Fandom/Pairing CW RPF: Jared/Jensen
Rating R
Words 3000
A/N One of my outstanding owed Haiyan charity fics: gryfndor_godess asked for a timestamp to Mixed Signals, my Jared-is-mistaken-for-a-hooker ficlet - what happens after Jared points out he is not, in fact, a hooker. It gets a little bit curtain fic, I'm afraid. But not entirely.
Jared's shirt is not tight. Not at all. It is loose and ample. And checked. Lumberjacks could wear this shirt. Hookers, not so much. Not unless for a special request. His jeans are a) jeans b) loose c) kind of battered and clearly not first date material. Or even second date post-hooker-misidentification material, current situation notwithstanding.
It's possible Jared is overcompensating. It's possible he is also over-thinking. But, you know, being mistaken for a prostitute, getting fucked six ways from Sunday by the beautiful man who was not technically your client, and then having to wait six weeks for closure, because Beautiful Not-Client (hereinafter known as Jensen, the jetsetting lawyer, which is apparently what a "Strategic Development Consultant" actually means) is too jetset to pass through Springfield more than once a month? That bites.
And Jensen sounds nice. Really nice. Laughing on the phone. Telling Jared they just have to meet up when he's back in town so he can apologise. Never mentioning the $500 Jared kind of owes him. Even being nice and interested about Jared's veterinary practice, and giving him a referral to a law firm he recommends who can represent Jared in the stupid mess over access to the surgery parking lot.
They have talked three times. The apology, the making plans, the confirming plans. It's really not a relationship. And yet Jared hasn't looked at another guy in the intervening weeks. Chad thinks he is insane. Chad, unprecedentedly, probably has a point.
Jared checks his wristwatch. Oh god. Fifteen minutes, and Jensen will be here. His gut does a weird flippy thing. He wishes he had coffee. Or that he hadn't had any coffee earlier. God, what if Jensen wants to get coffee? He needs alcohol to take the edge off his nerves. That’s why they're meeting at a bar.
"Jared?" He recognises the voice at once. Not from distant blurry cell contact, but from last time he was this close to Jensen. When Jensen had his tongue up Jared's ass, opening him up and, oh god, Jared isn’t thinking about that just now, he’s not.
“Yes,” he says, stiffly, formally. There will be no misunderstandings here.
Even if Jensen looks good. Which, he really does. Even if he’s smiling and friendly, and apparently unembarrassed. There’s a part of Jared - really, not a small part - that is angry about that. That wants Jensen to recognise what happened the last time wasn’t okay. He pokers up. “You’re early,” he says, almost accusing.
“So are you,” Jensen counters, and the smile turns teasing. Jared festers.
“Here,” he says, and shoves the envelope of cash across the table. Jensen’s caught in mid-gesture, looking for service, and looks back down with a flash of irritation. Jared says, “You left this.”
Jensen frowns. “You didn’t have to-“ Maybe Jared’s face is as angry as Jared’s inside, though he’s trying not to show it. “Look… Uh, give it to an animal shelter or something. I don’t want-“ He pauses. “I should probably apologise.”
It’s ruefully said, and just enough that Jared’s starting to simmer down as the waitress arrives. Beer is ordered. Which in turn means Jared really can’t just pass over the cash and stalk out, as a significant proportion of him longs to.
“Yeah,” he says, finally, after a gap that makes Jensen look quizzically at him. “Yeah, you probably should apologise. It wasn’t- It didn’t feel great, that you thought I- I mean, I guess people do, if they really need, but I don’t- Uh,” and he sputters to a halt. Mostly because he has no idea what to say. His face feels pink.
Jensen is looking at him, surprised. “You’re actually upset,” he says. “I’m- Yeah, I’m sorry. I thought- I guess, it was such an obvious hook up, I thought it was kind of funny? I mean, I wasn’t asking for marriage, and you were pretty clear about that, so the money thing? Sort of irrelevant, really. And maybe flattering-“
“No,” Jared says. Says? Hisses, almost, if you can hiss a word like no. “No, there’s nothing flattering about- I mean, I wanted you, and that was real, and it was stupid irresponsible stuff I never do, and then you thought I was a prostitute-“ And it’s really unfortunate how clearly he enunciates that and how close another bar patron is passing their booth, because there’s a definite double take there.
Jared meets Jensen’s eyes and this time he can’t stop a small snorting laugh, which Jensen meets and answers. Okay. Sense of outraged dignity starting to weaken.
Jensen sobers first. “Yeah. I am sorry, though. That you felt bad. I was- I don’t know. I don’t do this a lot-“ (Jared notes, internally, that Jensen’s not claiming he never does it, which means Jared slept with a guy who uses whores, and honestly, he didn’t actually think real people did that, Chad’s legendary sophomore spring break notwithstanding.) “My job is shit. Travel all the time, and I do corporate restructuring, so I’m basically a travelling life wrecker, and sometimes I want to forget that for a night. And you got caught in that, so…”
Shit. Jared’s putting that together. “You were here for Mckenzie?” Because there are a few hundred people without jobs now who had them till two days before Jared slept with Jensen, and that’s ugly, in a city like this, which is struggling.
Jensen’s face is very still. He’s still beautiful (and that really is the word), but it’s hard edged, like every muscled clenched in place with the word ‘Mckenzie’. Like he’s putting up walls, defensively. “Yeah. That’s what I do. Cut people down so maybe the rest will keep their jobs. So maybe it’ll all work out okay, when the economy turns.” He drinks, hard, swallowing overtly, as Jared watches the line of his throat moving on the liquid. “I used to build companies up, before. Used to come in with teams looking for growth, for investment. Last few years, we just cut, and then I run. Some nights, I want to forget that.”
He drinks again. “So, yeah. I’m a corporate wrecker and I pay for sex. And you’re some nice animal-saving vet who probably dreams of a house in the burbs and happily ever after, is that it?"
It’s bitterly said, and Jared doesn’t know where to go with this. This isn’t the moral high ground over sex he was expecting. This is an actual person, in what Jared suspects is a lot of pain. Jared’s not good at watching animals in pain, and yes this animal gets to articulate more clearly than most, but that doesn’t mean Jared’s indifferent. He finds that sometime unnoticed he reached across the table and has his hand on Jensen’s white-tight knuckles.
“I wanted to make animals better. Of course I did. That’s why kids dream of becoming vets. But often it’s not possible. I, uh, I kill a lot of pets, if you look at it that way. It’s horrible sometimes. We don’t talk about it much. But I’m not living in happy rainbow dream world, Jensen. You’re not alone.”
Their eyes meet, and Jared wonders what Jensen’s seeing. What Jared’s seeing is relief, and a gradual softening of that hard carapace Jensen put on.
“Okay?” he asks after a while.
Jensen breathes out a long, “Yeah.” Then adds, “And now I really am sorry, because what the hell? I didn’t mean for you to be my counsellor. This was supposed to be apologising to you.”
It’s easy now to shrug that away. Mistaken for a hooker? In a dark club in a stupidly slutty-looking shirt when Jared was patently interested in a no-strings fuck? Yeah, well. There are worse things. More important things too.
“You want to get takeout?” he says, on impulse.
Jensen blinks at him. They’re in a bar. Surrounded by food outlets, if they want food. Evidently, Jared’s train of thought isn’t psychically transferring to Jensen, which is a little disappointing. He clarifies. “I have more beer at home. In my house in the burbs. And more comfortable seating. And, potentially, takeout. There’s really good Thai food, or Chinese, or pizza or-“ He stops naming cuisines before he actually gets ridiculous, but only because he’s distracted by what’s happening with Jensen’s face. Which is sort of baffled and pleased and more baffled. He wonders whether to clarify further (“Because it seems like your entire life sucks and, well, mine mostly doesn’t, so I can spare you a little of mine if it’ll help.”), but that’ll sound like pity, and Jared’s estimation is that that won’t go well.
Jensen just nods, after a moment, and Jared doesn’t bother to finish his overpriced beer, just stands, hand held out in what’s supposed to be a generally welcoming gesture, till Jensen slaps the envelope of cash into it and says, “Seriously, keep the fucking money, Jared.” It’s gruffly spoken, and more emotional than Jared thinks Jensen realises.
(So, apparently Make A Wish is going to benefit from Jared’s sex life. Which will be fairly awesome. There’s never enough money for all the wishers, and turning them down hurts bad. He probably won’t mention that he got them the cash by what’s become sponsored screwing. A shame.)
Jared’s house is a house, with dog hair everywhere and paint jobs that need doing, and furniture gleaned from family members and yard sales. But he likes the big light rooms at the back, and his own yard (which, okay, is mostly designed for the dogs, but is good for humans too). He orders pizza, opens beer, and sits with Jensen in the slow-falling dusk while Bonnie gets way too fresh with Jensen’s left leg and Jensen succumbs to increasing laughter as he tries to convince her his leg doesn’t swing that way. It’s probably the silliness that melts Jared completely. Got to love a guy who laughs.
Jensen catches him looking, with probably something unwise showing in his eyes. There’s a look that may or may not be meaningful, and Jensen smiles at him, wide and unguarded. “You’re a lucky man,” he says. “This is a good life.”
“Really? Really, Mr Rich Corporate Evil? My mortgage has 21 years to run, and there are termites the other side of town, and I had to put down a dog today, because she broke her leg too bad, and the family were all crying and I was the bad guy.” If he were still angry, Jared could have made all that into a rant. Now it’s just a soft warning of reality.
“Yeah, but it’s you,” says Jensen. “This place, I can see you picked it because you like it. And I’m sure you were good with that family and they knew you did your best. So, you know, it’s a real life you’re living. Get termite insurance,” he adds, which honestly makes Jared laugh. And he has, obviously. Termites suck.
“You don’t live real life?”
Jensen sighs, “Not really. I make a lot of money, and I spend nothing, because I’m always at work. I stay in company apartments; my home's somewhere I pass through to change clothes. I used to have friends, but when am I gonna see them? They probably assume I’m dead, unless they’re on LinkedIn. My assistant arranges my laundry. I used to love it - corp law is a hell of a lot more creative than cliché says, you know. But just now, it’s about creatively bad. Putting firms out of their misery, so the pain doesn’t get worse, and yeah, I know, I’m using a vet metaphor. But it’s not just one dog, it’s hundreds of people. And what I do is just the start.”
“You hate it.”
There’s a pause. Jared think that may have been too stark. Not that sex is supposed to be a part of the agenda today, this isn’t exactly a date, but it would still be good to not piss off this very, very attractive man needlessly.
“Yeah,” says Jensen. “I really do.” He sounds surprised. Like he’s thought every bit of that thinking before, and never reached a conclusion.
It’s too bleak to leave alone. Jared says, “Is it just your firm? I mean, sounds like there were things you enjoyed before-“
“My firm, the economy, and my actual job having no roots, I guess. Maybe I’m just getting older. Seems like I can see myself doing this for another twenty years and then having a heart attack in a first class lounge at Dulles. That’s my life.”
He looks desolate enough at this non-existent future that Jared actually laughs. “Now, that’s just too sad,” he says. “You don’t have to live that way, do you? You’ve got money, qualifications. You could change. I don’t wanna hear about you fibrillating at an airport when there are options.”
Jensen looks at him speculatively, and maybe that was a weird thing to say when they’ve only met twice and Jensen is talking a twenty year future. But he toasts Jared silently. “You know, that’s a very simple option and yet- I used to think about politics, or in-house counsel, or- There are options, and I’ve just bunkered down and ignored them.”
“Politics?” Jared raises a sceptical brow.
“Yeah. No hookers, I know.” Jensen shrugs, grins. “So, you’ll be my last.” Which doesn’t actually mean he hasn’t slept with anyone else since Jared, but there’s something about it that suggests, maybe, Jared’s one-man celibacy campaign hasn’t been alone.
They talk the evening away. Beyond Jensen’s career crisis, which isn’t to be resolved over beer but might just have started getting better, talk still flows easily. If this were a date, it would be a good one. But it’s not, Jared tells himself, severely. Not a date. Not anymore, if it ever was.
When it’s late, and dark, and they’re inside, Jared checks the time and realises it’s past midnight. “Shit, do you have an early flight?”
“Nope. I’m here tomorrow. Meeting at eight thirty. Civilised,” says Jensen, stretching. “Don’t look so freaked, I’m still finishing up at Mckenzie. I don’t kill a company every time I land. Better get going, though.” He stands up.
“Or you could stay,” says Jared. Jensen looks over at him. “Why not? Let’s be real. Or, you know, make out on the couch like teenagers, whatever works.”
An hour later, they finally make it to the bedroom. There’s significantly more lube involved this time, but otherwise there’s nothing fantasy about the whole encounter. Jared’s sheets are not hotel-ironed-fresh. In fact, he’s a little rueful he didn’t think about this before inviting Jensen upstairs. But, real. The shower does its usual thing where it deluges you with ice water halfway through for three seconds and then acts all casual and like it never misbehaves, which means Jared does his usual skinned-lizard squall and then has to explain and apologise to his startled houseguest. Jensen hangs his suit which means he sees the mess of Jared’s wardrobe, which is generally unfortunate. Jared remembers to bring water, because this is the real world, and he likes to have some beside his bed.
It's domestic. Totally domestic. It's real life. Jared's viscerally aware of it, and tries to imagine what his life would be like without reality. It sounds awful. Just- No.
"This is real," he says, opening Jensen up fast and sloppy. "Right? You're here because we both want it, you got that?"
"Yeah, yeah, I got that- Fuck, Jay do that again, I need- This is what I've been missing, I-" He sucks in a breath, but it doesn't stop, and this dribble of talk that Jared remembers is like the first time, but not, because it's not generic, it's all about Jared, "-couldn't stop thinking about last time, you were so fucking hot, and it wasn't all slick-perfect and- yeah, there, there yesssss- and when I knew it was all real I couldn't forget- so tight, Jay, and you let me and- need you inside me now, now, don't have to wait for me- been jerking off to you for a month, Jay, can't believe we're here-"
And then Jared's inside him, and has his hands trapped, and is kissing him, and the talking stops, which is okay, because Jared doesn't need his sex narrated. But, god, thinking of Jensen getting off to the memory of them is almost distracting him from them doing it for real, and that's a damn shame. He focuses, on the tight clench, the slap of skin on skin, on the smell of Jensen's light sweat, lingering aftershave, on the fact they're here, in his bed, and it's real.
After, they're lying in a mess of sheets and come, and Jared realises there's a pillow under his shoulderblade in an uncomfortable place that doesn't worry him at all, temporarily. This feels good. He's glad Jensen's staying.
"I'm setting the alarm for seven. That okay for you?"
"Mmm?" Jensen stirs from a doze. "Yeah, should be. If your shower doesn't freeze me to death. Do I need to call a cab?"
"Nope, I'll drive you in. Surgery only opens at nine, and it's not far."
By the standards of clubbing and hookers and even drunken one-night stands, Jared supposes it's a dull conversation. But god, it makes him smile.
Jensen says, "Should take you out tomorrow, say thanks. Dinner, or whatever."
"You're not leaving?"
"Here all week," is the mumbled response, and Jared can feel Jensen falling asleep.
Jared's still smiling at the ceiling. He doesn't know how this will work out. He doesn't know Jensen well; doesn't know whether this is a real revulsion against his current job or a temporary, maybe fleeting impulse. Jensen's said nothing, promised nothing. Neither has Jared. Relocation, cohabitation, a grown up relationship, absolutely no more hookers… nothing said at all. And yet, he can feel that it's in the air. That their lives could change.
And even if none of that happens, Jared met a nice guy and had a great night. No hookers required.
***
Author brutti ma buoni
Fandom/Pairing CW RPF: Jared/Jensen
Rating R
Words 3000
A/N One of my outstanding owed Haiyan charity fics: gryfndor_godess asked for a timestamp to Mixed Signals, my Jared-is-mistaken-for-a-hooker ficlet - what happens after Jared points out he is not, in fact, a hooker. It gets a little bit curtain fic, I'm afraid. But not entirely.
Jared's shirt is not tight. Not at all. It is loose and ample. And checked. Lumberjacks could wear this shirt. Hookers, not so much. Not unless for a special request. His jeans are a) jeans b) loose c) kind of battered and clearly not first date material. Or even second date post-hooker-misidentification material, current situation notwithstanding.
It's possible Jared is overcompensating. It's possible he is also over-thinking. But, you know, being mistaken for a prostitute, getting fucked six ways from Sunday by the beautiful man who was not technically your client, and then having to wait six weeks for closure, because Beautiful Not-Client (hereinafter known as Jensen, the jetsetting lawyer, which is apparently what a "Strategic Development Consultant" actually means) is too jetset to pass through Springfield more than once a month? That bites.
And Jensen sounds nice. Really nice. Laughing on the phone. Telling Jared they just have to meet up when he's back in town so he can apologise. Never mentioning the $500 Jared kind of owes him. Even being nice and interested about Jared's veterinary practice, and giving him a referral to a law firm he recommends who can represent Jared in the stupid mess over access to the surgery parking lot.
They have talked three times. The apology, the making plans, the confirming plans. It's really not a relationship. And yet Jared hasn't looked at another guy in the intervening weeks. Chad thinks he is insane. Chad, unprecedentedly, probably has a point.
Jared checks his wristwatch. Oh god. Fifteen minutes, and Jensen will be here. His gut does a weird flippy thing. He wishes he had coffee. Or that he hadn't had any coffee earlier. God, what if Jensen wants to get coffee? He needs alcohol to take the edge off his nerves. That’s why they're meeting at a bar.
"Jared?" He recognises the voice at once. Not from distant blurry cell contact, but from last time he was this close to Jensen. When Jensen had his tongue up Jared's ass, opening him up and, oh god, Jared isn’t thinking about that just now, he’s not.
“Yes,” he says, stiffly, formally. There will be no misunderstandings here.
Even if Jensen looks good. Which, he really does. Even if he’s smiling and friendly, and apparently unembarrassed. There’s a part of Jared - really, not a small part - that is angry about that. That wants Jensen to recognise what happened the last time wasn’t okay. He pokers up. “You’re early,” he says, almost accusing.
“So are you,” Jensen counters, and the smile turns teasing. Jared festers.
“Here,” he says, and shoves the envelope of cash across the table. Jensen’s caught in mid-gesture, looking for service, and looks back down with a flash of irritation. Jared says, “You left this.”
Jensen frowns. “You didn’t have to-“ Maybe Jared’s face is as angry as Jared’s inside, though he’s trying not to show it. “Look… Uh, give it to an animal shelter or something. I don’t want-“ He pauses. “I should probably apologise.”
It’s ruefully said, and just enough that Jared’s starting to simmer down as the waitress arrives. Beer is ordered. Which in turn means Jared really can’t just pass over the cash and stalk out, as a significant proportion of him longs to.
“Yeah,” he says, finally, after a gap that makes Jensen look quizzically at him. “Yeah, you probably should apologise. It wasn’t- It didn’t feel great, that you thought I- I mean, I guess people do, if they really need, but I don’t- Uh,” and he sputters to a halt. Mostly because he has no idea what to say. His face feels pink.
Jensen is looking at him, surprised. “You’re actually upset,” he says. “I’m- Yeah, I’m sorry. I thought- I guess, it was such an obvious hook up, I thought it was kind of funny? I mean, I wasn’t asking for marriage, and you were pretty clear about that, so the money thing? Sort of irrelevant, really. And maybe flattering-“
“No,” Jared says. Says? Hisses, almost, if you can hiss a word like no. “No, there’s nothing flattering about- I mean, I wanted you, and that was real, and it was stupid irresponsible stuff I never do, and then you thought I was a prostitute-“ And it’s really unfortunate how clearly he enunciates that and how close another bar patron is passing their booth, because there’s a definite double take there.
Jared meets Jensen’s eyes and this time he can’t stop a small snorting laugh, which Jensen meets and answers. Okay. Sense of outraged dignity starting to weaken.
Jensen sobers first. “Yeah. I am sorry, though. That you felt bad. I was- I don’t know. I don’t do this a lot-“ (Jared notes, internally, that Jensen’s not claiming he never does it, which means Jared slept with a guy who uses whores, and honestly, he didn’t actually think real people did that, Chad’s legendary sophomore spring break notwithstanding.) “My job is shit. Travel all the time, and I do corporate restructuring, so I’m basically a travelling life wrecker, and sometimes I want to forget that for a night. And you got caught in that, so…”
Shit. Jared’s putting that together. “You were here for Mckenzie?” Because there are a few hundred people without jobs now who had them till two days before Jared slept with Jensen, and that’s ugly, in a city like this, which is struggling.
Jensen’s face is very still. He’s still beautiful (and that really is the word), but it’s hard edged, like every muscled clenched in place with the word ‘Mckenzie’. Like he’s putting up walls, defensively. “Yeah. That’s what I do. Cut people down so maybe the rest will keep their jobs. So maybe it’ll all work out okay, when the economy turns.” He drinks, hard, swallowing overtly, as Jared watches the line of his throat moving on the liquid. “I used to build companies up, before. Used to come in with teams looking for growth, for investment. Last few years, we just cut, and then I run. Some nights, I want to forget that.”
He drinks again. “So, yeah. I’m a corporate wrecker and I pay for sex. And you’re some nice animal-saving vet who probably dreams of a house in the burbs and happily ever after, is that it?"
It’s bitterly said, and Jared doesn’t know where to go with this. This isn’t the moral high ground over sex he was expecting. This is an actual person, in what Jared suspects is a lot of pain. Jared’s not good at watching animals in pain, and yes this animal gets to articulate more clearly than most, but that doesn’t mean Jared’s indifferent. He finds that sometime unnoticed he reached across the table and has his hand on Jensen’s white-tight knuckles.
“I wanted to make animals better. Of course I did. That’s why kids dream of becoming vets. But often it’s not possible. I, uh, I kill a lot of pets, if you look at it that way. It’s horrible sometimes. We don’t talk about it much. But I’m not living in happy rainbow dream world, Jensen. You’re not alone.”
Their eyes meet, and Jared wonders what Jensen’s seeing. What Jared’s seeing is relief, and a gradual softening of that hard carapace Jensen put on.
“Okay?” he asks after a while.
Jensen breathes out a long, “Yeah.” Then adds, “And now I really am sorry, because what the hell? I didn’t mean for you to be my counsellor. This was supposed to be apologising to you.”
It’s easy now to shrug that away. Mistaken for a hooker? In a dark club in a stupidly slutty-looking shirt when Jared was patently interested in a no-strings fuck? Yeah, well. There are worse things. More important things too.
“You want to get takeout?” he says, on impulse.
Jensen blinks at him. They’re in a bar. Surrounded by food outlets, if they want food. Evidently, Jared’s train of thought isn’t psychically transferring to Jensen, which is a little disappointing. He clarifies. “I have more beer at home. In my house in the burbs. And more comfortable seating. And, potentially, takeout. There’s really good Thai food, or Chinese, or pizza or-“ He stops naming cuisines before he actually gets ridiculous, but only because he’s distracted by what’s happening with Jensen’s face. Which is sort of baffled and pleased and more baffled. He wonders whether to clarify further (“Because it seems like your entire life sucks and, well, mine mostly doesn’t, so I can spare you a little of mine if it’ll help.”), but that’ll sound like pity, and Jared’s estimation is that that won’t go well.
Jensen just nods, after a moment, and Jared doesn’t bother to finish his overpriced beer, just stands, hand held out in what’s supposed to be a generally welcoming gesture, till Jensen slaps the envelope of cash into it and says, “Seriously, keep the fucking money, Jared.” It’s gruffly spoken, and more emotional than Jared thinks Jensen realises.
(So, apparently Make A Wish is going to benefit from Jared’s sex life. Which will be fairly awesome. There’s never enough money for all the wishers, and turning them down hurts bad. He probably won’t mention that he got them the cash by what’s become sponsored screwing. A shame.)
Jared’s house is a house, with dog hair everywhere and paint jobs that need doing, and furniture gleaned from family members and yard sales. But he likes the big light rooms at the back, and his own yard (which, okay, is mostly designed for the dogs, but is good for humans too). He orders pizza, opens beer, and sits with Jensen in the slow-falling dusk while Bonnie gets way too fresh with Jensen’s left leg and Jensen succumbs to increasing laughter as he tries to convince her his leg doesn’t swing that way. It’s probably the silliness that melts Jared completely. Got to love a guy who laughs.
Jensen catches him looking, with probably something unwise showing in his eyes. There’s a look that may or may not be meaningful, and Jensen smiles at him, wide and unguarded. “You’re a lucky man,” he says. “This is a good life.”
“Really? Really, Mr Rich Corporate Evil? My mortgage has 21 years to run, and there are termites the other side of town, and I had to put down a dog today, because she broke her leg too bad, and the family were all crying and I was the bad guy.” If he were still angry, Jared could have made all that into a rant. Now it’s just a soft warning of reality.
“Yeah, but it’s you,” says Jensen. “This place, I can see you picked it because you like it. And I’m sure you were good with that family and they knew you did your best. So, you know, it’s a real life you’re living. Get termite insurance,” he adds, which honestly makes Jared laugh. And he has, obviously. Termites suck.
“You don’t live real life?”
Jensen sighs, “Not really. I make a lot of money, and I spend nothing, because I’m always at work. I stay in company apartments; my home's somewhere I pass through to change clothes. I used to have friends, but when am I gonna see them? They probably assume I’m dead, unless they’re on LinkedIn. My assistant arranges my laundry. I used to love it - corp law is a hell of a lot more creative than cliché says, you know. But just now, it’s about creatively bad. Putting firms out of their misery, so the pain doesn’t get worse, and yeah, I know, I’m using a vet metaphor. But it’s not just one dog, it’s hundreds of people. And what I do is just the start.”
“You hate it.”
There’s a pause. Jared think that may have been too stark. Not that sex is supposed to be a part of the agenda today, this isn’t exactly a date, but it would still be good to not piss off this very, very attractive man needlessly.
“Yeah,” says Jensen. “I really do.” He sounds surprised. Like he’s thought every bit of that thinking before, and never reached a conclusion.
It’s too bleak to leave alone. Jared says, “Is it just your firm? I mean, sounds like there were things you enjoyed before-“
“My firm, the economy, and my actual job having no roots, I guess. Maybe I’m just getting older. Seems like I can see myself doing this for another twenty years and then having a heart attack in a first class lounge at Dulles. That’s my life.”
He looks desolate enough at this non-existent future that Jared actually laughs. “Now, that’s just too sad,” he says. “You don’t have to live that way, do you? You’ve got money, qualifications. You could change. I don’t wanna hear about you fibrillating at an airport when there are options.”
Jensen looks at him speculatively, and maybe that was a weird thing to say when they’ve only met twice and Jensen is talking a twenty year future. But he toasts Jared silently. “You know, that’s a very simple option and yet- I used to think about politics, or in-house counsel, or- There are options, and I’ve just bunkered down and ignored them.”
“Politics?” Jared raises a sceptical brow.
“Yeah. No hookers, I know.” Jensen shrugs, grins. “So, you’ll be my last.” Which doesn’t actually mean he hasn’t slept with anyone else since Jared, but there’s something about it that suggests, maybe, Jared’s one-man celibacy campaign hasn’t been alone.
They talk the evening away. Beyond Jensen’s career crisis, which isn’t to be resolved over beer but might just have started getting better, talk still flows easily. If this were a date, it would be a good one. But it’s not, Jared tells himself, severely. Not a date. Not anymore, if it ever was.
When it’s late, and dark, and they’re inside, Jared checks the time and realises it’s past midnight. “Shit, do you have an early flight?”
“Nope. I’m here tomorrow. Meeting at eight thirty. Civilised,” says Jensen, stretching. “Don’t look so freaked, I’m still finishing up at Mckenzie. I don’t kill a company every time I land. Better get going, though.” He stands up.
“Or you could stay,” says Jared. Jensen looks over at him. “Why not? Let’s be real. Or, you know, make out on the couch like teenagers, whatever works.”
An hour later, they finally make it to the bedroom. There’s significantly more lube involved this time, but otherwise there’s nothing fantasy about the whole encounter. Jared’s sheets are not hotel-ironed-fresh. In fact, he’s a little rueful he didn’t think about this before inviting Jensen upstairs. But, real. The shower does its usual thing where it deluges you with ice water halfway through for three seconds and then acts all casual and like it never misbehaves, which means Jared does his usual skinned-lizard squall and then has to explain and apologise to his startled houseguest. Jensen hangs his suit which means he sees the mess of Jared’s wardrobe, which is generally unfortunate. Jared remembers to bring water, because this is the real world, and he likes to have some beside his bed.
It's domestic. Totally domestic. It's real life. Jared's viscerally aware of it, and tries to imagine what his life would be like without reality. It sounds awful. Just- No.
"This is real," he says, opening Jensen up fast and sloppy. "Right? You're here because we both want it, you got that?"
"Yeah, yeah, I got that- Fuck, Jay do that again, I need- This is what I've been missing, I-" He sucks in a breath, but it doesn't stop, and this dribble of talk that Jared remembers is like the first time, but not, because it's not generic, it's all about Jared, "-couldn't stop thinking about last time, you were so fucking hot, and it wasn't all slick-perfect and- yeah, there, there yesssss- and when I knew it was all real I couldn't forget- so tight, Jay, and you let me and- need you inside me now, now, don't have to wait for me- been jerking off to you for a month, Jay, can't believe we're here-"
And then Jared's inside him, and has his hands trapped, and is kissing him, and the talking stops, which is okay, because Jared doesn't need his sex narrated. But, god, thinking of Jensen getting off to the memory of them is almost distracting him from them doing it for real, and that's a damn shame. He focuses, on the tight clench, the slap of skin on skin, on the smell of Jensen's light sweat, lingering aftershave, on the fact they're here, in his bed, and it's real.
After, they're lying in a mess of sheets and come, and Jared realises there's a pillow under his shoulderblade in an uncomfortable place that doesn't worry him at all, temporarily. This feels good. He's glad Jensen's staying.
"I'm setting the alarm for seven. That okay for you?"
"Mmm?" Jensen stirs from a doze. "Yeah, should be. If your shower doesn't freeze me to death. Do I need to call a cab?"
"Nope, I'll drive you in. Surgery only opens at nine, and it's not far."
By the standards of clubbing and hookers and even drunken one-night stands, Jared supposes it's a dull conversation. But god, it makes him smile.
Jensen says, "Should take you out tomorrow, say thanks. Dinner, or whatever."
"You're not leaving?"
"Here all week," is the mumbled response, and Jared can feel Jensen falling asleep.
Jared's still smiling at the ceiling. He doesn't know how this will work out. He doesn't know Jensen well; doesn't know whether this is a real revulsion against his current job or a temporary, maybe fleeting impulse. Jensen's said nothing, promised nothing. Neither has Jared. Relocation, cohabitation, a grown up relationship, absolutely no more hookers… nothing said at all. And yet, he can feel that it's in the air. That their lives could change.
And even if none of that happens, Jared met a nice guy and had a great night. No hookers required.
***