FIC: "Dying Roses" - 1/1, R, CW RPS, SC/JA
Title: Dying Roses
Author: Jo
Fandom: CW RPS
Pairing: Steve Carlson/Jensen Ackles
Rating: R
Summary: Steve and Jensen have a complicated relationship
Disclaimer: Absolute, 100% fiction. I made up the whole thing.
Notes: For the sounds_so_good challenge, because there simply isn't enough Steve fic out there. My song of choice was "Under You". Much thanks for the quick beta to azewewish.
I can't stand to watch you walk away
Take the last word with you
Although I know it would take a lot to stay
With someone under you
By the ten-minute mark of the argument, Jensen was pissed. By the fifteenth, so was Steve. Twenty minutes in and he'd forgotten why they were fighting. Seemed stupid to stop and say hey, what the fuck, man, and figure out what started the whole thing. So Steve just rolled with it. So did Jensen.
Probably a good thing, because Steve had just enough alcohol in him to be itching for a fight. And Jensen, God love him, clearly wasn't going to back down, so there you had it. Words were said that Steve knew neither one of them would say perfectly sober, but they weren't, and that was neither here nor there, it just was.
It was who they were.
Though, in retrospect, slinging his beer bottle in Jensen's general direction probably wasn't the smartest thing Steve had ever done. It just happened. One second it was in his hand; the next it was winging its way through the air to miss Jensen by about two feet. Steve's aim always did suck donkey balls when he was plowed.
But then, he hadn't really been aiming at Jensen. At least, he didn't think he had. But would Jensen listen? Fuck no. He got his back up, said something real nasty that Steve didn't even think was physically possible, and then stalked out of the house. The screen door slamming behind him with a bang put a pretty neat period on the argument.
All Steve could say was fuck and goddammit as he went for another beer, telling himself he'd clean up the mess in the morning.
Two hours later, Jensen was back, letting himself into the house with a quiet hey. Steve looked up from where he sprawled on the sofa and just nodded, scooting over a bit to make room for Jensen. A soft voice murmured in Steve's ear, then Steve's fingers curled around the back of Jensen's neck, squeezing lightly, working out the knots. It was his way of apologizing. For what, he still wasn't sure, but he figured they could both use it.
After all, the smartest thing his dad had ever told him was don't go to bed mad.
* * *
But now there's dying roses on the bed
The sheets still smell like you
And all this rain has got me down
The last time L.A. had had this much rain was…well, to be honest, Steve couldn't remember the last time it had rained this much. Figures it would be the weekend before Jensen had to fly back to set. Though, in all fairness, it had rained the entire two weeks he'd been there.
Sucked, but what could you do? Blame it on global warming or some shit, Steve supposed.
He flopped down on the bed and was enveloped by a cloud of scent - his own shampoo, Jensen's sweat, sex, the tangy aftershave Jensen slapped on in the mornings. He listened to the rain taptaptapping against the window, listened to the water hitting the tile in the bathroom as Jensen showered.
Thought about getting up and joining Jensen, but he was feeling too lazy. Besides, it wasn't like Jensen wasn't going to rejoin him just as soon as he dried off. Probably before, in fact. After everything else they'd indulged in, what was a little water?
He closed his eyes and listened to the tapping and trickling and dripping.
Must've fallen asleep, because the next thing Steve knew, he opened his eyes as water dripped on his nose. Laughing hazel eyes looked down at him and, as predicted, water droplets slid over Jensen's shoulders to trek down his chest. Jensen grinned, said something about how Steve must not have missed him much, and Steve tried to protest.
The protest lasted about ten seconds, just long enough for Jensen to drop his towel and stretch out atop Steve, linking their hands and pulling them over Steve's head.
Jensen said something else, but Steve missed it. He was far more concerned with getting his lips on that bit of skin just below Jensen's jaw. Clean water danced over his tongue as he licked along Jensen's collarbone, mingling with the warm taste of Jensen's skin, and Steve swore he could taste each freckle dusted across Jensen's shoulder.
Then he forgot all about freckles as Jensen shifted, rolled his hips to bring their erections into alignment. Friction as they moved, and the sensation skittered across Steve's nerves, shivered up his spine, bringing forth a low groan as he rocked up, seeking more. Jensen, thankfully, seemed happy to give it to him.
* * *
I'll wait for you while the earth spins around
Go on, I'm watching over everything you do
I'm under you
The series seemed to be doing all right. At least it was from where Steve was. And if Jensen was working more now that he was full-time on a set instead of just a recurring character, what of it? Not like it wasn't something they hadn't talked about when Jensen took the role. And it was a good show.
It was just…
Well…
Sometimes, Steve wished there was a little less filming and a little more them. Sure, he could hop a plane and fly up to Vancouver whenever he wanted, but it wasn't the same. Jared was a good kid, but he was always there. And that boy, bless his heart, was all gangly good intentions, and Steve just wanted to smack him sometimes.
He'd refrained so far, each time he'd been around Jared, but he could tell Jensen knew. Could tell by the way he crinkled and looked away, like he was afraid he'd bust out laughing if he looked at Steve for a single second more.
He probably would, too, the fucker.
He didn't fly to Vancouver whenever he wanted, though. Instead, he sprawled on the sofa every week, television turned to the show. Hell, his TiVo even recorded it for him, just so he could watch it over and over. And tell himself that he wasn't really admiring the way Jensen looked in the outfits wardrobe put him in, or that he wasn't just a little turned on by how pretty Jensen was, all battered and bloody.
He was lying to himself, and he knew it. Steve was okay with that.
Wasn't like they weren't both lying to themselves each time they talked. What with the promises to get together and all that. Those promises just kind of slid to the side, forgotten as time drifted past and, before they knew it, another month had gone by with Jensen still in Vancouver and Steve still in L.A.
And each day, there was a little less them and a little more Jensen, a little more Steve. It just happened that way.
* * *
Are you still staring at the same old sky
Or have you moved along
To one with no clouds and a few more stars
Where the streets aren't so loud
The shock of looking out into the crowd and seeing laughing hazel eyes looking back at him caused Steve to fumble, drop a few notes. He recovered in seconds, kept playing, mind whirling as he tried to remember just how long it had been since they'd been together.
A long time.
Months.
Eleven of them, plus two weeks and four days. Not that Steve was, y'know, counting or anything. It was just that he could clearly remember that last day, most of it spent in bed before they absolutely had to leave to get Jensen to the airport in time.
Nothing much since then, though.
Sure, they'd got together a few times, but it was never just them. Jared was always there. Or Christian or Jason or, hell, even Riley had bumbled along once, interrupting at just the wrong time and the moment had been lost.
And there'd been Tania for a few months, when Jensen would sometimes return his phone calls and sometimes not, claiming he was busy later when Steve finally got him on the phone. He'd managed to ask, once, during a rare few minutes alone during a weekend visit. Jensen had shrugged and scuffed and smiled a little and said hey, just a thing, y'know, nothing on us.
But there hadn't really been an 'us' by then. They'd slid back into the friendship as easy as they'd slid into the sex. Easier, in fact, because neither one of them had fought it. Steve had wanted to, but he never could read Jensen over the phone, so he didn't push.
Sometimes, though, in the middle of the night when he was alone with nothing but a joint and his guitar, he wondered if maybe he'd read things wrong, got his signals crossed. Wondered if it even mattered now, because they were both so damn busy that it was probably too late anyway.
But Jensen was right there, and he was smiling that smile that Steve knew was reserved for him, reserved for the private moments they'd had. And Steve just kept playing, eyes sliding back to Jensen every few verses, and tried not to read too much into it.
Before he was ready, the set was over. Out of time, no more songs on the set list, and Jensen, with a nod and a look was moving towards the door, towards the fresh air outside. Steve knew he'd follow just as soon as he could get his gear packed up, and he knew Jensen knew. It was there in the way the air between them had crackled during that last look.
It was still there in the way Jensen's eyes slid to him the second Steve stepped out the door, the way Jensen pulled him into a hard, tight, one-armed hug and pressed his face against Steve's neck, ignoring the sweat on his skin to whisper love you, man, in his ear.
Love you…
Two little words that slammed everything he was going to say right out of Steve's head. It wasn't something they'd said, wasn't something he'd ever thought they needed to say. And now Jensen, contrary fucker that he was, had said it. Said it and, if Steve was still any judge at all, meant it.
Meant it in a way that Steve had, at first, never really believed either one of them would ever get to, but where he'd ended up a long time ago.
Maybe it was just a matter of waiting for Jensen to catch up. Steve searched Jensen's eyes for a second when they pulled back, smiled at what he saw there. Missed you was all he could say, and Jensen just nodded and, hey, let's get out of here, too many people, just want to talk to you.
Steve didn't ask how long, because it didn't matter. The night, the weekend, a week, whatever. Didn't make a difference because they were there and it was there again. And it was real in a way Steve didn't think it had been before, and that was all right with him.
Author: Jo
Fandom: CW RPS
Pairing: Steve Carlson/Jensen Ackles
Rating: R
Summary: Steve and Jensen have a complicated relationship
Disclaimer: Absolute, 100% fiction. I made up the whole thing.
Notes: For the sounds_so_good challenge, because there simply isn't enough Steve fic out there. My song of choice was "Under You". Much thanks for the quick beta to azewewish.
I can't stand to watch you walk away
Take the last word with you
Although I know it would take a lot to stay
With someone under you
By the ten-minute mark of the argument, Jensen was pissed. By the fifteenth, so was Steve. Twenty minutes in and he'd forgotten why they were fighting. Seemed stupid to stop and say hey, what the fuck, man, and figure out what started the whole thing. So Steve just rolled with it. So did Jensen.
Probably a good thing, because Steve had just enough alcohol in him to be itching for a fight. And Jensen, God love him, clearly wasn't going to back down, so there you had it. Words were said that Steve knew neither one of them would say perfectly sober, but they weren't, and that was neither here nor there, it just was.
It was who they were.
Though, in retrospect, slinging his beer bottle in Jensen's general direction probably wasn't the smartest thing Steve had ever done. It just happened. One second it was in his hand; the next it was winging its way through the air to miss Jensen by about two feet. Steve's aim always did suck donkey balls when he was plowed.
But then, he hadn't really been aiming at Jensen. At least, he didn't think he had. But would Jensen listen? Fuck no. He got his back up, said something real nasty that Steve didn't even think was physically possible, and then stalked out of the house. The screen door slamming behind him with a bang put a pretty neat period on the argument.
All Steve could say was fuck and goddammit as he went for another beer, telling himself he'd clean up the mess in the morning.
Two hours later, Jensen was back, letting himself into the house with a quiet hey. Steve looked up from where he sprawled on the sofa and just nodded, scooting over a bit to make room for Jensen. A soft voice murmured in Steve's ear, then Steve's fingers curled around the back of Jensen's neck, squeezing lightly, working out the knots. It was his way of apologizing. For what, he still wasn't sure, but he figured they could both use it.
After all, the smartest thing his dad had ever told him was don't go to bed mad.
* * *
But now there's dying roses on the bed
The sheets still smell like you
And all this rain has got me down
The last time L.A. had had this much rain was…well, to be honest, Steve couldn't remember the last time it had rained this much. Figures it would be the weekend before Jensen had to fly back to set. Though, in all fairness, it had rained the entire two weeks he'd been there.
Sucked, but what could you do? Blame it on global warming or some shit, Steve supposed.
He flopped down on the bed and was enveloped by a cloud of scent - his own shampoo, Jensen's sweat, sex, the tangy aftershave Jensen slapped on in the mornings. He listened to the rain taptaptapping against the window, listened to the water hitting the tile in the bathroom as Jensen showered.
Thought about getting up and joining Jensen, but he was feeling too lazy. Besides, it wasn't like Jensen wasn't going to rejoin him just as soon as he dried off. Probably before, in fact. After everything else they'd indulged in, what was a little water?
He closed his eyes and listened to the tapping and trickling and dripping.
Must've fallen asleep, because the next thing Steve knew, he opened his eyes as water dripped on his nose. Laughing hazel eyes looked down at him and, as predicted, water droplets slid over Jensen's shoulders to trek down his chest. Jensen grinned, said something about how Steve must not have missed him much, and Steve tried to protest.
The protest lasted about ten seconds, just long enough for Jensen to drop his towel and stretch out atop Steve, linking their hands and pulling them over Steve's head.
Jensen said something else, but Steve missed it. He was far more concerned with getting his lips on that bit of skin just below Jensen's jaw. Clean water danced over his tongue as he licked along Jensen's collarbone, mingling with the warm taste of Jensen's skin, and Steve swore he could taste each freckle dusted across Jensen's shoulder.
Then he forgot all about freckles as Jensen shifted, rolled his hips to bring their erections into alignment. Friction as they moved, and the sensation skittered across Steve's nerves, shivered up his spine, bringing forth a low groan as he rocked up, seeking more. Jensen, thankfully, seemed happy to give it to him.
* * *
I'll wait for you while the earth spins around
Go on, I'm watching over everything you do
I'm under you
The series seemed to be doing all right. At least it was from where Steve was. And if Jensen was working more now that he was full-time on a set instead of just a recurring character, what of it? Not like it wasn't something they hadn't talked about when Jensen took the role. And it was a good show.
It was just…
Well…
Sometimes, Steve wished there was a little less filming and a little more them. Sure, he could hop a plane and fly up to Vancouver whenever he wanted, but it wasn't the same. Jared was a good kid, but he was always there. And that boy, bless his heart, was all gangly good intentions, and Steve just wanted to smack him sometimes.
He'd refrained so far, each time he'd been around Jared, but he could tell Jensen knew. Could tell by the way he crinkled and looked away, like he was afraid he'd bust out laughing if he looked at Steve for a single second more.
He probably would, too, the fucker.
He didn't fly to Vancouver whenever he wanted, though. Instead, he sprawled on the sofa every week, television turned to the show. Hell, his TiVo even recorded it for him, just so he could watch it over and over. And tell himself that he wasn't really admiring the way Jensen looked in the outfits wardrobe put him in, or that he wasn't just a little turned on by how pretty Jensen was, all battered and bloody.
He was lying to himself, and he knew it. Steve was okay with that.
Wasn't like they weren't both lying to themselves each time they talked. What with the promises to get together and all that. Those promises just kind of slid to the side, forgotten as time drifted past and, before they knew it, another month had gone by with Jensen still in Vancouver and Steve still in L.A.
And each day, there was a little less them and a little more Jensen, a little more Steve. It just happened that way.
* * *
Are you still staring at the same old sky
Or have you moved along
To one with no clouds and a few more stars
Where the streets aren't so loud
The shock of looking out into the crowd and seeing laughing hazel eyes looking back at him caused Steve to fumble, drop a few notes. He recovered in seconds, kept playing, mind whirling as he tried to remember just how long it had been since they'd been together.
A long time.
Months.
Eleven of them, plus two weeks and four days. Not that Steve was, y'know, counting or anything. It was just that he could clearly remember that last day, most of it spent in bed before they absolutely had to leave to get Jensen to the airport in time.
Nothing much since then, though.
Sure, they'd got together a few times, but it was never just them. Jared was always there. Or Christian or Jason or, hell, even Riley had bumbled along once, interrupting at just the wrong time and the moment had been lost.
And there'd been Tania for a few months, when Jensen would sometimes return his phone calls and sometimes not, claiming he was busy later when Steve finally got him on the phone. He'd managed to ask, once, during a rare few minutes alone during a weekend visit. Jensen had shrugged and scuffed and smiled a little and said hey, just a thing, y'know, nothing on us.
But there hadn't really been an 'us' by then. They'd slid back into the friendship as easy as they'd slid into the sex. Easier, in fact, because neither one of them had fought it. Steve had wanted to, but he never could read Jensen over the phone, so he didn't push.
Sometimes, though, in the middle of the night when he was alone with nothing but a joint and his guitar, he wondered if maybe he'd read things wrong, got his signals crossed. Wondered if it even mattered now, because they were both so damn busy that it was probably too late anyway.
But Jensen was right there, and he was smiling that smile that Steve knew was reserved for him, reserved for the private moments they'd had. And Steve just kept playing, eyes sliding back to Jensen every few verses, and tried not to read too much into it.
Before he was ready, the set was over. Out of time, no more songs on the set list, and Jensen, with a nod and a look was moving towards the door, towards the fresh air outside. Steve knew he'd follow just as soon as he could get his gear packed up, and he knew Jensen knew. It was there in the way the air between them had crackled during that last look.
It was still there in the way Jensen's eyes slid to him the second Steve stepped out the door, the way Jensen pulled him into a hard, tight, one-armed hug and pressed his face against Steve's neck, ignoring the sweat on his skin to whisper love you, man, in his ear.
Love you…
Two little words that slammed everything he was going to say right out of Steve's head. It wasn't something they'd said, wasn't something he'd ever thought they needed to say. And now Jensen, contrary fucker that he was, had said it. Said it and, if Steve was still any judge at all, meant it.
Meant it in a way that Steve had, at first, never really believed either one of them would ever get to, but where he'd ended up a long time ago.
Maybe it was just a matter of waiting for Jensen to catch up. Steve searched Jensen's eyes for a second when they pulled back, smiled at what he saw there. Missed you was all he could say, and Jensen just nodded and, hey, let's get out of here, too many people, just want to talk to you.
Steve didn't ask how long, because it didn't matter. The night, the weekend, a week, whatever. Didn't make a difference because they were there and it was there again. And it was real in a way Steve didn't think it had been before, and that was all right with him.