RPS Fic: Whenever You're Ready
Title: Whenever You're Ready
Genre: RPS AU
Pairing: JDM/Jensen
Rating: PG13
Word count: 3,203 words
Summary: In which Jeff's an actor, and Jensen's the physical therapist of one of Jeff's dogs. *
A/N: Originally posted here for embroiderama's prompt - Jensen's a physical therapist FOR DOGS. Jeff brings one of his dogs in for therapy. - in rozabellalove's JDM comment fic meme.
* CCRP = certified canine rehabilitation practitioner.
Jensen Ackles is not what Jeffery’s expecting.
He’s young, for one. Sure, he’s probably three or four years older than the Padalecki kid from whom Jeff had gotten Ackles’s number, but still much younger than what Jeff imagines a certified canine rehabilitation practitioner with as many professional accolades as the guy supposedly has to be.
He doesn’t seem like any sort of CCRP Jeff’s met either, not even in jeans, a cotton tee, and a pair of sneakers that has definitely seen better days. The CCRPs Jeff usually meets generally possess overly earnest faces and helpful hands, friendly and distant as they welcome him to the rehabilitation centre and hand him a stack of paperwork in the lobby to fill. Ackles is a broad smile and a firm handshake as he comes up to greet Jeff at their agreed spot in the park, and his laughter when Bandit jumps at him is full-bodied and warm.
Jeff sits himself again on the bench, calls Bandit back to him as he watches Ackles crouch down to greet Bisou. Far as Jeff can tell, Bisou’s feeling somewhat reserved today, probably still drowsy from the pain meds the vet has her on, and it takes copious amounts of head-patting and ear-scratching before she finally deigns to nose at Ackles’s hand. He’s still not entirely sure about this meeting - because seriously, the kid’s young, and looks better suited to a career in modeling than one in canine rehabilitation - but he catches a glimpse of Ackles’s toothy grin, wide and happy as Bisou tentatively licks him, and yeah.
“I think this’ll work,” he says awkwardly, and curls his fingers around the worn wooden slats of his bench, inexplicably nervous.
Ackles is still beaming when he finally pulls himself out of his crouch. It’s a good look on him, pleased and sincere and wholly unforced, and he keeps the smile while he tells Jeff to call him Jensen, not Mr. Ackles, not if they’ll be working together for a while, because Mr. Ackles makes it sound as though Jeff’s addressing Jensen’s father, and how weird is that?
Jeff nods with a smile of his own even as he feels something inside him stutter.
=-=-=
Two weeks in, and Jeff’s pretty convinced that the arrangement Jensen and him have going is perfect. Working freelance allows Jensen to tailor Bisou’s appointments around the irregular hours of Jeff’s filming schedule, which consequently gives Jeff the liberty to accompany Bisou during all her sessions with Jensen and to take her along with him when he has to film out of town, confident that Jensen will be able to follow. Bisou in turn seems happier, now that she has Jeff with her more frequently, and as far as Jeff’s concerned, anything which makes Bisou happier counts as a win.
She certainly seems happier right now with Jeff in the room while Jensen carefully massages her thigh. Jeff givers her another scratch between her ears and grins, first at her, then at Jensen when he sees him start too smile too, when she whuffs and chases his fingers with her tongue.
“She’s doing better,” he tells Jensen. He knows he’s stating the obvious, but he still hasn’t gotten past the stage of being incredibly grateful. “Yesterday, I caught her attempting the stairs. The stairs, man. I could barely coax her to walk after the surgery.”
“She’s determined,” Jensen grins. “Probably gets it from you.”
Jeff snorts. “Nah. Pretty sure it’s all yours, man. You’ve got magic hands” He nods his chin at where Jensen’s now gently smoothing his palms down Bisou’s side - Jensen’s way, Jeff has come to realize after hours of watching Jensen work, of winding a massage down - and has the pleasure of seeing Jensen blush.
Jensen, Jeff decides, should be made to blush more often.
Jensen’s still blushing when he finally steps away from Bisou, but he’s started smirking too, corners of his lips turned up just so. Jeff’s pretty certain he’s going to be treated to one of Jensen’s sarcastic comebacks, and he can feel the ends of his mouth start to twitch too, when Bandit suddenly starts to bark from the bit of rug he’s been curled up on, and they both turn their heads instead to look at where Bandit’s now standing up.
“I think he wants a massage too,” Jensen deadpans, and Jeff gives up trying to hold back his laughter.
=-=-=
Within a month, they’re completely comfortable around each other. Jensen generously throws in free massages for Bandit after his sessions with Bisou, while Jeff takes him out for dinner a couple of times to express his gratitude. They even start taking the dogs out for walks together, on the mornings both Jensen and him are free. They play with Frisbees in the park until the dogs finally tire, pause on the way back to Jeff’s for coffee and smoothies and doughnuts, and when men and dogs finally trip over each other through Jeff’s front door they all are, though not silent, exceedingly content.
In fact, they’re comfortable enough that Jeff thinks Jensen wouldn’t mind looking after his dogs for a couple of weeks.
He broaches the matter while he’s unclipping the leashes from the dogs’ collars, and is unaccountably anxious when his proposal is immediately met with silence. He hastily straightens to find Jensen leaning against the door jamb, smiling softly over the white plastic cover of his takeout coffee. There’s something strangely, well, wistful, Jeff suddenly thinks, about the way Jensen looks on while the dogs scamper away from Jeff’s feet and to their water bowls in the kitchen, and something sticks in his throat even as he watches Jensen sip his Starbucks Grande Latte with soy milk and hazel syrup.
(Jeff had teased Jensen about girly drinks the first time Jensen had ordered it until Jensen had jabbed him in the ribs and Jeff had spilled his coffee all over the sidewalk as a result.)
“It’s alright if you can’t,” he frantically reassures when he finally can, only just managing not to wince at the way his words tumble over each other. “I mean, I can always make alternate arrangements. It’s just that you’ll be seeing Bisou most of the days anyway. I can’t possibly take them with me to Vancouver, and the dogs already like you, so I thought - ”
He stutters to a confused halt when Jensen ducks his head and starts to laugh. His hands are sweaty where he’s still clutching the leashes, but he curls his fingers tighter around them anyway, relishes the way the metal chain link digs into the flesh of his palm.
Jensen’s still chuckling when he looks up again. “Dude, of course I don’t mind.” He keeps grinning as he moves past Jeff to grab his bag off Jeff’s three-seater couch in the den. “Icarus could always do with more dogs to play with.”
“Icarus?”
“Yeah.” Jensen’s cheeks pinken as Jeff peers at the cell phone he holds up. There’s a picture of a dog on the tiny screen, white and fluffy and really quite adorable, and Jeff smirks at the urge to tease Jensen about having a girly dog. “He’s a cockerpoo. Y’know, half cocker spaniel, half poodle. Don’t - ” and here the word is laced with a vicious glare “ - you even dare.”
Jeff throws his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. “Wasn’t going to,” he says meekly as he follows Jensen to the door, and grins when Jensen rolls his eyes. “I didn’t know you have a dog, man.”
Jensen snorts. “He’s more Danneel’s than mine, really.”
“Ah. Girlfriend?”
“Try ‘roommate’.” They’ve paused at Jeff’s gate now. Jensen’s the reddest Jeff’s seen him yet as he looks at his feet, and his lips twist in a wry grimace as he shifts awkwardly on his feet.
“Any girlfriend at all?” Jeff frowns at the way his question comes out choked, and he silently hopes that Jensen hasn’t noticed. It suddenly seems imperative that he knows.
“Hardly.” Beside him, Jensen has started to rub the back of his neck, a gesture Jeff’s seen him do every time Jensen feels shy and uncomfortable about something. It takes all of Jeff’s control not to reach out and snatch at Jensen’s arm. “I’m, well, y’know, gay.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry if this makes you feel uncomfortable,” Jensen continues. His mouth is set in a grim line. “And I understand if you’d rather work with another therapist instead. I’ll be more than glad to furnish you with names and contact details.”
“Oh,” Jeff tries again. He still feels inexplicably light-headed and giddy. “No. Don’t be silly, man. Of course I don’t mind. Hell, I don’t think I could have been an actor if I minded. I’m pretty sure Bisou and Bandit won’t be minding either.”
“Yeah?” Jensen’s smiling again, but it looks all wrong somehow, stiff, brittle about the edges, and he tenses noticeably when Jeff grabs his arm.
“Yeah.” Jeff tightens his grip anyway, slips his thumb beneath the cuff of Jensen’s jacket. The underside of Jensen’s wrist is warm, the skin soft and smooth where Jeff begins tracing idle circles. Far as Jeff can tell, Jensen’s standing stock-still, and his breaths are too deep and measured to be coming naturally. It’s not Jensen-like at all, this uncharacteristic quiet, and Jeff suddenly just wants to make everything right again.
He’s still casting around for a more effective form of reassurance when he notices it. “Jensen?”
“Mm?”
“Where’s your car?” Now that Jeff thinks about it, he hadn’t heard Jensen drive up this morning either.
“In the workshop.” There’s still something odd about Jensen’s voice, but the set of his shoulders is noticeably less stiff, and Jeff counts it as a win even while Jensen continues. “I’ll be picking it up again in a couple of times.”
“You came here via public transport,” Jeff realizes. “And you were going to go back the same way.”
Jensen’s glare is answer enough.
“Christ. You should have just asked me for a lift, man.” He begins tugging Jensen towards his garage, and has to fight back a smile when Jensen allows himself to be led without any resistance.
“I didn’t want to be a bother.” Jensen’s mumble is barely audible.
Jeff’s pretty sure that if he’ll find Jensen still glaring if he looks back. This time, he lets his smile slip through. “What, and deprive me of my chance to show off?”
He flicks the light switch with a flourish.
“Fuck.” Behind him, Jensen has gone completely still again. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Jeff beams. “My two other babies. That’s a Harley Davidson Night Rod Special on you’re looking at on your left, a Soft Tail Crossbones on your right.” His grin widens as he watches Jensen step forward, all previous discomfort forgotten. “So, may I interest you in a ride?”
He’s still grinning more than twenty minutes later as he speeds down the freeway, Jensen’s body a warm line down his back, and Jensen’s arms tight around his waist.
=-=-=
Filming in Vancouver is exactly as Jeff has grown to expect. It’s colder than it is in southern California, and he misses his dogs terribly, but he’s on excellent terms with the rest of the cast and most of the crew, all of whom are talented in their chosen fields, so things go pretty smoothly.
Speaking with Jensen on the phone every night probably helps.
It’s an impulse on the first night that falls naturally into a pattern. Jensen fills him in on Bisou’s progress, keeps him up to date on Bandit’s latest pranks. He even slips in the occasional tidbit about Icarus, and Jeff finds himself gaining a new and (he suspects) healthy respect for small dogs that do not fail to grasp the concept of size. Jeff in turn recalls any and all humorous anecdotes from the set, and has the honor of making Jensen choke on his beer while he relates an incident involving a banana peel, a folding chair, and the ill-fated, short-lived attempt of a strawberry smoothie at defying gravity, all over my pants, man, I’m not kidding, and are you laughing at me, Jensen Ross Ackles?
On the fourth morning of filming he finds an e-mail from Jensen in his inbox. It comes with a picture, Bandit’s and Bisou’s muzzles crowded on a denim-clad lap while a small, white dog props its front paws on similarly-denim-clad knees and looks on. There’s a message, too, which Jeff re-reads twice more with a grin: Think they like me better than you now, dude. :D
He takes to muttering the line under his breath for the rest of the day, at the oddest of times, like a wish which may come true with frequent repetition, maybe, or a strange sort of charm. The laughter comes later that night, bubbling out when Jensen picks up the phone on the other end to fill a hotel room that no longer seems quite so empty and large.
=-=-=
“Well, this is unexpected,” Jeff says as he steps through his front door.
Bandit whuffs and wags his tail.
“Is Jensen here, boy?” Jeff asks as he sets his suitcase down, even though he’s pretty sure he already knows. He’s back from Vancouver a day early. His dogs should still be at Jensen’s. However, Bandit’s here. Ergo, Jensen is here too.
There are sounds coming from the rear end of the house, so Jeff heads there next to investigate, Bandit padding alongside at his heels. The kitchen’s empty, but the door to the backyard is open, and the pool -
Jensen looks up just as Jeff steps out onto the sun-warmed patio. He’s standing up to his chest in water, and he (quite literally) as his hands full with supporting Bisou as she paddles around the pool, but his grin when he spots Jeff is the widest one Jeff has seen yet, and Jeff feels an answering grin stretch across his face.
Jeff remains on the patio, idly scratching Bandit between the ears as he listens to Jensen heap praise upon praise on Bisou for managing to swim across the breadth of the pool, and only steps out into the sunlight when Jensen finally heaves himself out of the water.
“Hey,” says Jensen after Jeff’s finished greeting Bisou and letting her know he’s missed her too. He’s still grinning at Jeff. The corners of his eyes are crinkled from the broadness of his smile, and his voice is bright and happy.
“Christ, you must be freezing,” Jeff answers by way of reply, because it’s not exactly a summer month, even if that’s the mid-afternoon sun overhead, and Jensen’s soaking wet and clad in nothing but a pair of board shorts. Hell, Jeff can even see the goose-pimples pebbling Jensen’s arms. He shrugs his jacket off, promises not to make too much of a fuss if Jensen just accepts it, and glares at Jensen until Jensen stops clutching it in his hands and grudgingly puts it on.
Jeff still fusses with the way it drapes on Jensen’s shoulders anyway, just because.
“How was Vancouver?” Jensen asks when Jeff finally steps back. His head is tilted ever so slightly to the left, and he sounds curious.
Lonely, Jeff wants to answer. His mouth feels inexplicably dry, and the word sticks in his throat. There’s a drop of water making its way down Jensen’s temple, Jensen’s cheek, Jensen’s jaw, Jensen’s neck, before finally pooling in the hollow of Jensen’s throat, and Jeff wants to lick it away. He wants to lap at that freckled skin, to discover if pool water tastes any different when tongued off a honeyed tan. He wants to mouth at the curve of Jensen’s collarbone, to nibble on Jensen’s bared nipples, to suck a string of bruises around Jensen’s neck, so that anyone who sees Jensen will know that Jensen’s his.
Jeff doesn’t even realize that he’s leaning forward until he’s less than an inch away, and when he does he closes in, gently cups Jensen’s jaw as he draws Jensen towards him. It’s a clumsy kiss at best - the angle’s ever so slightly wrong, and Jeff doubts he’ll be surprised if either of them develops a crick in the neck after this - but Jensen makes a high, startled noise before parting his lips on a sigh, and suddenly it’s all perfect.
He’s definitely not expecting the shove.
Jeff stumbles back awkwardly, and more than a little reluctantly, brows already furrowed in protest. Jensen’s still standing in front of him, golden and gorgeous in the afternoon sun, and Jeff just wants him back, and - oh God.
“I’m sorry,” he stutters. His chest suddenly seem much too small for his lungs, his skin far too tight across his shoulders, and for a moment he wonders if this is what drowning feels like. He feels suffocated, light-headed, dizzy. “I’m so sorry. I mean, I thought - ”
Jensen’s speaking too, he thinks. Jensen’s lips are moving, but the sounds he’s hearing are garbled, and Jeff wants to plead with him to slow down, to stop, to start again, to give Jeff a chance, please-please-please. He reaches out, and his hand closes around a jacket-clad arm as Jensen drags him in for a second kiss.
This time, Jensen refrains from shoving Jeff away, keeps his fingers tangled in the crumpled folds of Jeff’s shirt instead when he finally pulls back again. He’s smiling, too, but it’s the kind of smile Jeff thinks of as regretful, and Jeff can’t help the tiny, unhappy noise that slips out before he clenches his teeth.
Jensen laughs shakily as he runs his free hand through his hair.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and Jeff has to concede that Jensen does sound apologetic. “Shit. I really am very sorry. It’s not you, okay? It’s me. I really, really like you, and I really, really like how you like me too, but I just have this policy about not dating clients, and you’re a client as long as Bisou remains under my care, so while she does I just, I just can’t, Jeff. Even though I really, really want to. Like, a lot. Like, since our first meeting. Like, yeah. ”
Jensen’s blushing again by the time he stumbles to a halt, and his eyes are deliberately avoiding Jeff’s while his teeth worry at his lower lip, but when he smiles it’s soft and rueful, and something in Jeff’s chest catches.
He still has a hand wrapped around Jensen’s arm. He tightens his grip, relishes the hard strength of Jensen’s muscles as he tugs Jensen towards him. Jensen comes without protest.
“I’ll wait,” Jeff tells him when he’s finally close enough. He runs a thumb over where the plump lower lip has been nibbled red and almost raw, and feels his smile widen into an evil smirk when Jensen whimpers.
Bisou has an appointment with her usual vet this Friday. She’s been doing incredibly well recently, far as Jeff can tell and if Jensen’s daily reports are anything to go by. Jeff’s pretty sure they’re going to receive an all-clear.
Still, he presses a tiny kiss to the corner of Jensen’s mouth anyway, just for luck.
END.
Genre: RPS AU
Pairing: JDM/Jensen
Rating: PG13
Word count: 3,203 words
Summary: In which Jeff's an actor, and Jensen's the physical therapist of one of Jeff's dogs. *
A/N: Originally posted here for embroiderama's prompt - Jensen's a physical therapist FOR DOGS. Jeff brings one of his dogs in for therapy. - in rozabellalove's JDM comment fic meme.
* CCRP = certified canine rehabilitation practitioner.
Jensen Ackles is not what Jeffery’s expecting.
He’s young, for one. Sure, he’s probably three or four years older than the Padalecki kid from whom Jeff had gotten Ackles’s number, but still much younger than what Jeff imagines a certified canine rehabilitation practitioner with as many professional accolades as the guy supposedly has to be.
He doesn’t seem like any sort of CCRP Jeff’s met either, not even in jeans, a cotton tee, and a pair of sneakers that has definitely seen better days. The CCRPs Jeff usually meets generally possess overly earnest faces and helpful hands, friendly and distant as they welcome him to the rehabilitation centre and hand him a stack of paperwork in the lobby to fill. Ackles is a broad smile and a firm handshake as he comes up to greet Jeff at their agreed spot in the park, and his laughter when Bandit jumps at him is full-bodied and warm.
Jeff sits himself again on the bench, calls Bandit back to him as he watches Ackles crouch down to greet Bisou. Far as Jeff can tell, Bisou’s feeling somewhat reserved today, probably still drowsy from the pain meds the vet has her on, and it takes copious amounts of head-patting and ear-scratching before she finally deigns to nose at Ackles’s hand. He’s still not entirely sure about this meeting - because seriously, the kid’s young, and looks better suited to a career in modeling than one in canine rehabilitation - but he catches a glimpse of Ackles’s toothy grin, wide and happy as Bisou tentatively licks him, and yeah.
“I think this’ll work,” he says awkwardly, and curls his fingers around the worn wooden slats of his bench, inexplicably nervous.
Ackles is still beaming when he finally pulls himself out of his crouch. It’s a good look on him, pleased and sincere and wholly unforced, and he keeps the smile while he tells Jeff to call him Jensen, not Mr. Ackles, not if they’ll be working together for a while, because Mr. Ackles makes it sound as though Jeff’s addressing Jensen’s father, and how weird is that?
Jeff nods with a smile of his own even as he feels something inside him stutter.
=-=-=
Two weeks in, and Jeff’s pretty convinced that the arrangement Jensen and him have going is perfect. Working freelance allows Jensen to tailor Bisou’s appointments around the irregular hours of Jeff’s filming schedule, which consequently gives Jeff the liberty to accompany Bisou during all her sessions with Jensen and to take her along with him when he has to film out of town, confident that Jensen will be able to follow. Bisou in turn seems happier, now that she has Jeff with her more frequently, and as far as Jeff’s concerned, anything which makes Bisou happier counts as a win.
She certainly seems happier right now with Jeff in the room while Jensen carefully massages her thigh. Jeff givers her another scratch between her ears and grins, first at her, then at Jensen when he sees him start too smile too, when she whuffs and chases his fingers with her tongue.
“She’s doing better,” he tells Jensen. He knows he’s stating the obvious, but he still hasn’t gotten past the stage of being incredibly grateful. “Yesterday, I caught her attempting the stairs. The stairs, man. I could barely coax her to walk after the surgery.”
“She’s determined,” Jensen grins. “Probably gets it from you.”
Jeff snorts. “Nah. Pretty sure it’s all yours, man. You’ve got magic hands” He nods his chin at where Jensen’s now gently smoothing his palms down Bisou’s side - Jensen’s way, Jeff has come to realize after hours of watching Jensen work, of winding a massage down - and has the pleasure of seeing Jensen blush.
Jensen, Jeff decides, should be made to blush more often.
Jensen’s still blushing when he finally steps away from Bisou, but he’s started smirking too, corners of his lips turned up just so. Jeff’s pretty certain he’s going to be treated to one of Jensen’s sarcastic comebacks, and he can feel the ends of his mouth start to twitch too, when Bandit suddenly starts to bark from the bit of rug he’s been curled up on, and they both turn their heads instead to look at where Bandit’s now standing up.
“I think he wants a massage too,” Jensen deadpans, and Jeff gives up trying to hold back his laughter.
=-=-=
Within a month, they’re completely comfortable around each other. Jensen generously throws in free massages for Bandit after his sessions with Bisou, while Jeff takes him out for dinner a couple of times to express his gratitude. They even start taking the dogs out for walks together, on the mornings both Jensen and him are free. They play with Frisbees in the park until the dogs finally tire, pause on the way back to Jeff’s for coffee and smoothies and doughnuts, and when men and dogs finally trip over each other through Jeff’s front door they all are, though not silent, exceedingly content.
In fact, they’re comfortable enough that Jeff thinks Jensen wouldn’t mind looking after his dogs for a couple of weeks.
He broaches the matter while he’s unclipping the leashes from the dogs’ collars, and is unaccountably anxious when his proposal is immediately met with silence. He hastily straightens to find Jensen leaning against the door jamb, smiling softly over the white plastic cover of his takeout coffee. There’s something strangely, well, wistful, Jeff suddenly thinks, about the way Jensen looks on while the dogs scamper away from Jeff’s feet and to their water bowls in the kitchen, and something sticks in his throat even as he watches Jensen sip his Starbucks Grande Latte with soy milk and hazel syrup.
(Jeff had teased Jensen about girly drinks the first time Jensen had ordered it until Jensen had jabbed him in the ribs and Jeff had spilled his coffee all over the sidewalk as a result.)
“It’s alright if you can’t,” he frantically reassures when he finally can, only just managing not to wince at the way his words tumble over each other. “I mean, I can always make alternate arrangements. It’s just that you’ll be seeing Bisou most of the days anyway. I can’t possibly take them with me to Vancouver, and the dogs already like you, so I thought - ”
He stutters to a confused halt when Jensen ducks his head and starts to laugh. His hands are sweaty where he’s still clutching the leashes, but he curls his fingers tighter around them anyway, relishes the way the metal chain link digs into the flesh of his palm.
Jensen’s still chuckling when he looks up again. “Dude, of course I don’t mind.” He keeps grinning as he moves past Jeff to grab his bag off Jeff’s three-seater couch in the den. “Icarus could always do with more dogs to play with.”
“Icarus?”
“Yeah.” Jensen’s cheeks pinken as Jeff peers at the cell phone he holds up. There’s a picture of a dog on the tiny screen, white and fluffy and really quite adorable, and Jeff smirks at the urge to tease Jensen about having a girly dog. “He’s a cockerpoo. Y’know, half cocker spaniel, half poodle. Don’t - ” and here the word is laced with a vicious glare “ - you even dare.”
Jeff throws his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. “Wasn’t going to,” he says meekly as he follows Jensen to the door, and grins when Jensen rolls his eyes. “I didn’t know you have a dog, man.”
Jensen snorts. “He’s more Danneel’s than mine, really.”
“Ah. Girlfriend?”
“Try ‘roommate’.” They’ve paused at Jeff’s gate now. Jensen’s the reddest Jeff’s seen him yet as he looks at his feet, and his lips twist in a wry grimace as he shifts awkwardly on his feet.
“Any girlfriend at all?” Jeff frowns at the way his question comes out choked, and he silently hopes that Jensen hasn’t noticed. It suddenly seems imperative that he knows.
“Hardly.” Beside him, Jensen has started to rub the back of his neck, a gesture Jeff’s seen him do every time Jensen feels shy and uncomfortable about something. It takes all of Jeff’s control not to reach out and snatch at Jensen’s arm. “I’m, well, y’know, gay.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry if this makes you feel uncomfortable,” Jensen continues. His mouth is set in a grim line. “And I understand if you’d rather work with another therapist instead. I’ll be more than glad to furnish you with names and contact details.”
“Oh,” Jeff tries again. He still feels inexplicably light-headed and giddy. “No. Don’t be silly, man. Of course I don’t mind. Hell, I don’t think I could have been an actor if I minded. I’m pretty sure Bisou and Bandit won’t be minding either.”
“Yeah?” Jensen’s smiling again, but it looks all wrong somehow, stiff, brittle about the edges, and he tenses noticeably when Jeff grabs his arm.
“Yeah.” Jeff tightens his grip anyway, slips his thumb beneath the cuff of Jensen’s jacket. The underside of Jensen’s wrist is warm, the skin soft and smooth where Jeff begins tracing idle circles. Far as Jeff can tell, Jensen’s standing stock-still, and his breaths are too deep and measured to be coming naturally. It’s not Jensen-like at all, this uncharacteristic quiet, and Jeff suddenly just wants to make everything right again.
He’s still casting around for a more effective form of reassurance when he notices it. “Jensen?”
“Mm?”
“Where’s your car?” Now that Jeff thinks about it, he hadn’t heard Jensen drive up this morning either.
“In the workshop.” There’s still something odd about Jensen’s voice, but the set of his shoulders is noticeably less stiff, and Jeff counts it as a win even while Jensen continues. “I’ll be picking it up again in a couple of times.”
“You came here via public transport,” Jeff realizes. “And you were going to go back the same way.”
Jensen’s glare is answer enough.
“Christ. You should have just asked me for a lift, man.” He begins tugging Jensen towards his garage, and has to fight back a smile when Jensen allows himself to be led without any resistance.
“I didn’t want to be a bother.” Jensen’s mumble is barely audible.
Jeff’s pretty sure that if he’ll find Jensen still glaring if he looks back. This time, he lets his smile slip through. “What, and deprive me of my chance to show off?”
He flicks the light switch with a flourish.
“Fuck.” Behind him, Jensen has gone completely still again. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Jeff beams. “My two other babies. That’s a Harley Davidson Night Rod Special on you’re looking at on your left, a Soft Tail Crossbones on your right.” His grin widens as he watches Jensen step forward, all previous discomfort forgotten. “So, may I interest you in a ride?”
He’s still grinning more than twenty minutes later as he speeds down the freeway, Jensen’s body a warm line down his back, and Jensen’s arms tight around his waist.
=-=-=
Filming in Vancouver is exactly as Jeff has grown to expect. It’s colder than it is in southern California, and he misses his dogs terribly, but he’s on excellent terms with the rest of the cast and most of the crew, all of whom are talented in their chosen fields, so things go pretty smoothly.
Speaking with Jensen on the phone every night probably helps.
It’s an impulse on the first night that falls naturally into a pattern. Jensen fills him in on Bisou’s progress, keeps him up to date on Bandit’s latest pranks. He even slips in the occasional tidbit about Icarus, and Jeff finds himself gaining a new and (he suspects) healthy respect for small dogs that do not fail to grasp the concept of size. Jeff in turn recalls any and all humorous anecdotes from the set, and has the honor of making Jensen choke on his beer while he relates an incident involving a banana peel, a folding chair, and the ill-fated, short-lived attempt of a strawberry smoothie at defying gravity, all over my pants, man, I’m not kidding, and are you laughing at me, Jensen Ross Ackles?
On the fourth morning of filming he finds an e-mail from Jensen in his inbox. It comes with a picture, Bandit’s and Bisou’s muzzles crowded on a denim-clad lap while a small, white dog props its front paws on similarly-denim-clad knees and looks on. There’s a message, too, which Jeff re-reads twice more with a grin: Think they like me better than you now, dude. :D
He takes to muttering the line under his breath for the rest of the day, at the oddest of times, like a wish which may come true with frequent repetition, maybe, or a strange sort of charm. The laughter comes later that night, bubbling out when Jensen picks up the phone on the other end to fill a hotel room that no longer seems quite so empty and large.
=-=-=
“Well, this is unexpected,” Jeff says as he steps through his front door.
Bandit whuffs and wags his tail.
“Is Jensen here, boy?” Jeff asks as he sets his suitcase down, even though he’s pretty sure he already knows. He’s back from Vancouver a day early. His dogs should still be at Jensen’s. However, Bandit’s here. Ergo, Jensen is here too.
There are sounds coming from the rear end of the house, so Jeff heads there next to investigate, Bandit padding alongside at his heels. The kitchen’s empty, but the door to the backyard is open, and the pool -
Jensen looks up just as Jeff steps out onto the sun-warmed patio. He’s standing up to his chest in water, and he (quite literally) as his hands full with supporting Bisou as she paddles around the pool, but his grin when he spots Jeff is the widest one Jeff has seen yet, and Jeff feels an answering grin stretch across his face.
Jeff remains on the patio, idly scratching Bandit between the ears as he listens to Jensen heap praise upon praise on Bisou for managing to swim across the breadth of the pool, and only steps out into the sunlight when Jensen finally heaves himself out of the water.
“Hey,” says Jensen after Jeff’s finished greeting Bisou and letting her know he’s missed her too. He’s still grinning at Jeff. The corners of his eyes are crinkled from the broadness of his smile, and his voice is bright and happy.
“Christ, you must be freezing,” Jeff answers by way of reply, because it’s not exactly a summer month, even if that’s the mid-afternoon sun overhead, and Jensen’s soaking wet and clad in nothing but a pair of board shorts. Hell, Jeff can even see the goose-pimples pebbling Jensen’s arms. He shrugs his jacket off, promises not to make too much of a fuss if Jensen just accepts it, and glares at Jensen until Jensen stops clutching it in his hands and grudgingly puts it on.
Jeff still fusses with the way it drapes on Jensen’s shoulders anyway, just because.
“How was Vancouver?” Jensen asks when Jeff finally steps back. His head is tilted ever so slightly to the left, and he sounds curious.
Lonely, Jeff wants to answer. His mouth feels inexplicably dry, and the word sticks in his throat. There’s a drop of water making its way down Jensen’s temple, Jensen’s cheek, Jensen’s jaw, Jensen’s neck, before finally pooling in the hollow of Jensen’s throat, and Jeff wants to lick it away. He wants to lap at that freckled skin, to discover if pool water tastes any different when tongued off a honeyed tan. He wants to mouth at the curve of Jensen’s collarbone, to nibble on Jensen’s bared nipples, to suck a string of bruises around Jensen’s neck, so that anyone who sees Jensen will know that Jensen’s his.
Jeff doesn’t even realize that he’s leaning forward until he’s less than an inch away, and when he does he closes in, gently cups Jensen’s jaw as he draws Jensen towards him. It’s a clumsy kiss at best - the angle’s ever so slightly wrong, and Jeff doubts he’ll be surprised if either of them develops a crick in the neck after this - but Jensen makes a high, startled noise before parting his lips on a sigh, and suddenly it’s all perfect.
He’s definitely not expecting the shove.
Jeff stumbles back awkwardly, and more than a little reluctantly, brows already furrowed in protest. Jensen’s still standing in front of him, golden and gorgeous in the afternoon sun, and Jeff just wants him back, and - oh God.
“I’m sorry,” he stutters. His chest suddenly seem much too small for his lungs, his skin far too tight across his shoulders, and for a moment he wonders if this is what drowning feels like. He feels suffocated, light-headed, dizzy. “I’m so sorry. I mean, I thought - ”
Jensen’s speaking too, he thinks. Jensen’s lips are moving, but the sounds he’s hearing are garbled, and Jeff wants to plead with him to slow down, to stop, to start again, to give Jeff a chance, please-please-please. He reaches out, and his hand closes around a jacket-clad arm as Jensen drags him in for a second kiss.
This time, Jensen refrains from shoving Jeff away, keeps his fingers tangled in the crumpled folds of Jeff’s shirt instead when he finally pulls back again. He’s smiling, too, but it’s the kind of smile Jeff thinks of as regretful, and Jeff can’t help the tiny, unhappy noise that slips out before he clenches his teeth.
Jensen laughs shakily as he runs his free hand through his hair.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and Jeff has to concede that Jensen does sound apologetic. “Shit. I really am very sorry. It’s not you, okay? It’s me. I really, really like you, and I really, really like how you like me too, but I just have this policy about not dating clients, and you’re a client as long as Bisou remains under my care, so while she does I just, I just can’t, Jeff. Even though I really, really want to. Like, a lot. Like, since our first meeting. Like, yeah. ”
Jensen’s blushing again by the time he stumbles to a halt, and his eyes are deliberately avoiding Jeff’s while his teeth worry at his lower lip, but when he smiles it’s soft and rueful, and something in Jeff’s chest catches.
He still has a hand wrapped around Jensen’s arm. He tightens his grip, relishes the hard strength of Jensen’s muscles as he tugs Jensen towards him. Jensen comes without protest.
“I’ll wait,” Jeff tells him when he’s finally close enough. He runs a thumb over where the plump lower lip has been nibbled red and almost raw, and feels his smile widen into an evil smirk when Jensen whimpers.
Bisou has an appointment with her usual vet this Friday. She’s been doing incredibly well recently, far as Jeff can tell and if Jensen’s daily reports are anything to go by. Jeff’s pretty sure they’re going to receive an all-clear.
Still, he presses a tiny kiss to the corner of Jensen’s mouth anyway, just for luck.
END.