Kiss 2/2
Title: Kiss
Author: Dijisun
Pairing: Jared/Jensen mentions Jared/Sandy and Jensen/Danneel
Summary: Jensen crosses the line and Jared is not amused.
Rating: Adult
Spoilers: AHBL, Season 3
Warnings: language, unbeta'd
Word Count: this part aprrox. 4,500 (w/c for total fic: 10,500).
Disclaimer: this is pure fiction, none of it is true. Furthermore, I don't own any of the characters or people portrayed in this fictional story.
Feedback: always welcome!
A/N: I enjoyed writing this and would like to say a big thank you to everyone who has read and/or commented on it.
Chapter Two
Does Jared nail that scene the next day? Yes he does. Nails it good, and Jensen’s the first person to pat his back.
Does he go back to not kissing Jensen? In a word: no.
Jared holds out for five days, stays strong. Jerks off to images of brown eyes, glossy dark hair, curvy hips, and yeah, thoughts of a hard body and freckles may have crept in once or twice, but mostly, when Jared’s got his hand on his dick he has his girlfriend on his mind.
See, Jared’s not a cheater. He’s never cheated on Sandy and he’d like to maintain his clean record. The kisses don’t count because the first two weren’t kisses and the third one was payback. Payback is allowable.
Sunday rolls around and naturally, Jared drops in on Jensen, dogs in tow. The weekly race for the couch ensues, Jensen versus Harley. It’s neck and neck, Jensen squeezes the toy in his hand, it squeaks and Harley skids to a stop. The dog has no focus, completely forgets the couch, perks up his ears and looks around as if asking, where? Where? Gimme!
Jensen tosses the toy across the room, claims the couch and spreads out, Jared laughing when Sadie pounces on the toy before Harley even gets a sniff at it. Up until Jared laughed, Jensen hadn’t said anything to him, seemed too intent on beating Harley. But now, as Jared sits on the end of the couch, laughter waning, Jensen braces up on his elbows and lets his knees fall open.
“Hey,” Jensen says, heat in his eyes and a half-smile curving his lips.
For five, long days Jared held out. On the sixth day, he crawls onto Jensen and licks the half smile off his lips.
*
After that, they’re at it pretty much all the time. Quick kisses stolen behind the huge board with a moonlit sky painted on it. Lip on lip brushes at the end of a particularly tough day, both of them too sapped for anything more energetic. Wet and sloppy after a night out, drunken laughter as Jared falls back on the bed in Jensen’s guest room, manhandling Jensen down with him. Slow kisses that start in Jensen’s kitchen and progress on his couch, their legs and fingers as entwined as their tongues. Frantic in Jared’s garage up against his truck, groans tinged with the sharp edge of need, and Jared would push Jensen away, or Jensen would push Jared away, because that got a little heavy there - got to keep the pants on.
So, they might be in Jared’s trailer, mouthing at each newly exposed band of skin as they strip one another’s shirts off, they might press together on the narrow bed, fingers skating over hip bones as lips meet and lock; they might be doing all this, but the pants stay on. All it is a little bit of fun, mindless recreation to break the monotony between takes - because a guy can only get so much entertainment from a PSP.
The more fun he and Jensen have, the longer Jared’s phone calls to Sandy become.
“What’s going on, Jared?” she asks one night. She’s smart.
He doesn’t answer right away, has to calm his thudding heart first. “Nothing, baby,” he finally says, his palm sweaty around the handset.
“Okay, that’s it, I’m catching the next flight out,” she’s very smart.
Jared chooses his words carefully. “I have a few days off in three, four weeks, why don’t you come then? I could rent us a lakeside cabin.”
He is so relieved when Sandy grudgingly backs down.
*
When Lauren Cohen arrives in Vancouver to film her first scenes of the season, he and Jensen come to an unspoken understanding to tone it down and use the breaks between takes to make Lauren feel included. They're hospitable like that. So, the three of them have lunch together. They ride to and from set together, Jared in the middle, Lauren on his left and Jensen on his right.
After a few miles, Jensen softly says, “Hand, Jared.”
Jared glances at his hand. It’s riding up and down Jensen’s thigh, fingertips running along the inseam of his jeans. Suppressing a heavy sigh, he takes his hand back and sits on it.
And on Sunday - yes, they’re working throughout the weekend - they run through their lines, all three of them, together. Squeezed companionably on the couch in Jared’s trailer.
“Hand, Jay,” Jensen whispers as Lauren ploughs through her lines.
Jared looks down, and what do you know, his hand is back on Jensen’s thigh. He takes his hand off of Jensen and drags it through his hair, irritated and not certain why.
Monday, they’re shooting scenes in a museum. Story is Sam and Dean are there to destroy a talisman which is a magnet for demonic activity. Bela - Lauren’s character - is there to steal the same talisman. Paths collide, wills clash; may the best man win. The girl wins, because she’s got a harness and shit to lower her over the glass case and winch her to the safety of the airduct hatch from where she descended. Meanwhile Sam and Dean are on ground level, picking their way through a spider web of laser beams trying not to trip the alarm system.
“Easy does it,” Jensen says as Sam wobbles with one foot in the air.
Jensen says it, not Dean and Jared breaks character, playing along as Jensen deviates from the script, instructing him to, “lift your foot higher, again…perfect. Next beam’s really low, so you got to get down and crawl under it.”
Jared hits the floor. He’s slithering across the room, dragging himself forward on his elbows, huffing and puffing. “How’m I doing Dean? Am I doing good?”
Jensen’s expression goes soft, his smile adoring. “Doing real good. You’re my good little Sammy.”
“You two are not funny,” Kim says, but he’s laughing along with Jared, Jensen and the rest of the room.
Goofing around aside, the day drags. They spend a lot of time watching Lauren’s stunt double get strapped into the harness, winched to the rafters and lowered again to hover above the glass case with the talisman in it. Kim complains about the angles and light, so they shoot the scene over. And over. Which is fine by Jared. He’ll just be over here in the corner standing close to Jensen and getting drowsy on Jensen’s body heat.
“Hand,” Jensen murmurs after a while.
Jared checks his hand. It’s splayed low on Jensen’s back and his thumb’s stroking a slow arch where Jensen’s spine slopes. Jared makes a sound in the back of his throat, a growl of frustration. His hand has always lived there. It has squatters’ rights and he's passionate about protecting the rights of his body parts.
“I’m not doing anything wrong,” he says in Jensen’s ear.
“Dude, any lower and you’ll be inside my pants.”
“About time, too,” said in jest, smirk brushing Jensen’s earlobe.
Jensen turns his head and, hell, no-one has ever looked at Jared like that before, like they could straight up eat him. Like they could throw him on the ground and just eat him right fucking now. It’s a rush. It’s pure sugar melted down, laced with adrenalin and injected straight into Jared’s bloodstream. His entire body’s buzzing, goose bumps flaring on the back of his neck.
“Jensen,” he tightens his hand on Jensen’s back, fisting his shirt. “Jen, you want to…meet up later? My place, after we finish up here? We could order in or something.”
“Sure.” Jensen idles his gaze to one side of Jared. He smiles, bright and friendly. “You’re coming too, right, Lauren?”
“Actually, yeah, I’d really like that,” Lauren replies from some place in the periphery of Jared's awareness.
"Fantastic," he says.
*
So Dean and Sam split up. Dean’s out trawling every bar and street in search of that “Mission Impossible chick,” while Sam surfs the web and trawls through a stack of books in search of a loophole in his brother’s contract with the cross-roads demon. This means that for the rest of the week, Jared’s on set while Jensen and Lauren play hide and seek on location.
Jared loves his job, no doubting that. But he prefers action scenes, the ones where Sam’s thrown into walls or brandishing his shotgun or jumping into pools to save little girls from drowning. Those are the cool ones, and it doesn’t suck that Jensen’s in them, either. This, sitting alone in a motel room trying to convey Sam’s mounting sense of angry desperation without saying much, it’s not easy.
“That’s great Jared,” Eric says from behind the monitor. “Now mix it up a little. Dean’s running out of time, and sure, Sam’s mad about that, but he’s also scared. He’s got hardcore guilt and sadness going on, too. Let’s see you emote all that as well as the anger.”
Right. Emote.
He emotes, holed up in a murky room with Sam’s mad, sad, lonely feelings boiling in his chest. It’s intense. Jared could use some serious after-work fun to shake off the traces of Sam’s brooding.
He phones Jensen’s landline but gets the annoying answer-phone. He tries Jensen’s cell but it goes straight to voicemail. Resigned to the fact that he’s not going to be seeing Jensen tonight, tomorrow or ever at the rate work is going, he brushes his teeth and climbs into bed. Half an hour later, he’s up again, feeling like a stalker as he texts Jensen, drinks with Mike and Tom Saturday nite at 9? Usual place.
Jensen doesn’t get back to him until the next day, his message on Jared’s answer-phone so brief it’s almost rude. No hello, no goodbye, just, “Working late Sat. Meet you at the bar.” So when Jared arrives home from set on Saturday, the last person he expects to see is Jensen - looking smart-casual in a black button down shirt rolled up at the sleeves and blue jeans.
His heart executing a weird flip-flop, Jared fairly spills out of the SUV and tries not to leap up his front steps. “What are you doing here man?”
Jensen bites on his smile and scoots to one side. “Blocking your doorway, I think.”
Jared figures Jensen took a cab here since his car’s not on the drive. “I can see that, but aren’t you supposed to be filming?” he asks, sitting next to Jensen on the top step.
“Wrapped ahead of time.”
“What, and you couldn’t wait another,” Jared turns up his wrist, consulting his watch, “another three hours to see me?” he teases grinning wide.
Jensen ducks his head, fingers plucking at the thin leather bracelet around his wrist. The tips of his ears have turned a bright shade of pink. “I just knew you were going to be a jerk about this,” he gruffly complains.
To be honest, he missed Jensen, too; with a gut clenching ferocity that’s near enough had him climbing the walls. He reaches out and covers his palm over Jensen’s exposed nape, “Let’s go inside.”
*
Jared’s not quite sure how he got here. One minute he’s talking to a shy guy on his doorstep, next minute he’s got a tiger on his hands. He is being mauled in the hottest way possible, flat on his back on the California King, his legs wrapped high on Jensen’s bare back and his zipper aligned with Jensen’s, hard cock straining against hard cock.
Now Jared is no expert on the subject, but it seems to him that spreading his legs for Jensen like this, making choked little sounds as Jensen’s tongue teases and flicks at his nipples, well, it seems a bit gay, is all. He eases his legs to the mattress, hates to spoil the moment, but they really need to slow down before someone loses his pants.
“Jensen? I…” whatever he’d been about to say doesn’t seem as necessary as the sting of Jensen’s teeth biting down on his pectoral muscle. Jared arches his back as pain-edged pleasure sparks his nerve endings, feels so good he squirms, fingers digging into Jensen’s shoulder.
“Yeah, Jared, that’s it,” Jensen says, voice pitched low and breath warm against the side of Jared’s throat. He closes his lips there and sucks, bringing blood rushing to the surface.
Jared scrabbles for a hold of Jensen’s short hair, wants that mouth on his. “Come here,” he tugs, sighing when their lips are lined up.
His sigh turns hoarse and pleading as Jensen rolls his hips again and again, fucking him through his jeans and whispering filthy-hot promises into his mouth. “Going to make you feel good, Jay. Going to fuck you soon, soon…work your tight ass open and slide deep inside you, fuck you till we both can’t move.” And Jared’s not thinking straight or gay. He’s thinking, yeah do it, just like that baby, do it now, now, rocking his hips to meet Jensen’s thrusts.
“Please Jensen, god, please.” he says breathless, the pleasure at the root of his spine something unbearable.
Jensen sits back on his haunches, his hands going for his belt buckle. “Have you got-”
“Nightstand. Top drawer,” Jared attacks his own belt buckle.
Five seconds later, they’ve lost not only their jeans but their boxer-briefs too, and the nightstand drawer’s hanging open. Jensen has a foil packet and a bottle of lube in one hand, the other stroking Jared’s hip, his fevered eyes asking, you sure you’re ready for this?
Jared sucks in a breath, nods.
Oh, but he’s not ready for just how hot Jensen’s mouth feels sliding down his cock, undoing him with every smooth up and down bob, every rasp of tongue from root to tip. And who knew that fingers could feel so goddamn good, pushing into him slick and insistent, working him open just like Jensen said he would do. And then nothing; no mouth on him, no fingers in him and he snaps his eyes open, “don’t you stop Jensen.”
“Be with you in a sec,” Jensen says, his hands unsteady as he rips open the condom packet.
Jared would never say it out loud because it’s not the kind of thing one studly Texan says to another, but Jensen like this, fumbling as he rolls the condom down his blood-heavy cock, tan skin studded with sweat and warmed with a flush, he’s beautiful like this. And he’s with Jared, braced over him, their foreheads touching and their breath mingling. Jared’s back where he started, legs wrapped high on Jensen’s back. He squeezes his thighs, compressing Jensen’s ribs, impatient: come on, come on, are we doing this or not?
A groan fanning out of his mouth, Jensen pushes into him, and holy fuck it burns. He wiggles, trying to adjust, but there’s quite a few inches to adjust to. “Jensen, wait, wait,” he pants. “Did you read the manual? Because this feels pretty damn awful.”
“Did I read it? Jay, I wrote the thing,” Jensen says, and Jared can tell he’s holding back a chuckle, the bastard. “It gets better, I promise.”
Jensen pulls back and sinks in again, swiveling his hips, and Jared catches on, rocking in counter-point. Actually, it does get better, and better, maybe almost incredible. He fists the comforter, tries to keep from coming. Not yet, he doesn’t want this to end yet. But Jensen squeezes a hand between them and wraps it around him, jerking him off rough and upping the tempo, fucking that bit harder, his cock grinding against a spot Jared hadn't cared about until now. He swears pleasure’s melting his spine and when Jensen’s cock grinds there again, “Oh fuck Jensen,” he cries out, his orgasm hitting him hard. He’s hot and shaky, whiting out, feels shudders wrack Jensen and blindly grabs him, holds on tight.
When the fog clears, Jared becomes aware of Jensen breathing ragged beside him. He’s also aware that Tom’s the designated driver and is inhumanly good at time-keeping. He’ll be here any minute, knocking the door down.
Sticky with cooling come and sweat, Jared tips onto his side to face Jensen. “Should probably clean up before Welling shows.”
Jensen looks him over, eyes trailing from his face down his torso to his abdomin and slowly back up again. “Yeah...you’re a mess,” he whispers, moving in closer to kiss Jared’s jaw, “A fine, fine mess, Jay,” then he kisses Jared’s mouth, slow and completely.
Jared smiles into the kiss, curving a hand round the back of Jensen’s head as Jensen strokes his cheek, thumb coming to rest gently on his dimple.
*
Eventually, they detach from one another and since Jared has two bathrooms, they take a bathroom each. Jared flicks on the bathroom light, his gaze collides with his image in the mirror above the sink, and who the hell are you, dude?
Fine mess, Jensen had said. Ain’t that the truth. Hair standing every which way, unrecognizable smoldering in his eyes, lips…oh god, his lips! Red, puffy and very much like he’s been sucking face with some guy, which, yes he has been, but Jesus. And marks. Jensen marked him up, hickey on his collar bone, another on the side of his throat, bite marks on his chest - guy’s got a fucking dangerous mouth.
Jared wheels round from the mirror and turns the shower on, steps under the almost scalding spray. You can write a kiss off as payback or say you were just fooling around, but when you can still feel the shape and pulsing of a dick in your ass, it’s kind of hard to say, just fooling.
It’s cheating by any definition.
The hot shower does nothing to cool him down. He dries off and stalks into the dressing room, cussing as he turns it upside-down looking for his black turtle-neck sweater. The door bell rings, the dogs bark and footsteps thud down the stairs.
“Hurry it up Jared, Tom’s here!” Jensen shouts.
Jared can’t find his sweater. He settles for a shirt, buttons it right up to the collar and meets Jensen, Mike and Tom downstairs.
“You’re late,” Tom chastises.
Yeah, Jared thinks, late and about ready to smack a bitch.
*
The bar is packed, music blaring from the speakers, laughter and conversation swelling to the ceiling, alcohol flowing like water from a bust pipe. A respectable amount of that alcohol is flowing in Jared system. He chugs his vodka shot, hisses through his teeth as the liquor sears his throat and slams his shot glass down, hurling Jensen a slit-eyed glare across the table.
Hand loose around his beer glass, Jensen makes some comment about Kane’s upcoming tour.
Tom and Mike glance at each other then rush into speech at the same time. “Yeah? Awesome,” from Tom, and, “tell your boy Christian we don’t want him touring these parts,” from Mike.
Jared refills his shot glass. “Don’t be like that, Mikey. A guy like Jensen needs his boys.”
That’s how it’s been all night; Jared taking swipes at Jensen, Jensen letting it all roll off him, Mike and Tom trying to lighten the mood when they’re not sitting in uncomfortable silence, embarrassed for Jensen. But, see, Jared ain’t nobody’s boy and he figures he oughtta make this clear to Jensen one way or the other.
Jared squints at the vodka bottles on the table, they’re both empty. “I’m gonna…gonna…” he waves in the general direction of the bar and pushes to his feet.
He makes it round the table but stops as the floor tilts. It’s possible that he’s also tilting. Then Jensen’s there, hands on Jared’s shoulders, steadying him. He pushes Jensen’s hands off because, “I have a girlfriend!”
Jensen’s face goes blank. He shoves one hand into his pocket.
Mike bursts out laughing. He sounds hysterically wasted.
“We know,” Tom comes over and affectionately punches Jared’s shoulder. “The whole world knows you have a girlfriend.”
Jared’s trying to make a point here. A very important point. “Yeah, well, just in case some of you forgot, I have a girlfriend. Sandy and me, we’re a couple. A happily dating couple.”
“Congratulations,” Jensen’s smile is tight.
“Happily dating,” Jared repeats for emphasis. “And I’m not looking to change that any time soon. So if you think just ‘cause you and me-”
“You’ve had enough,” Jensen grabs his arm and hauls him through the crowd. “I’m getting us a cab.”
Jared’s head is swimming, his vision blurry, his legs rubbery. He staggers into Jensen from behind and slings his other arm across Jensen’s chest, clinging on for support. “You don’t got to get us a cab, Jensen,” he argues, “C’n get my own damn fucking cab!”
*
A door slams, waking Jared. He cracks his eyes open and wishes his hadn’t. The sunlight streaming through the gap in the drapes is too bright, hurts his eyes. His head’s pounding, his throat feels sandpaper rough and his mouth’s furry, like a rodent crawled in there and died.
He’s in Jensen’s guest room. Can’t remember climbing between the cotton sheets, but has woken up to the sight of those heavy cream-coloured drapes and the ticking of the clock on the wall enough times to pin-point where he is. Also, the liter of water and bottle of Advil on the nightstand are a give away. Jensen does that; he puts out water and pain killers for Jared after a drinking session.
Jared takes a couple of Advil and drinks half the water. He glances at the clock; eight thirty. Way past his waking hour, too early to face Jensen. His stomach pitches, bile rising. He grits his teeth, folds his arm over his eyes and lays very still.
*
It’s after three when Jared next wakes up. Jensen’s been in, left a plate of sandwiches and a glass of milk by Jared’s cell phone on the nightstand; towel, pair of jeans, boxers and a T-shirt by his pillow. The clothes belong to Jared, the scent of fabric softener on them belongs to Jensen. It’s a constant source of bickering.
“How many times have I asked you not to use that shit on my clothes man?” Jared has complained time and again.
“Starts with a toothbrush, next thing I know, you’re moving in, fucking taking liberties. Learn to bring your laundry home, Jared.”
Jensen’s a good host really, with the Advil and clean clothes, milk, sandwiches. Jared wolfs down the first sandwich - peanut butter and jelly, Jensen knows him well - and is biting into the second when his cell rings.
It’s Mike, says he’s got the number for an excellent marriage guidance counselor. Jared and Jensen might want to make an appointment, “’cause you kids were totally having a domestic last night.” Jared hangs up on Mike’s cackling.
Not long after, Tom calls, says he just wants to make sure Jared’s not in hospital with alcohol poisoning, oh, and by the way, how is the girlfriend Jared’s very happily dating?
“Eat kryptonite and die, superfreak,” Jared growls, and hangs up.
Jared’s barely finished his milk when Chad calls. Before Chad gets a word in, Jared warns, “rib me about last night, and I will disown you.”
Pause, and then, “Jared. Dude. I’d never listen to rumors about how you went PMS on your co-star in a jam-packed bar.”
Jared would like to cuss off Chad for at least ten minutes, but he’s got a co-star to appease and dogs to see to. “You’re disowned, dickwad,” he presses the disconnect button.
He showers, bundles his dirty clothes into Jensen’s hamper with a slight smile, but has the good manners to collect and the empty glass and plate from the guest room. He goes in search of Jensen. Finds him in the kitchen loading stuff into a cardboard box on the breakfast bar.
“Hey,” cautious as a man walking a tightrope, Jared sets the glass and plate on the breakfast bar.
Jensen just pats him on the chest, skirts around him and strides to the broom closet. He’s got mud stains on his jeans and, “grass in your hair,” Jared observes.
“Your beasts, checked in on them earlier,” Jensen brings a pair of flip-flops from the closet. Jared’s flip-flops. “Sadie knocked me over and Harley dragged me through the flower bed,” he says, putting the flip-flops into the box.
There’s an orange Frisbee in the box, and a collection of dog chewed toys, dog biscuits, two water bowls and two food bowls. Jared’s caught between gratitude that Jensen checked in on his dogs, and panic about the box with all of Sadie and Harley’s Sunday things in it. And his flip-flops.
Panic wins over. Before he knows it, he’s curling his hands around Jensen’s upper arms. “I said some stuff, I know, but you don’t have to do this Jensen.”
He and Jensen have only ever had one fight, and then like now, he could feel the tension thrumming through Jensen, could feel the cold from those green eyes right before Jensen blasted him, voice dripping with icicles. Jared steels himself for the blasting, wants it, so they can move on to the part where they’re making up.
“You were right, though. You have a girlfriend,” Jensen says resigned more than angry, sorely disappointing Jared. “I’ve got one of those too, Jay, and sure, Danneel and I may not be practically engaged like you and Sandy, but…” Jensen’s earnest gaze sums it up better than his stilted, “damn it Jared, I really like her.”
Something clenches and twists Jared’s guts. He rubs his fingers across his mouth, bile rising again. “Like, really really like her?”
“Really really and then a whole lot more. Besides,” Jensen smirks, “You freaked out on me last night man, completely flipped. Clearly, your fragile nerves can’t deal with an alternative lifestyle.”
Jared laughs, the sound hollow. Funny how an alternative lifestyle doesn’t seem so heinous after twelve hours’ sleep. “Fragile nerves? Dude, go get your keys before I remind you which one of us faints at the words: interview with E! News.”
“Just for that, you can walk home.” Still, Jensen goes and gets his car keys, but not before hugging him close and kissing him hard and brief, lips closed, no entry.
As Jared climbs the steps to his front door, box weighting his arms, brown-gold leaves rustling under his feet and a slight breeze ruffling his hair, chilling him through despite the fall sunshine, he knows that this thing between him and Jensen is done. For real this time.
The End.
Author: Dijisun
Pairing: Jared/Jensen mentions Jared/Sandy and Jensen/Danneel
Summary: Jensen crosses the line and Jared is not amused.
Rating: Adult
Spoilers: AHBL, Season 3
Warnings: language, unbeta'd
Word Count: this part aprrox. 4,500 (w/c for total fic: 10,500).
Disclaimer: this is pure fiction, none of it is true. Furthermore, I don't own any of the characters or people portrayed in this fictional story.
Feedback: always welcome!
A/N: I enjoyed writing this and would like to say a big thank you to everyone who has read and/or commented on it.
Chapter Two
Does Jared nail that scene the next day? Yes he does. Nails it good, and Jensen’s the first person to pat his back.
Does he go back to not kissing Jensen? In a word: no.
Jared holds out for five days, stays strong. Jerks off to images of brown eyes, glossy dark hair, curvy hips, and yeah, thoughts of a hard body and freckles may have crept in once or twice, but mostly, when Jared’s got his hand on his dick he has his girlfriend on his mind.
See, Jared’s not a cheater. He’s never cheated on Sandy and he’d like to maintain his clean record. The kisses don’t count because the first two weren’t kisses and the third one was payback. Payback is allowable.
Sunday rolls around and naturally, Jared drops in on Jensen, dogs in tow. The weekly race for the couch ensues, Jensen versus Harley. It’s neck and neck, Jensen squeezes the toy in his hand, it squeaks and Harley skids to a stop. The dog has no focus, completely forgets the couch, perks up his ears and looks around as if asking, where? Where? Gimme!
Jensen tosses the toy across the room, claims the couch and spreads out, Jared laughing when Sadie pounces on the toy before Harley even gets a sniff at it. Up until Jared laughed, Jensen hadn’t said anything to him, seemed too intent on beating Harley. But now, as Jared sits on the end of the couch, laughter waning, Jensen braces up on his elbows and lets his knees fall open.
“Hey,” Jensen says, heat in his eyes and a half-smile curving his lips.
For five, long days Jared held out. On the sixth day, he crawls onto Jensen and licks the half smile off his lips.
*
After that, they’re at it pretty much all the time. Quick kisses stolen behind the huge board with a moonlit sky painted on it. Lip on lip brushes at the end of a particularly tough day, both of them too sapped for anything more energetic. Wet and sloppy after a night out, drunken laughter as Jared falls back on the bed in Jensen’s guest room, manhandling Jensen down with him. Slow kisses that start in Jensen’s kitchen and progress on his couch, their legs and fingers as entwined as their tongues. Frantic in Jared’s garage up against his truck, groans tinged with the sharp edge of need, and Jared would push Jensen away, or Jensen would push Jared away, because that got a little heavy there - got to keep the pants on.
So, they might be in Jared’s trailer, mouthing at each newly exposed band of skin as they strip one another’s shirts off, they might press together on the narrow bed, fingers skating over hip bones as lips meet and lock; they might be doing all this, but the pants stay on. All it is a little bit of fun, mindless recreation to break the monotony between takes - because a guy can only get so much entertainment from a PSP.
The more fun he and Jensen have, the longer Jared’s phone calls to Sandy become.
“What’s going on, Jared?” she asks one night. She’s smart.
He doesn’t answer right away, has to calm his thudding heart first. “Nothing, baby,” he finally says, his palm sweaty around the handset.
“Okay, that’s it, I’m catching the next flight out,” she’s very smart.
Jared chooses his words carefully. “I have a few days off in three, four weeks, why don’t you come then? I could rent us a lakeside cabin.”
He is so relieved when Sandy grudgingly backs down.
*
When Lauren Cohen arrives in Vancouver to film her first scenes of the season, he and Jensen come to an unspoken understanding to tone it down and use the breaks between takes to make Lauren feel included. They're hospitable like that. So, the three of them have lunch together. They ride to and from set together, Jared in the middle, Lauren on his left and Jensen on his right.
After a few miles, Jensen softly says, “Hand, Jared.”
Jared glances at his hand. It’s riding up and down Jensen’s thigh, fingertips running along the inseam of his jeans. Suppressing a heavy sigh, he takes his hand back and sits on it.
And on Sunday - yes, they’re working throughout the weekend - they run through their lines, all three of them, together. Squeezed companionably on the couch in Jared’s trailer.
“Hand, Jay,” Jensen whispers as Lauren ploughs through her lines.
Jared looks down, and what do you know, his hand is back on Jensen’s thigh. He takes his hand off of Jensen and drags it through his hair, irritated and not certain why.
Monday, they’re shooting scenes in a museum. Story is Sam and Dean are there to destroy a talisman which is a magnet for demonic activity. Bela - Lauren’s character - is there to steal the same talisman. Paths collide, wills clash; may the best man win. The girl wins, because she’s got a harness and shit to lower her over the glass case and winch her to the safety of the airduct hatch from where she descended. Meanwhile Sam and Dean are on ground level, picking their way through a spider web of laser beams trying not to trip the alarm system.
“Easy does it,” Jensen says as Sam wobbles with one foot in the air.
Jensen says it, not Dean and Jared breaks character, playing along as Jensen deviates from the script, instructing him to, “lift your foot higher, again…perfect. Next beam’s really low, so you got to get down and crawl under it.”
Jared hits the floor. He’s slithering across the room, dragging himself forward on his elbows, huffing and puffing. “How’m I doing Dean? Am I doing good?”
Jensen’s expression goes soft, his smile adoring. “Doing real good. You’re my good little Sammy.”
“You two are not funny,” Kim says, but he’s laughing along with Jared, Jensen and the rest of the room.
Goofing around aside, the day drags. They spend a lot of time watching Lauren’s stunt double get strapped into the harness, winched to the rafters and lowered again to hover above the glass case with the talisman in it. Kim complains about the angles and light, so they shoot the scene over. And over. Which is fine by Jared. He’ll just be over here in the corner standing close to Jensen and getting drowsy on Jensen’s body heat.
“Hand,” Jensen murmurs after a while.
Jared checks his hand. It’s splayed low on Jensen’s back and his thumb’s stroking a slow arch where Jensen’s spine slopes. Jared makes a sound in the back of his throat, a growl of frustration. His hand has always lived there. It has squatters’ rights and he's passionate about protecting the rights of his body parts.
“I’m not doing anything wrong,” he says in Jensen’s ear.
“Dude, any lower and you’ll be inside my pants.”
“About time, too,” said in jest, smirk brushing Jensen’s earlobe.
Jensen turns his head and, hell, no-one has ever looked at Jared like that before, like they could straight up eat him. Like they could throw him on the ground and just eat him right fucking now. It’s a rush. It’s pure sugar melted down, laced with adrenalin and injected straight into Jared’s bloodstream. His entire body’s buzzing, goose bumps flaring on the back of his neck.
“Jensen,” he tightens his hand on Jensen’s back, fisting his shirt. “Jen, you want to…meet up later? My place, after we finish up here? We could order in or something.”
“Sure.” Jensen idles his gaze to one side of Jared. He smiles, bright and friendly. “You’re coming too, right, Lauren?”
“Actually, yeah, I’d really like that,” Lauren replies from some place in the periphery of Jared's awareness.
"Fantastic," he says.
*
So Dean and Sam split up. Dean’s out trawling every bar and street in search of that “Mission Impossible chick,” while Sam surfs the web and trawls through a stack of books in search of a loophole in his brother’s contract with the cross-roads demon. This means that for the rest of the week, Jared’s on set while Jensen and Lauren play hide and seek on location.
Jared loves his job, no doubting that. But he prefers action scenes, the ones where Sam’s thrown into walls or brandishing his shotgun or jumping into pools to save little girls from drowning. Those are the cool ones, and it doesn’t suck that Jensen’s in them, either. This, sitting alone in a motel room trying to convey Sam’s mounting sense of angry desperation without saying much, it’s not easy.
“That’s great Jared,” Eric says from behind the monitor. “Now mix it up a little. Dean’s running out of time, and sure, Sam’s mad about that, but he’s also scared. He’s got hardcore guilt and sadness going on, too. Let’s see you emote all that as well as the anger.”
Right. Emote.
He emotes, holed up in a murky room with Sam’s mad, sad, lonely feelings boiling in his chest. It’s intense. Jared could use some serious after-work fun to shake off the traces of Sam’s brooding.
He phones Jensen’s landline but gets the annoying answer-phone. He tries Jensen’s cell but it goes straight to voicemail. Resigned to the fact that he’s not going to be seeing Jensen tonight, tomorrow or ever at the rate work is going, he brushes his teeth and climbs into bed. Half an hour later, he’s up again, feeling like a stalker as he texts Jensen, drinks with Mike and Tom Saturday nite at 9? Usual place.
Jensen doesn’t get back to him until the next day, his message on Jared’s answer-phone so brief it’s almost rude. No hello, no goodbye, just, “Working late Sat. Meet you at the bar.” So when Jared arrives home from set on Saturday, the last person he expects to see is Jensen - looking smart-casual in a black button down shirt rolled up at the sleeves and blue jeans.
His heart executing a weird flip-flop, Jared fairly spills out of the SUV and tries not to leap up his front steps. “What are you doing here man?”
Jensen bites on his smile and scoots to one side. “Blocking your doorway, I think.”
Jared figures Jensen took a cab here since his car’s not on the drive. “I can see that, but aren’t you supposed to be filming?” he asks, sitting next to Jensen on the top step.
“Wrapped ahead of time.”
“What, and you couldn’t wait another,” Jared turns up his wrist, consulting his watch, “another three hours to see me?” he teases grinning wide.
Jensen ducks his head, fingers plucking at the thin leather bracelet around his wrist. The tips of his ears have turned a bright shade of pink. “I just knew you were going to be a jerk about this,” he gruffly complains.
To be honest, he missed Jensen, too; with a gut clenching ferocity that’s near enough had him climbing the walls. He reaches out and covers his palm over Jensen’s exposed nape, “Let’s go inside.”
*
Jared’s not quite sure how he got here. One minute he’s talking to a shy guy on his doorstep, next minute he’s got a tiger on his hands. He is being mauled in the hottest way possible, flat on his back on the California King, his legs wrapped high on Jensen’s bare back and his zipper aligned with Jensen’s, hard cock straining against hard cock.
Now Jared is no expert on the subject, but it seems to him that spreading his legs for Jensen like this, making choked little sounds as Jensen’s tongue teases and flicks at his nipples, well, it seems a bit gay, is all. He eases his legs to the mattress, hates to spoil the moment, but they really need to slow down before someone loses his pants.
“Jensen? I…” whatever he’d been about to say doesn’t seem as necessary as the sting of Jensen’s teeth biting down on his pectoral muscle. Jared arches his back as pain-edged pleasure sparks his nerve endings, feels so good he squirms, fingers digging into Jensen’s shoulder.
“Yeah, Jared, that’s it,” Jensen says, voice pitched low and breath warm against the side of Jared’s throat. He closes his lips there and sucks, bringing blood rushing to the surface.
Jared scrabbles for a hold of Jensen’s short hair, wants that mouth on his. “Come here,” he tugs, sighing when their lips are lined up.
His sigh turns hoarse and pleading as Jensen rolls his hips again and again, fucking him through his jeans and whispering filthy-hot promises into his mouth. “Going to make you feel good, Jay. Going to fuck you soon, soon…work your tight ass open and slide deep inside you, fuck you till we both can’t move.” And Jared’s not thinking straight or gay. He’s thinking, yeah do it, just like that baby, do it now, now, rocking his hips to meet Jensen’s thrusts.
“Please Jensen, god, please.” he says breathless, the pleasure at the root of his spine something unbearable.
Jensen sits back on his haunches, his hands going for his belt buckle. “Have you got-”
“Nightstand. Top drawer,” Jared attacks his own belt buckle.
Five seconds later, they’ve lost not only their jeans but their boxer-briefs too, and the nightstand drawer’s hanging open. Jensen has a foil packet and a bottle of lube in one hand, the other stroking Jared’s hip, his fevered eyes asking, you sure you’re ready for this?
Jared sucks in a breath, nods.
Oh, but he’s not ready for just how hot Jensen’s mouth feels sliding down his cock, undoing him with every smooth up and down bob, every rasp of tongue from root to tip. And who knew that fingers could feel so goddamn good, pushing into him slick and insistent, working him open just like Jensen said he would do. And then nothing; no mouth on him, no fingers in him and he snaps his eyes open, “don’t you stop Jensen.”
“Be with you in a sec,” Jensen says, his hands unsteady as he rips open the condom packet.
Jared would never say it out loud because it’s not the kind of thing one studly Texan says to another, but Jensen like this, fumbling as he rolls the condom down his blood-heavy cock, tan skin studded with sweat and warmed with a flush, he’s beautiful like this. And he’s with Jared, braced over him, their foreheads touching and their breath mingling. Jared’s back where he started, legs wrapped high on Jensen’s back. He squeezes his thighs, compressing Jensen’s ribs, impatient: come on, come on, are we doing this or not?
A groan fanning out of his mouth, Jensen pushes into him, and holy fuck it burns. He wiggles, trying to adjust, but there’s quite a few inches to adjust to. “Jensen, wait, wait,” he pants. “Did you read the manual? Because this feels pretty damn awful.”
“Did I read it? Jay, I wrote the thing,” Jensen says, and Jared can tell he’s holding back a chuckle, the bastard. “It gets better, I promise.”
Jensen pulls back and sinks in again, swiveling his hips, and Jared catches on, rocking in counter-point. Actually, it does get better, and better, maybe almost incredible. He fists the comforter, tries to keep from coming. Not yet, he doesn’t want this to end yet. But Jensen squeezes a hand between them and wraps it around him, jerking him off rough and upping the tempo, fucking that bit harder, his cock grinding against a spot Jared hadn't cared about until now. He swears pleasure’s melting his spine and when Jensen’s cock grinds there again, “Oh fuck Jensen,” he cries out, his orgasm hitting him hard. He’s hot and shaky, whiting out, feels shudders wrack Jensen and blindly grabs him, holds on tight.
When the fog clears, Jared becomes aware of Jensen breathing ragged beside him. He’s also aware that Tom’s the designated driver and is inhumanly good at time-keeping. He’ll be here any minute, knocking the door down.
Sticky with cooling come and sweat, Jared tips onto his side to face Jensen. “Should probably clean up before Welling shows.”
Jensen looks him over, eyes trailing from his face down his torso to his abdomin and slowly back up again. “Yeah...you’re a mess,” he whispers, moving in closer to kiss Jared’s jaw, “A fine, fine mess, Jay,” then he kisses Jared’s mouth, slow and completely.
Jared smiles into the kiss, curving a hand round the back of Jensen’s head as Jensen strokes his cheek, thumb coming to rest gently on his dimple.
*
Eventually, they detach from one another and since Jared has two bathrooms, they take a bathroom each. Jared flicks on the bathroom light, his gaze collides with his image in the mirror above the sink, and who the hell are you, dude?
Fine mess, Jensen had said. Ain’t that the truth. Hair standing every which way, unrecognizable smoldering in his eyes, lips…oh god, his lips! Red, puffy and very much like he’s been sucking face with some guy, which, yes he has been, but Jesus. And marks. Jensen marked him up, hickey on his collar bone, another on the side of his throat, bite marks on his chest - guy’s got a fucking dangerous mouth.
Jared wheels round from the mirror and turns the shower on, steps under the almost scalding spray. You can write a kiss off as payback or say you were just fooling around, but when you can still feel the shape and pulsing of a dick in your ass, it’s kind of hard to say, just fooling.
It’s cheating by any definition.
The hot shower does nothing to cool him down. He dries off and stalks into the dressing room, cussing as he turns it upside-down looking for his black turtle-neck sweater. The door bell rings, the dogs bark and footsteps thud down the stairs.
“Hurry it up Jared, Tom’s here!” Jensen shouts.
Jared can’t find his sweater. He settles for a shirt, buttons it right up to the collar and meets Jensen, Mike and Tom downstairs.
“You’re late,” Tom chastises.
Yeah, Jared thinks, late and about ready to smack a bitch.
*
The bar is packed, music blaring from the speakers, laughter and conversation swelling to the ceiling, alcohol flowing like water from a bust pipe. A respectable amount of that alcohol is flowing in Jared system. He chugs his vodka shot, hisses through his teeth as the liquor sears his throat and slams his shot glass down, hurling Jensen a slit-eyed glare across the table.
Hand loose around his beer glass, Jensen makes some comment about Kane’s upcoming tour.
Tom and Mike glance at each other then rush into speech at the same time. “Yeah? Awesome,” from Tom, and, “tell your boy Christian we don’t want him touring these parts,” from Mike.
Jared refills his shot glass. “Don’t be like that, Mikey. A guy like Jensen needs his boys.”
That’s how it’s been all night; Jared taking swipes at Jensen, Jensen letting it all roll off him, Mike and Tom trying to lighten the mood when they’re not sitting in uncomfortable silence, embarrassed for Jensen. But, see, Jared ain’t nobody’s boy and he figures he oughtta make this clear to Jensen one way or the other.
Jared squints at the vodka bottles on the table, they’re both empty. “I’m gonna…gonna…” he waves in the general direction of the bar and pushes to his feet.
He makes it round the table but stops as the floor tilts. It’s possible that he’s also tilting. Then Jensen’s there, hands on Jared’s shoulders, steadying him. He pushes Jensen’s hands off because, “I have a girlfriend!”
Jensen’s face goes blank. He shoves one hand into his pocket.
Mike bursts out laughing. He sounds hysterically wasted.
“We know,” Tom comes over and affectionately punches Jared’s shoulder. “The whole world knows you have a girlfriend.”
Jared’s trying to make a point here. A very important point. “Yeah, well, just in case some of you forgot, I have a girlfriend. Sandy and me, we’re a couple. A happily dating couple.”
“Congratulations,” Jensen’s smile is tight.
“Happily dating,” Jared repeats for emphasis. “And I’m not looking to change that any time soon. So if you think just ‘cause you and me-”
“You’ve had enough,” Jensen grabs his arm and hauls him through the crowd. “I’m getting us a cab.”
Jared’s head is swimming, his vision blurry, his legs rubbery. He staggers into Jensen from behind and slings his other arm across Jensen’s chest, clinging on for support. “You don’t got to get us a cab, Jensen,” he argues, “C’n get my own damn fucking cab!”
*
A door slams, waking Jared. He cracks his eyes open and wishes his hadn’t. The sunlight streaming through the gap in the drapes is too bright, hurts his eyes. His head’s pounding, his throat feels sandpaper rough and his mouth’s furry, like a rodent crawled in there and died.
He’s in Jensen’s guest room. Can’t remember climbing between the cotton sheets, but has woken up to the sight of those heavy cream-coloured drapes and the ticking of the clock on the wall enough times to pin-point where he is. Also, the liter of water and bottle of Advil on the nightstand are a give away. Jensen does that; he puts out water and pain killers for Jared after a drinking session.
Jared takes a couple of Advil and drinks half the water. He glances at the clock; eight thirty. Way past his waking hour, too early to face Jensen. His stomach pitches, bile rising. He grits his teeth, folds his arm over his eyes and lays very still.
*
It’s after three when Jared next wakes up. Jensen’s been in, left a plate of sandwiches and a glass of milk by Jared’s cell phone on the nightstand; towel, pair of jeans, boxers and a T-shirt by his pillow. The clothes belong to Jared, the scent of fabric softener on them belongs to Jensen. It’s a constant source of bickering.
“How many times have I asked you not to use that shit on my clothes man?” Jared has complained time and again.
“Starts with a toothbrush, next thing I know, you’re moving in, fucking taking liberties. Learn to bring your laundry home, Jared.”
Jensen’s a good host really, with the Advil and clean clothes, milk, sandwiches. Jared wolfs down the first sandwich - peanut butter and jelly, Jensen knows him well - and is biting into the second when his cell rings.
It’s Mike, says he’s got the number for an excellent marriage guidance counselor. Jared and Jensen might want to make an appointment, “’cause you kids were totally having a domestic last night.” Jared hangs up on Mike’s cackling.
Not long after, Tom calls, says he just wants to make sure Jared’s not in hospital with alcohol poisoning, oh, and by the way, how is the girlfriend Jared’s very happily dating?
“Eat kryptonite and die, superfreak,” Jared growls, and hangs up.
Jared’s barely finished his milk when Chad calls. Before Chad gets a word in, Jared warns, “rib me about last night, and I will disown you.”
Pause, and then, “Jared. Dude. I’d never listen to rumors about how you went PMS on your co-star in a jam-packed bar.”
Jared would like to cuss off Chad for at least ten minutes, but he’s got a co-star to appease and dogs to see to. “You’re disowned, dickwad,” he presses the disconnect button.
He showers, bundles his dirty clothes into Jensen’s hamper with a slight smile, but has the good manners to collect and the empty glass and plate from the guest room. He goes in search of Jensen. Finds him in the kitchen loading stuff into a cardboard box on the breakfast bar.
“Hey,” cautious as a man walking a tightrope, Jared sets the glass and plate on the breakfast bar.
Jensen just pats him on the chest, skirts around him and strides to the broom closet. He’s got mud stains on his jeans and, “grass in your hair,” Jared observes.
“Your beasts, checked in on them earlier,” Jensen brings a pair of flip-flops from the closet. Jared’s flip-flops. “Sadie knocked me over and Harley dragged me through the flower bed,” he says, putting the flip-flops into the box.
There’s an orange Frisbee in the box, and a collection of dog chewed toys, dog biscuits, two water bowls and two food bowls. Jared’s caught between gratitude that Jensen checked in on his dogs, and panic about the box with all of Sadie and Harley’s Sunday things in it. And his flip-flops.
Panic wins over. Before he knows it, he’s curling his hands around Jensen’s upper arms. “I said some stuff, I know, but you don’t have to do this Jensen.”
He and Jensen have only ever had one fight, and then like now, he could feel the tension thrumming through Jensen, could feel the cold from those green eyes right before Jensen blasted him, voice dripping with icicles. Jared steels himself for the blasting, wants it, so they can move on to the part where they’re making up.
“You were right, though. You have a girlfriend,” Jensen says resigned more than angry, sorely disappointing Jared. “I’ve got one of those too, Jay, and sure, Danneel and I may not be practically engaged like you and Sandy, but…” Jensen’s earnest gaze sums it up better than his stilted, “damn it Jared, I really like her.”
Something clenches and twists Jared’s guts. He rubs his fingers across his mouth, bile rising again. “Like, really really like her?”
“Really really and then a whole lot more. Besides,” Jensen smirks, “You freaked out on me last night man, completely flipped. Clearly, your fragile nerves can’t deal with an alternative lifestyle.”
Jared laughs, the sound hollow. Funny how an alternative lifestyle doesn’t seem so heinous after twelve hours’ sleep. “Fragile nerves? Dude, go get your keys before I remind you which one of us faints at the words: interview with E! News.”
“Just for that, you can walk home.” Still, Jensen goes and gets his car keys, but not before hugging him close and kissing him hard and brief, lips closed, no entry.
As Jared climbs the steps to his front door, box weighting his arms, brown-gold leaves rustling under his feet and a slight breeze ruffling his hair, chilling him through despite the fall sunshine, he knows that this thing between him and Jensen is done. For real this time.
The End.