SPN Fic: I Don't Care If I Never Get Back (4/5)

[deirdre_c]

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They shove their way back through the crop and step out onto the grass next to the outfield foul line. Jensen almost feels like turning right around and plowing back into the corn, camping there until he gets a response. It nags at him, this new mystery, piled up on top of all the rest. Jared had mentioned it took a while for him to work out the answers to the Voice’s earlier commands. But Jensen’s not feeling very patient.

A quick glance at the ballplayers shows that warm-ups are over. The defense is manning their stations in the infield. Players from the other team are goofing around in their dugout as the first batter takes swipes with his bat in the on-deck circle.

Jared takes one look at the imminent start and breaks into a jog. Jensen tries to follow, but there’s a searing jolt of hey-did-you-forget-about-me-bitch? that bursts up his leg. He curses under his breath and forces himself to slow down to a shuffle.

Jared glances back over his shoulder and Jensen sees him frown. He starts to turn back around.

Dammit, Jared already had to come fetch him out of the field like a little lost sheep, now he’s stuck herding Jensen’s pathetic ass all the way in.

“Go on,” he calls, waving toward the bleachers. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

But Jared doesn’t listen. Fucking naturally. He trots back and falls into step next to Jensen.

“I said you should go on,” Jensen grumbles.

“I’m good,” Jared says. “They’re probably doing a double-header, remember? We’ll have plenty of ball all day.”

Jensen tries to cling to his justifiable annoyance and self-pity, but it’s hard when Aldis calls to them from center field.

“Hey guys!” the kid shouts joyfully, hopping from foot to foot in eagerness for the first pitch.

There’s a mocking chorus of ‘hey honey!’ and ‘yoo-hoo!’ and other teasing catcalls from his teammates. Aldis ducks his head in embarrassment, fiddling unnecessarily with the brim of his cap, but Jensen can see he’s still grinning.

Maybe that’s enough, he tells himself. Maybe getting Doc Hodge another chance is what this was all about.

Then the word ‘believe’ prickles in the corner of Jensen’s mind, and he knows there must be more they haven’t discovered yet.

It’s a relief to make it to the bleachers, and Jensen allows himself plop down with an undignified oof. Jared apparently brought some supplies down with him, because he rummages around in a little cooler and sets a bottle of water on the bench next to Jensen.

“Take some of this, too,” he says, tossing Jensen a different bottle.

It’s sunscreen. SPF 45. Jensen glances up at the yellow disk of mid-morning sun and then back at Jared, who’s carefully painting a streak down the slope of his nose with one finger. He’s tan from his work in the sun, but still fair enough to see the pink that washes across the apples of his cheeks when he catches Jensen staring.

“Thanks,” Jensen says, swiftly looking down to concentrate on squirting a bit of lotion onto his palm and swiping it over his face, the tips of his ears, back of his neck.

Something seems weird about touching his own skin, slicking it up, while Jared does the same sitting right next to him. People do this all the time. There’s no reason for it to be weird. Jensen’s the weird one. Why can’t he recall how to be less weird?

But Jared doesn’t say anything else, and when a shout goes up from the bench as a batter rips a line-drive past the shortstop and into left, they both cheer along. Pretty soon they’re both settled back to watch the rest of the inning.

Every play seems like a mini-masterpiece. Each pitch sings through the air like pure melody from the mound, each batter’s swing as strict and as inspired as the wave of a conductor’s baton.

At the quick crack of contact, Jensen sees Aldis drift a few steps to his left, raise his hand to signal that he’s got it. He camps underneath the ball for a second or two, catches it in the cradle of his glove, then rifles it back to the infield.

“God, that was a great feeling,” Jensen mutters under his breath.

“What was?” Jared asks offhandedly.

“My hand inside a perfectly broken glove. The way the ball would smack into my palm when I’d make the play, make it sting. The ache in my shoulder after a long throw.”

“What do you mean?” Jared’s turned to face him now.

Shit. Guess it’s time to confess. “I gave that interview,” Jensen says, slightly abashed.

“What interview?”

“The one you quoted to me back in New York, in my apartment. The one that described how I played ball in high school. Had hopes of college or even the pros before my knee was injured… the first time.”

“You lied to me!” Jared’s look of righteous outrage is classic.

“You were kidnapping me at the time, you asshole!”

Jared huffs, but with no defense to that, he simply slumps back against the bench and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I probably should’ve told you sooner,” Jensen offers.

“Probably,” Jared replies shortly.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Jensen wheedles, finding he doesn’t really like Jared mad at him, not even just a tiny bit. “I’m here, aren’t I? The Voice it is talking to us again, isn’t it?”

“Not that we know what it means,” Jared complains, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

“You’ll figure out this time, just like all the others.”

“It said believe? ’Believe in it?’”

“That’s right,” Jensen says, pausing a moment in hopes inspiration will strike. Two seconds…three… Nothing. He sighs. “I’m really not a fan of riddles.”

***

The day flies by. It’s so easy, just sitting beside Jared and enjoying the play, the sunshine, the breeze against his face. Jensen doesn’t even realize it’s mid-afternoon, until Danneel shows back up. She pulls a big catering tray full of sandwiches from the backseat of her car.

“So I ran into Chad up in town,” she explains sheepishly to Jared. “And we got to talking about things, what I’m up to, how you’re doing, and-well-I ended up inviting him and Gen and Osric and a couple other people out for a bit to check out the game.”

“Oh crap. Danneel -“ Jared starts.

“But I brought plenty of food!” she counters, gesturing with the tray and almost dropping it.

“Whoa,” Jared says steadying her with one hand, the sandwiches with the other.

He glances over at Jensen with a concerned look on his face.

Jensen shrugs, shaking his head and brushing a hand to the side to indicate it’s no big deal. Yeah, he doesn’t like people, but that’s no reason Jared has to cut off all his buddies. Worse comes to worst, he’ll go hole up in the house.

Jared stares a bit longer, like he could read Jensen’s true feelings if he looks hard enough. At last he turns back to Danneel, “Fine. You take these up. I’ll let J.J. out of her carseat.”

“You’re the best,” Danneel croons and turns on her heel to head to the house.

Jared gets the kid out of the car and brings her back over to the bleachers. She squats down and putters around in the dirt while he and Jared sit back down. Jensen tries to pay attention to the play on the field, but he keeps getting distracted, watching to make sure the little girl doesn’t stick something in her mouth or fall and crack her head open on a rock or something. The whole area suddenly seems full of dangers.

He glances at Jared, who seems to be engrossed in the game again. He looks back over his shoulder at the house, but there’s no sign of Danneel. When he turns around again, the toddler is standing right beside him, looking up at him with big eyes. She holds up her arms.

“What?” Jensen asks warily.

J.J. doesn’t say anything, just keeps holding her arms out. Waiting to be picked up.

When he looks again at Jared, the jerk is sitting there smirking at him.

“You think this is funny?” he asks. Jensen reaches out and grabs the kid under the armpits and lifts her onto his good knee. She’s as light as a doll. But a lot more squirmy. He just hopes she doesn’t pee on his leg.

“They’re like cats, you know,” Jared says, barely keeping rein on the laughter in his voice. “They always find the person who least likes them and try to make friends.”

The kid scootches around until she’s tucked up right against him, leans her head against his chest and puts her thumb in her mouth. Jesus, please don’t let her take a nap or something. He’ll be trapped for hours.

He holds himself stiffly upright. “This is your fault, you know,” he hisses at Jared.

“How’s that?” Jared drawls.

“I don’t know, it just is.” Jensen grimaces. “There’s a showbiz saying that goes: ‘Never work with children or animals.’”

“Well, lucky for you, you’re not working, you’re just enjoying a beautiful afternoon at the ballpark,” Jared says.

If Jensen had a free hand, he’d slug him.

Fortunately, it’s only a few minutes later that Danneel comes down and immediately scoops J.J. out of his lap.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, swinging the kid around recklessly as she climbs up to the top bench. “She’s usually kind of shy around strangers.”

Jensen throws another withering look in Jared’s direction, as if he’d coached the kid in advance to pick on Jensen. Jared finally outright laughs.

But then his expression turns deadly serious as he looks to the left where a Mercedes is easing up the drive, a small cloud of dust kicked up behind it. It pulls up and parks next to Danneel’s Civic.

These don’t seem to be the friends Jared’s expecting. Not when a woman in a fuschia-colored business suit and heels climbs out from behind the wheel. Two other men in suits get out and the trio walks toward them, utterly out of place.

As soon as they get close enough, the woman says, with no preamble, “The bank is ready to sell the note, Jared.”

“Hello to you, too, Meg,” Jared replies, still uncharacteristically stone-faced.

She ignores him and goes on, “We’re going to option your mortgage. So unless you bring it up to date and keep it up to date, we’ll have the legal right to foreclose.” If she had a mustache, Jensen thinks she’d be twirling it.

Jared ignores that, too, and turns to Jensen. “This is my sister, Megan.”

Jensen notices Jared doesn’t introduce him in return, and he isn’t sure what the hell to make of all this.

He glances up at Danneel, but she’s just sitting still with her arms wrapped tight around J.J., tense and silent. The two men accompanying Megan don’t look tense, just embarrassed and uncomfortable.

“Jay, this stupid baseball field is going to bankrupt you,” Megan says sharply. “Everybody knows it. All I’m saying is if you wait until you default on your loan, you lose everything. Sell now, my partners will give you more than a fair price, and you walk away with plenty of money to comfortably start again someplace else.”

Seriously, Jensen thinks, what the hell.

“Thanks, Meg, but no,” Jared’s saying.

“What are you even holding onto this place for, anyway? You never even liked Iowa. Is it some misguided devotion to Grandpa’s memory? He wouldn’t want you to be trapped here.”

“I’m not trapped. No one’s trapped.” Jared glances at Jensen briefly, then focuses back on his sister.

“And yet you left town to go fetch a little boy-toy,” she sneers, tossing her head in Jensen’s direction. “Rather than staying here to take care of your crops.”

Jensen’s eyebrows shoot up and he mouths boy-toy? at Jared, trying to lighten the mood.

Jared doesn’t smile back. This is definitely not good.

“You can insult me,” Jared says, “but don’t insult my friends, Meg. Don’t do that.”

“Listen,” Megan softens her tone, changing tack. “I’m offering you more than it’s worth because you’re my brother.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to make a bad deal like that. I have to look out for you, because you’re my sister.”

They glare at each other, wearing matching mulish expressions. The silence isn’t broken until two pickup trucks come roaring up the drive, the guy in the driver’s seat of the lead truck leaning out his window to shout, “Play ball!”

Megan takes a quick look at the newcomers and then tells Jared, “Figure out what you’re going to do, before it’s too late. I’m serious. Next time I come, I’m bringing papers.”

She makes as dignified an exit as she can given the heels of her pumps sink into the soft soil of the lawn, making her wobble like a calf. Her two silent goons-well, they would be goons if they didn’t look so much like nerdy accountants straight out of central casting-follow her back to the Mercedes.

They pull away just as Danneel’s rowdy guests pile out of their pickups, calling hellos to Jared and peering curiously at the ball field behind them.

Before Jared can step away from the bleachers to greet them, Jensen puts a hand on his arm. “Jared? What was all that? With your sister?”

“Can we talk about it later?” Jared asks, a deep furrow carved between his brows.

“Jay!” someone calls, but Jared just looks at Jensen, his eyes pleading for a reprieve.

Jensen nods and drops his hand. He figures it can wait.

But it doesn’t sound like it can wait for long.

***

Jensen ducks around the gathering and heads for Jared’s VW. He rummages around the back of the van to find his ballcap and snags a pair of sunglasses off the visor. Just that little bit of armor helps him feel better about facing the group of strangers.

There are seven of them, and none of them are quite as chill as Danneel was about meeting the famous movie star, Jensen Ackles. So once Jared’s done introducing him around and they’ve all have a chance to gush over his ex-career and ex-fame, Jensen retreats to the porch. As predicted.

Jared’s friends stay the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. Jared comes up to check on Jensen a couple of times, brings him a turkey sandwich, later a beer, encourages him to come down to the stands. But Jensen insists he’s good and sends Jared back to them each time.

From what Jensen can tell, all but one of them can see the game, and the lone skeptic complains loudly about how this is some kind of elaborate prank they’re playing on him.

He tries not to be jealous that other people are privy to the magic of the field. It didn’t bother him when it was just Danneel and J.J., but somehow these others, this crowd of outsiders, feel like interlopers. He tells himself that it takes nothing away from the field to share it, in fact, it makes things better, spreads more joy. He tells himself it’s good that Jared will have more true-believers to support him when Jensen heads back to New York.

And when the players finally call it a night and head out into the corn, Jensen escapes into the house. It’s probably not polite to skip saying goodbye. Hopefully Jared won’t mind.

***

Jensen’s not hiding, he’s just taking a break in his room. He showers. He finds a stack of books underneath his nightstand and reads. He waits for Jared to come check on him, but there’s no knock at the door.

Finally, Jensen’s curiosity gets the better of his introversion.

He peeks out into the hall and looks across to Jared’s door. It’s cracked slightly with the light on.

He hesitates, then quickly pads over, knocking softly. He hears Jared reply, “Come in?”

Jensen pushes the door open and steps in.

Golden light from the lamp on the side table burnishes every surface of the room, including Jared. He’s bare-chested in nothing but a pair of plaid lounge pants that match the ones he lent to Jensen. He’s sitting on the huge California King, propped up against the headboard, a stack of bills and papers in his lap.

Jensen can’t help it. He stops stock-still and stares. Jared’s torso is like a work of art, a smooth expanse of skin that spans from shoulder to shoulder, his muscled pecs dusted with dark hair, his narrow hips, the fine silky shadow that runs from the hollow of his navel to disappear into the waistband of the pajamas.

Jared stares back, and his hand comes up, almost unconsciously, crossing his chest as if to cover it like a modest maiden. Then he quickly looks down, busying himself with shuffling and stacking the papers. “Everything okay, Jensen? I-um-I ’m sorry about that whole crew barging in on us and staying so late and-”

“No, it’s cool. I hope it’s all right that I didn’t stick around. You probably figured out that I’m not all that social.”

Jared simply huffs a little laugh at the understatement.

Jensen shouldn’t move closer. He dare not move closer.

And yet he walks to the edge of the mattress anyway and sits down, acting like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You want to talk about all this?” Jensen gestures at the paperwork, the ledger and the file folder full of bills.

“This is the sad state of the farm’s finances,” Jared says ruefully. “I started building the field last year. It hasn’t been cheap. And once I fell behind on mortgage payments, the full amount came due. Like Megan said, since the bank owns the debt, they have the legal right to foreclose, or to sell it to someone who can force me out.”

“Christ, that sucks. What about the field? Any chance you can convince your sister to find some way to protect it if you sold the place? Like, like a deed restriction or something?” Jensen doesn’t know much about this kind of thing, but he bets there are plenty of lawyers back in Manhattan who do.

“Forget it,” Jared replies. “The ‘partners’ Megan mentioned are a big agri-business corporation. They’re buying up all the single farms around to make one massive conglomerate. Their first priority will be to plow under the baseball field.”

Jared’s still got his head down, aimlessly straightening the papers, and the last bit comes out rough, like it hurts Jared to even say it.

Jensen can’t stand the sound of Jared’s pain. Or the idea of the field being destroyed. And the way to fix it seems so obvious.

“Jared,” he begins, thinking how to phrase this diplomatically, “I’m not exactly poor, you know.”

Jared glances up sharply, eyes narrowing. “Great, you can chip in for groceries when we go up to town next.”

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind. Maybe the reason you were supposed to find me was so I could help you with this?”

Oh please. Please let him help. Let him for once do something worthwhile.

But Jared’s already shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”

“I have the funds,” Jensen insists. “I can retire the debt right now, with one call to the bank. Or-” Jensen’s got most of his last two film’s paychecks socked away, but not much of it liquid. He could sell the apartment and get at least $5 million, even on short sale, but that would take time too. How much does Iowa farmland even cost? “-Or at least shore it up enough that you can keep your land.”

“That’s-that’s very generous of you. But I’ve got to ride this out myself. If I let you pay, if this becomes your next charity, well-“ he trails off and his mouth twists as if swallowing something sour. “That’s not how I want it. I didn’t bring you here because you’re rich and could bail me out of impending bankruptcy.”

“Then why did you bring me here?” It comes out angrier than Jensen intends, because, fuck, this doesn’t have to be some stupid matter of principle. Of course Jared’s not a charity. Jared is… is… There’s not a word that can encompass him.

“I have no idea,” Jared replies.

He’s too calm, when what Jensen wants is for him to fight. To fight for the field, for the farm, for the Voice that commands them to build, go, believe.

“None?” Jensen grates out, pushing when he normally would draw back, run away.

He doesn’t know what he expected, but Jared’s response is anything but argument.

“Well, I think I have some idea.” Jared reaches out to lay his hand carefully over Jensen’s fist where it’s clenched on his thigh. Jared’s palm is wide and warm, and his hand engulfs Jensen’s completely. All the air in the room is somehow thicker, hotter, than it was a second ago. And a swarm of butterflies starts conducting an aerial show inside Jensen’s belly.

They both stare down, frozen, for a long second, then Jared curls his thumb around, stroking it slowly along the ridge of Jensen’s knuckles. And just that simple touch is more erotic, more arousing than the mouth of Hollywood’s neediest twink on Jensen’s dick.

“Shit,” Jensen says, pulling away.

“Sorry. God, sorry,” Jared blurts out, brow furrowing. “I’m such an idiot. You don’t want that.”

“No.” Jensen quickly grabs Jared’s arm to keep him from scrambling away. “I do. I do want it… more than I should. It’s just-Jared, god, you’re so beautiful and so-so innocent and I’m covered in years-old filth and guilt. If you get too close to me, it’s going to smear all over you.” Jensen probably shouldn’t have said any of that aloud. It’s admitting too much.

Jared stares for a moment, then laughs at him. The motherfucker laughs.

“I’m neither beautiful nor innocent, believe me,” Jared insists, rolling his eyes. Then his expression turns serious, even as the smile still lingers on his mouth. “I’m just a man. And so are you.” Wraps his big palm around the back of Jensen’s neck and leans in, their faces only a scant foot apart. “You’re still struggling with things in your past. I get that. But I don’t care about those. I only care about who you are now. And who you want to be tomorrow.”

“You should care.” Jensen whispers, meaning all his failings.

“I could. I do. Care. More than I should,” Jared replies, echoing Jensen’s words. There’s want and something else, something terrifyingly powerful, in his gaze.

Jared slides the hand on Jensen’s neck up to cradle the back of his head and urges him gently closer.

Jensen can’t resist, he leans in the last few inches and lays his mouth across Jared’s.

It’s like riding a bike, this kissing thing. His mouth moves instinctively under Jared’s, and at a gentle nudge of Jared’s tongue, his lips open to let him in. Jared tastes amazing, underneath the trace of his dumb kids' toothpaste there's some kind of savory, unique flavor that has Jensen chasing it, diving in deeper. Jensen leans up into him, kissing Jared like he can make him forget every other kiss that’s come before. Just like Jensen has. It's wet, deep, long, until Jensen is dizzy with lack of air. He's hungry, frantic, trying to deepen the kiss even further. But Jared holds him back. He holds Jensen’s head in place, turning things soft, pulling away to nip at Jensen’s lower lip. It feels like Jared’s being careful, tentative even, like maybe he’s changed his mind, not sure whether this is a good idea.

And maybe he’s right.

When Jared finally leans away, Jensen doesn't chase his mouth, despite how much he aches to.

He lets his eyes fall closed so he doesn’t have to see the regret in Jared’s expression. He talks quickly, wanting to say it first. “This is probably a mistake. I’m such a fucked-up mess.”

But Jared doesn’t agree. Doesn’t draw away. “That’s not what I see,” he says, pressing his forehead against Jensen’s. “That’s not what you are.”

“You don’t know-“ Jensen trails off, not even knowing how to start.

“I know plenty. I know enough.”

Jensen gathers his courage enough to pull back and look at him. “I’m not very good at this.”

“What?” Jared says, a smile playing around his mouth, “kissing?”

“No. Letting kissing mean something.”

"Oh." Jared turns serious at that confession, asks softy, “How long since the last time you’ve done this?

“A long time,” Jensen says. “Nothing…nothing legit since before the accident. I mean, there were times-“ The telling is like ashes in his mouth. “-times with strangers. You know, like the man sang, ‘when I was so lonesome I took some comfort there.’” He recalls cruising random corners of Riverside Park, the guys who would get on their knees at the flash of a $50, no conversation necessary. “But I stopped even that, so worried one of those guys would recognize me, that I’d find paparazzi back on my doorstep raring for a new scandal, my face back in the tabloids.”

Jared nods. “Look, we can kiss, or fuck, or lie here in my bed and hold hands. Whatever you want.” His hand is still on the back of Jensen’s neck, and his thumb starts drawing soothing circles under Jensen’s ear. And that, that alone, is sending pulses of heat through him. The thought of Jared offering more makes his gut twist with desire.

Jared goes on, ”Whatever you want, is what I want.”

“But my knee-“

“We can work around the knee,” Jared says, coaxing Jensen closer, putting his lips right up to Jensen’s ear, his breath a warm caress. “What do you want?”

“I want to fuck you,” Jensen whispers back. “Jesus Christ, I want to fuck you so bad. But I can’t-“

Jared’s answering grin was more beautiful than sunrise. “You can. I mean, I can. You’re just going to lay down and let me ride.”

Jared doesn’t wait for more protests, just pushes at Jensen’s shirt, working it up, over his head. His hands smooth over Jensen’s shoulders, warm and wide, slowly down his chest, his belly, then Jared pulls him onto the bed, carefully tugging, rolling Jensen over his bulk and onto his back on the center of the mattress.

Jensen’s body is wound tight and filled with want, cock hard already, tenting his pajamas. The startling feeling of skin on skin is incredible, like a dream come true, strange and familiar at the same time. He cautiously runs his hands down Jared’s back, reveling in the lean muscles, as exquisitely defined as the rest of him, the sharp wings of his shoulder blades and the dip of his spine with the rising curve at the end. But his ass-my god- Jared’s ass is perfect, firm and round. Jensen lets his fingertips flit across the soft fabric covering it and feels Jared’s chest heave as he sucks in a breath.

“Can we take these off?” Jared asks huskily, tugging at the waistband of Jensen’s pajamas.

“Yeah,” Jensen agrees. “Yeah.”

Jared rolls off him and shucks his own pants as Jensen raises his hips to slip his off. His knee gives him a warning twinge as he kicks them from around his ankles, but Jensen ignores it as he watches Jared lean over to the side table and pull out a tiny black bottle.

Jared dives back into the drawer and paws around for a second before looking up at Jensen anxiously. “No condoms,” he says.

“Jared,” Jensen replies. “I haven’t had sex in years. I’m fucking clean.”

“Clean for fucking?” Jared teases, the look of relief on his face almost comical. “Me, too. So clean. Squeaky clean. And honestly-“ he kneels back onto the bed closer to Jensen, scooping up the bottle of lube and squirting a generous puddle of it into his hand. “- I just want to feel you, all of you, when you’re up inside me.”

Jensen’s cock jerks hard at the words, bouncing against his stomach where he’s getting fuller by the second. Because Jared is throwing a leg over him, straddling Jensen’s hips with those long, long legs. He’s naked and powerful and towering over Jensen.

Jared reaches around his body and Jensen pictures it with perfect clarity, Jared’s index finger maybe his middle finger, too, slipping between the cheeks of his ass to play around the rim, slicking it with lube.

Jensen can’t even breathe. Eyes wide, every nerve standing on edge as he watches. Oh fuck. He can see the moment Jared presses in through the taut ring, easing his fingers inside his body. Jared's eyes close, his arm flexes with a slow pumping motion. He must be twisting and widening with each push, and the thought makes Jensen moan. He bites his lower lip, pressing his palm against his cock to hold himself off.

It’s the hottest thing Jensen’s ever seen seen in his life, Jared fucking his own fingers with slow, rotating thrusts of his hips, his cock stiff and proud, jutting up from the silky curls of his pubes. There a sloppy, wet sound as Jared pushes the lube up inside himself, and Jensen can feel want clawing, swirling in his gut, whole body lighting up, sweat breaking out in the small of his back.

“Come here,” he growls, reaching out to touch, to take Jared by the hips and draw him closer.

He’s never been a big fan of sucking dick, wonders if he even remembers how. But he has to get his mouth on Jared, has to taste. Jensen closes his lips around the tip of Jared’s cock. The taste of his flesh bursts across Jensen’s tongue, the velvety head, the thin skin of the shaft. He tries to remember what feels best, experiments with rubbing his tongue all over, flickering it along the pronounced ridge, and smiles around his full mouth as Jared jerks and cries out above him. Jared's hands flutter up, over his shoulders to cup Jensen's face gently, palms over his jaw and thumbs running over his cheeks. Jensen turns his head and shoves Jared's plump cockhead into the softness of his cheek so Jared can feel it under his hands. There’s a bright burst of precome over Jensen’s tastebuds as Jared moans again, louder. Then drags his cock out and away.

“Oh good God, Jensen,” Jared gasps. “Next time. Next time. But you gotta stop now or I’m gonna-I need you inside me before I come.”

Jared scoots his knees back so that he’s hovering over Jensen’s hips again. Jensen fists his hands in the bedsheets, letting anticipation wash over him, drag at him, riptide. Jared wraps his hand around Jensen’s dick, standing it up, with a light grip stroking up the underside, tracing out the beat of Jensen’s pulse in the center vein. He pauses to squirt more lube into his palm, then, with a slick fist, gives Jensen a few more long slow strokes up and down.

It’s all going so fast, Jared spreading his legs wider, holding Jensen's dick steady, the warm skin of his ass brushing over, teasing the head of Jensen’s cock. Jared’s hips rock and sway, and Jensen’s unprepared for the lightening strike sensation of Jared pushing down onto him, sinking, opening, the slick, thick ring of muscle sucking him in. Jensen can see Jared’s thighs quiver as he tries to work himself down on Jensen, and Jensen’s going to come, with just barely the head of his dick pressing into Jared’s wet hole.

He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten everything. It’s like the first time all over again, all new, the tightness, the heat, the squelch of lube and the sight of the glistening wet tip Jared’s cock bobbing in front of him, the taste of his precome lingering on Jensen’s tongue. Jensen’s about to burst out of his own skin, overwhelmed and urgent.

He scrabbles with his feet, trying to move, to get leverage, to thrust up into that luscious heat. But his knee sends out a harsh red lash of protest.

He winces, and Jared must see it because he says, “Hey, hey. Hold still, I’ll get us there.”

And then he sees Jared clenches his jaw. He goes and shoves himself the rest of the way down Jensen’s length.

They both cry out simultaneously at the sudden stretch, so achingly tight around Jensen’s cock he knows it must be searing Jared’s gut. He sees a pink flush spreading down his throat, across his chest, his belly taut. But his nipples and his cock are still hard. And he's smiling, a bit wryly.

“Wow, that’s deep,” Jared pants, head falling forward, a sheen of sweat glazing the hollow of his throat. “Been awhile for me, too. You’re so huge, so far up in me, Jensen, damn,” Jared babbles. His hips start making small, almost unconscious circles.

Jensen’s body answers, unconsciously too, he can't help it, can't stop himself, rocks up and in with the tiniest of thrusts. He lifts his hands to palm Jared's inner thighs, rubbing and soothing the pale skin there.

“Yes,” Jared hisses, muscles beginning to unlock. He rolls his hips slightly to work himself up and down on Jensen tentatively at first, and then faster. Jensen can feel Jared stretching, opening to him, each rise and fall coming easier. Jensen’s so hard now it hurts, his dick like a solid iron bar being raked through the coals of a forge, a white-hot throbbing mess, the rise of pleasure starting at the base of his spine and flowing outward, everywhere.

Jensen slides his hands upward, splaying them across Jared’s belly, all that beautiful bare skin, taking his hips and holding them almost possessively as Jared grinds down harder. Jensen rises to meet him, barely remembering to use only his good leg for leverage, straining, wanting more, and he has to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to hold off, hold off just a minute more. He doesn’t want this to end.

Jared’s knees are spread now as wide as they can go, his chin thrown toward the ceiling, throat bared. Jensen's awkward, lop-sided thrusting has Jared lurching around like a barfly on a mechanical bull. He’s rolling his hips like a pro, pumping, grinding down Jensen, his legs working, his ass so motherfucking tight, squeezing, owning Jensen cock. His hands come down onto Jensen’s chest for balance, blunt nails scratching, sending sparks across Jensen’s nerves, and when he feels Jared thumb over his nipples, hard, Jensen nearly bucks him off for real as his entire body jolts at the sensation.

“Jared, please.” Jensen’s practically begging-no, he’s fucking outright begging-his voice rough, caught in his throat, choked with need. “I’m too close. Let me feel you. Come. Come all over me.”

“God. Fuck. Just-just touch me. ”

Shit, shit. He really has forgotten everything. Jensen hurries to wrap his palm around Jared’s cock, and it burns him with its heat. He strokes in time with Jared’s plunging hips, tight up the long length of it, a twist over the fat, slippery head to show he does actually know what the fuck he’s doing.

Jensen watches, holding his breath, drinking in the sight of Jared’s orgasm rolling up on him. How his eyelashes flutter shut as he drives down, hips swiveling, torso rolling like a dancer, how he lets out little breathy cries-ah, ah-as Jensen’s dick rubs over that sweet spot inside. Jensen jacks Jared’s dick twice more and he comes, pulsing over Jensen’s fingers. His thick load splatters over Jensen’s belly and chest, the smell tangy and earthen, Jared’s whole body shuddering on top of him.

The convulsions wring at Jensen’s cock where it’s lodged, and he moans so loud it's practically a shout. He arches back, pressing his head into the pillow, and grips Jared’s hips tight to jam up into him as far as he can possibly go. His balls seize up rock-hard and he shoots, so much, so much, he can feel the hot flood, the sheer fucking amount of it, creaming Jared full. It slides around his dick, making Jensen’s last few wild thrusts suddenly smooth and easy.

He’d forgotten. He’d fucking forgotten how good this is.

Jared’s slumped over him now, whispering senseless words right into Jensen’s mouth, yeah, yeah, like that. And Jensen breathes him in, trying desperately to fill his aching lungs with air, with Jared. But it turns out breathing is less important than kissing, because Jensen buries one hand in Jared’s hair and pulls him all the way down, biting at his lips and sucking his tongue in, devouring him, wild kisses, that eventually ease and slow and stop.

Then Jared’s face is in the crook of Jensen’s neck, Jensen’s cock still inside him, their limbs tangled up, sweat and jizz and aftershocks caught between.

Jensen untangles his hand from Jared’s hair. He allows himself to smooth it back for a second, but then lets it drop to the mattress.

This is always the part he hates. The part where sex turns into awkward goodbyes.

***

When Jared finally levers himself off of Jensen and murmurs about being right back, that’s his cue. Time to leave. Time to steal away. But for some reason Jensen’s still there when Jared comes back from the bathroom. And if there’s one good thing about not making his escape, it’s the sight of Jared walking back across the room.

Jensen carefully soaks in the sight of Jared’s naked body, wanting to remember it. Every line, every proportion, more perfect than the statue of a Greek god.

“Would you like to stay?” Jared asks. He holds up a hand before Jensen can make an excuse, slipping under the covers. “No pressure. Just… It’s a big bed. It’d be nice not to have to sleep in it alone.”

Jared immediately turns his back to him and snuggles down into his pillow like it’s nothing. Like they’re a perfectly normal couple or something. It’s almost entirely outside of Jensen’s realm of experience. He never been a couple-y type of guy. Much more in the love-‘em-and-leave-‘em variety. But it seems like it’d be stupid and gauche to get up and leave now.

Jensen pictures himself gracelessly hobbling around the bedroom, rummaging around to find his pajama pants, or just limping bare-assed across the hall. The only Greek god he resembles is Hephaestus. A cripple only Aphrodite could love.

Love?

Fuck. It’s scary just to hear the word inside his own head.

He scoots to the far edge of the bed, but doesn’t get up. He can still feel Jared’s heat from three feet away. He notes the mattress’s small vibrations as Jared breathes. How do people even share a bed? This is ridiculous.

Jensen closes his eyes and sleeps.

***

The car. The steering wheel. The dark. The highway.

Through the windshield, illuminated by the headlights, he can see trees whipping by, and instantly knows that tree-that one tree-is drawing nearer every second.

He glances at the passenger seat. But instead of seeing Milo’s unctuous, eager-to-please face, he finds Jared sitting there. There’s barely enough room for Jared’s huge frame in the Ferrari, but he still manages to look like he’s sprawling, his head tilted back against the headrest, his grin framed by infectious dimples. He’s looking at Jensen like there’s nothing else in the world he wants to see. Too calm. Too trusting.

Jensen’s hands are clamped in a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. It won’t help. It never helps.

He tries to speak. To shout a warning. But he can’t open his mouth, can’t make a sound.

Jared puts a hand on his shoulder, his thumb rubbing Jensen’s collarbone. Jensen wills himself to move, do something. He’s got to give Jared some kind of signal, make him understand the mortal fucking danger he is in.

He’s got to hit the brakes. He’s got to swerve them into the ditch.

But all Jensen does is drive them straight toward catastrophe.

Outside the car, the trees suddenly turn to corn. They’re somehow racing through an ink-black cornfield. There’s rutted dirt under the tires and the road disappears. Leaves hiss and stalks thwack against the bumper and the windows as the sports car mows over them.

And then.

Incongruous. Inevitable. In the middle of the cornfield.

It’s there.

The tree.

Jared. Jared!

The impact and the scream of shearing metal and shattering glass and the airbag punch to the face all meld into a single shockwave, pain in every one of Jensen’s senses.

This is when Jensen jolts awake. This is the end of the nightmare.

But no.

It doesn’t end. He’s living that night all over again. And yet it’s not Milo’s blood sprayed across the interior of the car, all over Jensen’s clothes, his skin, the smell of it thick and coppery over the stench of hot metal and tire. It’s not Milo’s skull crushed in, his face a red, shredded ruin, one sightless eye staring into Jensen’s by the sputtering light of the dashboard dials.

It’s Jared’s.

Jensen surges forward, reaches for Jared, for Jared’s mangled body. But Jensen’s trapped. His knee is pinned against the doorframe by the twisted column of the steering wheel. He wrenches at it and the surge of pain is so violent he retches, tears blinding him, vomit in his sinuses. He flails, grabs Jared’s arm, his hand. He entwines their fingers. Jared’s flesh is somehow already turning cold.

It’s then that Jensen opens his eyes to the blue-black calm of the bedroom. Jared’s room. Jared’s bed.

He barely manages to stifle a cry of relief, the taste of bile in the back of his throat. He tries to control the shudders wracking him. It takes him long, disoriented seconds to think straight again.

But once he does, the thoughts are bleak. This nightmare might not be the Voice, but the message is crystal clear just the same. Jensen’s a disaster. A shipwreck that sunk long ago and now sits rotting away. The last thing he wants is to drag Jared down to the depths, too.

Jared said he didn’t care about Jensen’s past, but Jensen can’t seem to leave it behind. He carries it around in his body, in his head. He can’t ignore it, or will it away.

He hears Jared’s voice from a few feet away, sleep-gruff. “Hey. You okay?”

Jared’s hand brushes his shoulder, and Jensen jerks away. He rolls back, out of reach.

“Jensen?”

He realizes his breath is still coming in hitching gasps. He knows Jared can hear them, but he can’t seem to stop.

“If it’s that nightmare-” Jared starts.

“It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”

His voice must betray him, because Jared starts to sit up. “What can I do?”

“Just leave it,” Jensen snaps, finally, way too late, finding the will to climb out of the bed. “This was probably a mistake… no, it was. It was a mistake.” Jensen’s got to make it clear, even if the words claw at his chest as he says them.

“I don’t think so.” Jared’s so fucking calm. He doesn’t even realize that Jensen is shattered glass and he’s walking around barefoot.

“I know you think the field is going to ‘ease my pain,’” Jensen says, “but it hasn’t. It can’t. I’m broken, and your magic Voice can’t put me back together. All I do is bring people pain and disappointment. I’ll only hurt you.”

“You won’t-“

“Worry about the farm, Jared. Worry about Joe and Aldis and the other players. Don’t worry about me.”

Shuffling naked out of the room is just as mortifying as he thought it might be.

***




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