be kind, unwind, 2/6

[harwhon]

VIII.

'Jensen, we're going,' Chris says, slightly breathless, as if he's been running. When Jensen makes no move to leave, he taps the doorpost impatiently a couple of times. 'Come on.'

'Yeah, yeah, I'll be right out,' he answers without looking up from the file he's been reviewing for the past hour. 'Just gotta finish this, you go ahead. I'll meet you there.'

'Right,' Chris drawls, not moving an inch. 'You said you were gonna come, man. I want none of this.'

'I am coming,' Jensen says emphatically, rolling his eyes, even if Chris can't see his face. 'Just this-'

'No,' Chris cuts him off and moves into the office, drops himself into one of the armchairs across from Jensen. 'I ain't leavin' till you are.'

'Fine,' Jensen barks. Chris can wait, no problem, as long as he gets his work done.

But then his friend starts fidgeting, sighing every ten seconds or so, gaping at his watch and sighing again. And he starts jiggling his legs, as if he's nervous, starts clicking his tongue.

Jensen drops his pen and glares at him, a look that Chris easily returns.

'Listen, you know I'm not gonna let you get any work done, so you might as well give up before I start singing Britney Spears,' he says in the end. 'I'm gonna win anyway.'

Jensen stares at him a little while longer, almost willing Chris to give in. But then he realizes that he might be stubborn, he's still got nothing on Chris. So he sighs heavily and closes the folder. 'Fine, you win.'

Chris smirks at him and waits until Jensen's by his side before he actually turns to leave the office. Jensen bumps his shoulder into his as they walk out the door. 'Britney Spears? Seriously?'

'You'd be surprised,' Chris says, he doesn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. 'Toxic is really catchy.'

Jensen smiles and when Chris starts singing (With the taste of your lips I'm on a ride) and doing a couple of dancy moves wholly unfit for a thirty-five year old man, he laughs out loud and is secretly really happy everyone else has already left.

*

The time passes quickly when they’re having a couple of beers and listening to Mike’s sexcapades while trying not to cringe and Jensen finds he’s actually having fun, laughing with the other guys and being in on the jokes for once. But then he makes the mistake of looking at the clock and his brain is flashing bright red warning signs that say he’ll never make his deadline if he keeps slacking off like this.

‘Oh no,’ Steve says immediately, as he probably sees the sheer panic on Jensen’s face. ‘No, Jensen. What happens at the office stays at the office. That’s exactly why we’re here, man. Shake off the tension after a hard day's work.’

‘But the day isn’t anywhere near over,' Jensen blurts without thought.

‘Jensen,’ Tom says quietly as he steals a glance at his watch. ‘It’s six thirty.’

‘Exactly,’ Mike says. ‘Which means Jen here has got about five more hours of work ahead of him.’

When Jensen doesn’t deny this, the smiles on their faces all fade.

‘Really?’ Chris asks, wincing. 'Every day?'

‘Jesus,’ Tom says, as Mike claps a hand down on Jensen’s shoulder in sympathy. ‘No wonder you’re tense.’

He’s just about to argue when he feels Mike knead the muscles in his back and cocks an eyebrow.

‘You feeling me up here, Mike?’ he asks instead. ‘Because that’s doing nothing to help me relax.’

‘No, I was just feeling how tense you are,’ he answers as if groping each other is something they do every day. ‘Seriously, man, your shoulders don’t feel anything like human flesh. Maybe you are a robot.’

‘Rosenbaum,’ Chris grinds out, looking just about ready to wipe the floor with his face.

‘No, it’s true,’ Jensen admits after a moment.

‘You’re not a robot.’ Chris says heatedly.

‘What?’ Jensen asks, confused. ‘Of course, I’m not a robot. It’s true that my shoulders are rock hard. Danneel used to say it all the time, gave me massages to loosen up, but they’d never help for long. Occupational hazard, I suppose. That’s what you get for being in front of a computer all day.’

‘What about Danneel?’ Chris asks suddenly.

‘What about her?’

‘Can’t she help you out? Take you out?’ Chris clarifies. ‘You know. Help you relax?’

When Steve notices that Mike’s about to jump into the conversation, he throws him a warning look and says, ‘By going to dinner and a movie.’

But it doesn’t stop the guy from adding enthusiastically, ‘Or getting another massage.’

‘Man, can we just this once have a conversation without the double entendres?’ Jensen tells him, raising his eyebrows. ‘No. Danneel and I, we aren’t like that. We’re just friends.’

‘Oh, I know,’ Chris mutters under his breath.

‘What?’ Jensen asks. ‘We are. We met just yesterday.’

‘And you’re still bursting at the seams,’ Mike continues, unperturbed. ‘Whatever it is you guys are doing, you’re not doing it right.’

Jensen’s about to ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean, when Tom interrupts him. ‘So why don’t you get your massages some other place?’

He stares at Tom for a while, before finally asking, ‘You mean, like -‘ He doesn’t even want to finish his sentence, just makes a lewd gesture with his hands and frowns. ‘Never thought you were the type.’

Tom laughs, but shakes his head. ‘No, you dirtbag. I mean, an actual massage. Go to a spa.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s fun!’ Mike yells, as if Jensen’s retarded. Which, at this point, he feels he might be, because he thinks that no one is making even a lick of sense.

‘No, that’s a good idea,’ Steve chimes in. ‘Doesn’t take long, an hour at most. I bet your neck could use it.’

‘You’re actually serious about this?’ Jensen asks.

‘Sure. Tom, Steve and I go every week,’ Mike says happily.

Jensen turns to Chris. ‘Not you?’

‘Nah,’ he replies and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, as if he’s shy. He gestures weakly with his hand, sloshing the beer around in his bottle, and finishes lamely, ‘Ticklish.’

‘Here.’ Tom nudges him with a business card. ‘It’s where we go.’

He turns the card over in his hand and looks at it. It’s completely perfect according to business card laws: it’s simple, abstract, just says Sandover Spa in black lettering on a cream background with only three small golden dots in between the name and the address.

‘They get guys like us all the time,’ Steve says calmly. ‘They’re discreet, relaxed and perfectly coordinated. You’ll never have to wait a single minute.’

‘It’s worth your time, trust me,’ Mike adds. ‘There’s this one guy and he works wonders. I’m pretty sure he got sent down straight from heaven.’

‘We're talking about actual massages, though, right?’ Jensen says as he shoves the card into one of his pockets, with no intention of ever using it. 'Because that's not what you're making this sound like.'

‘No, they're actual massages. No happy endings or whatever. And you know I normally agree with you,’ Tom says hesitantly. ‘But for once, Mike’s not joking. This guy really is obscenely talented.’

Almost without thinking, he turns to Steve. If there’s one person who’s always realistic, it’s him.

‘Don’t look at me,’ he says, holding up his hands. ‘I’m just as curious as you are. I never managed to get in on the guy’s schedule. I’ve got one of the other masseuses. Pretty little Mexican-looking thing.’

‘Ah, Genevieve.’ Mike says the name as if it’s a prayer and then sighs heavily. ‘If only she had Jared’s big hands, I’d be all over her.’

Jensen turns to Tom, eyes wide. ‘Still not joking?’

‘Afraid not,’ Tom tells him again. ‘He really is that good. I had to bribe two people to get in. Cost me a shitload of money, but I haven’t regretted it for a second.’

‘You’re crazy, the both of you,’ Jensen says, laughing. ‘It’s only a massage. How good can it possibly be?’

‘Oh, ye of little faith.’ Mike smiles. ‘Put in a call. We’ll talk again after that.’




IX.

'Hello?'

'Am I uptight?' Jensen asks immediately. He's not even in the door of his home, still fumbling with his briefcase and keys, but he'd been holding back the urge to dial ever since they'd left the bar.

'You're home early. And good evening to you too,' is the reply he gets. He hears the hood in the kitchen buzzing, hears the clicking of cutlery and pots and pans. 'It's so sweet of you to call, everything is fine here.'

'Yes, yes, good evening, momma,' he says impatiently, draping his things over the kitchen counter and making a beeline for the beer in his fridge. 'The guys at work think I'm uptight.'

His mother is quiet for a moment, then he hears her voice again, 'Alan, you keep an eye on dinner? I can't hear a word the boy is saying.'

And then, all of the background noises disappear and Jensen can just picture his mother walking into the study and settling down on the big couch they have in there, just as she always does when she's on the phone.

'Well, darling,' she tells him hesitantly, 'you're not exactly doing much to prove them wrong.'

'So you're saying they're right?' he barks. 'You think I need to get a life too?'

'Now, I didn't say that,' she argues, her intonation going up, and Jensen can tell she's feeling uncomfortable and cornered. 'I wasn't there. I don't know why they'd be saying this all of a sudden. Maybe if you told me what brought this on, I could-'

'I nearly fired one of my artists, couple days ago,' he says, cutting her off. He's clutching the phone between his ear and shoulder, so he has both hands to play with the label on his bottle.

'I'm sure you had your reasons.'

'Of course, I did,' he says heatedly. 'The guy fucked up.'

'Language, Jensen,' his mother tuts. 'I don't see the problem. I'm sure they've fired people before too?'

'Usually not when everyone could hear them,' he says as he takes a swig from his beer. 'And usually not by insulting the guy's, well, sexual preferences.'

'Jensen Ross Ackles, you did not,' Donna says angrily.

When Jensen doesn't contradict her, as she's clearly expecting, she sighs heavily and lets the silence drag on for a while.

'Look, darling,' his mother says eventually and she's got that note of pity in her voice that makes Jensen's blood boil every single time. 'All I can say is that you've always been like this. You were always working hard, trying to be first and best and you never stopped till you succeeded. Remember that time, with your cousin Julia, when we went to see her play the piano in that music-contest and she won?'

'No,' Jensen says honestly. He didn't even remember he had a cousin Julia, let alone that he ever watched her in a music-contest.

'Sure you do,' his mother says cheerfully, as if her saying that is suddenly gonna make it all come back to him. 'She used to be this tiny thing, so skinny you could almost look right through her. Bright red curls. You used to say she looked like her head was on fire. Come to think of it, I think Josh did set fire to her hair once. Singed off her eyebrows. Your aunt Mary said it took three years for them to grow back.'

'Momma, is there a reason you're telling me this?' he asks, annoyed.

'Well, anyway, we went to see her play the piano and she won,' Donna continues as if Jensen hadn't even spoken. 'And this was right around the time you'd started playing the guitar and you were convinced you could do better than her. You wanted them to redo the contest with you. Took three adults and an insane amount of coke floats to calm you down and even then you wouldn't shut up about it. All night long, you kept inching towards one of the guitars the musicians had brought.'

Jensen feels his face heat up, he knows that it's been a good twenty-five years since it happened and he can't even remember a second of that night, but it still sounds embarrassing as hell for everyone involved.

'In the end, the people holding the contest just let you play for a minute and told you that if they'd known you were that good, they definitely would've let you win and that shut you up immediately,' she finishes.

He's quiet for a moment, thinking the story over and wincing at the trouble he gave his parents. 'That really happen?'

'Honest to God, darling,' she tells him. 'You always were kind of intense and you still are, I guess. We always figured that it was alright as long as you didn't take it too far - didn't hurt anyone or didn't turn into a bully. And you didn't, look at how far you've gotten. I'm sure that you're the best darn Project Manager they've ever had, aside from you yelling some very bad things at that one guy. You really should apologize for that, Jensen.'

'No.' He sighs heavily and runs a hand over his face, scrubbing hard. He hears his mother click her tongue and winces again after he realizes how that sounded. 'No, momma, what I mean is I'm not the best they've ever had.'

'Oh,' is all she says. Jensen can't tell if she sounds disappointed or relieved.

'Yep. Got called into the big boss's office yesterday. Said that my job was about managing people too and that I'm kind of failing spectacularly at it.'

'I bet he didn't say it like that,' his mom says, and he knows she's trying to cheer him up, but it only makes him angry.

'No,' he bites out. 'He threatened to fire me if I pull another stunt like that. But I don't have time to indulge my designers, momma. I got about four projects running and one of them is the biggest and most demanding client we've ever had. This guy won't settle for less than perfect, so I can't afford to fuck this up.'

'Jensen,' she snaps and he has to try real hard to not yell at her for not having a problem with the shitload amount of work he's got to do, or the fact that his boss would kick him out on his ass, but that she can't handle a bit of swearing. She doesn't say anything for a moment, as if she senses how he's trying to hold back and eventually says, in a small voice, 'he sounds a bit like you, that client.'

He's about to protest, argue that he's not - not in any single way - like old man Vaughan, but Donna continues to talk. 'And Jensen, I get what you're saying, but without your designers, you've got no perfect to offer the man. Now I know you're a hard worker, but not everyone is cut out to be like that. You know that, you've got people skills too, Jen. I know that. I've seen you charm your way in and out of things without anyone actually realizing that you did it. Why aren't you using that?'

He sighs again and closes his eyes. 'I don't know, momma. I don't ever feel I got the time to do it.'

'Nonsense,' she tuts. 'You don't got the time to get to know the people who work for you, you make the time. I'm sure they'll appreciate it. What does Christian say about all this?'

'Pretty much the same as you,' Jensen admits, draining his beer bottle and shoving it across his kitchen workface so it ends up near the sink with a clatter.

'I knew that boy was gonna use that brain of his eventually,' Donna says under her breath. She never really warmed to Chris. She doesn't speak for another moment and then asks, carefully, 'Jensen. Are you happy?'

'What does that even mean?' he asks in return and rolls his eyes at how maudlin that sounds. 'I thought I was until everyone kept telling me I wasn't.'

'Well, maybe that's something you should think about, darling,' she says. Her last words are drowned out by a loud clang and next thing he knows, he hears his mother shout. 'Alan? Alan! Oh, dear lord. Listen, Jensen, I'm gonna have to let you go. Your father burned his fingers on the frying pan again. The day that man learns how to cook, I'm going to buy him that Cadillac he's been moaning about for years.'

'Sure, momma,' he says and he realizes he's smiling, which kind of takes him by surprise. 'You go take care of dad. And dinner.'

‘I had better,' she says. 'I swear, this place would fall apart without me. Now you know it, don't be a stranger. Doesn't take that much effort to pick up a phone.'

'I know, momma. I'll call you back soon,' he says and hangs up. He stays at the kitchen counter for a while, mulling everything over.

It's only when he gets up again to go shower and wash this whole thing off, after deciding it's his fucking life and he can do whatever the hell he pleases, that he puts his hands in his pockets and his fingers get caught on a small piece of paper.

He pulls it out, curiously and stares at it for a minute. It's the card for the spa Mike, Steve and Tom were raving about. He runs a hand over his mouth and chin, scratching idly at the stubble there and shakes his head.

'Fuck it,' he says angrily and grabs his phone to make an appointment.




X.

Jensen feels completely ridiculous as he's sitting in the waiting room, once again wiping his sweaty hands on his slacks. (He's pretty sure that ever since he's been attempting to relax, he's been getting more and more stressed.)

'No waiting,' he mutters under his breath. 'Right.'

He's been sitting here for ten minutes now and has seen about four people - that came in after him -move into the "relax rooms" as the plaques on the doors tell him. Those are ten minutes he could've spent working on his projects, making sure Murray doesn't fuck up again.

'Mister Ackles?' a girl says as she walks into the waiting room area. She's wearing a seemingly couture version of hospital scrubs, actually laced with gold at the seams. She's tiny, with dark hair and dark eyes and the ecru and gold of her uniform compliments her olive skin beautifully. (Jensen doesn't even know why he noticed this.) She motions for him to follow her and he thinks he can hear a slight lisp when she continues with a tiny smile on her lips. 'I'm Genevieve Cortese, I'll be your masseuse today. Sorry you had to wait a while; we had to get your file in order before we could start. But that's all done now, so next time you can practically walk right into relax room 4, which is mine, usually. There's a spreadsheet up on the board, there, that you can check.'

'Thanks,' he murmurs as they get in. It's a nice room, quite spacious, all decorated in the same colors of soft gold and cream and ecru, just like her uniform and the business card. All furniture is in English cottage style, except for the massage chair in the middle of the room. It smells vaguely of lavender and there's lounge music floating quietly in the air.

'Okay, I'm just gonna pop outside for a minute so you can get comfortable,' she says in a warm and cheerful voice that only makes Jensen half wonder if she's sincere or not. The lisp is definitely real, though. 'If you want to take your boxers off, that's fine by me. If you don't, that's fine too. Towels to cover yourself are right there by the table and if you've got any other questions, just ask me when I come back in. I'll just go and get my hands warmed up by grabbing a cup of coffee. Can I get you anything?'

Jensen's head is reeling from all the information she's spouting at him, all of a sudden, and honestly, she did kind of lose him the moment he heard "boxers" and "off" in the same sentence. He hadn't given it any thought, hadn't even realized there were options and there really are too many variables he needs to know about before he can even begin to decide on that.

(What do other men do? Is there a different protocol for when you're with a masseuse or with a masseur? Will people think he's a prude if he keeps them on, or will they say he's a perv if he doesn't? Do his boxers even need to come off for this massage? And if so, what the hell kind of massage did he sign up for?)

Genevieve's still staring at him, waiting for an answer to a question Jensen's long forgotten and from the smile she's flashing him, Jensen can tell she knows exactly what's been going through his mind.

'First time, right?' She laughs and even though she's not mocking him, it's not helping Jensen feel any less self-conscious.

'That obvious?' Jensen tries and winces at how shaky his voice sounds. He has to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He's done presentations for full auditoriums, reeled in some of the toughest and most important clients his company has on file, but a massage with a teeny tiny girl gets him worked up.

'Not really, but after five years in this place, you pick up on the signs pretty easily,' she says, clearly amused. She looks him over again, as if she's sizing him up. 'Tell you what, I'll give you a hint. It's "I'll keep 'em on" and "water, thanks".'

'Are those the standard answers?' Jensen asks, narrowing his eyes slightly, but offers her a smile in return anyway.

'It's what most first-timers go with, yeah,' she says with a nod as she makes to leave. Right before she's out the door, however, she stops and adds, 'But if you want to be more adventurous, I sure won't stop you.'

He can't help but snicker as he begins to undress. He knows he should be even more unnerved his masseuse may possibly have just hit on him, and in a way he is. But another part of his brain tells him this might not even be so bad. Genevieve appears to be alright: easy-going, friendly, even if she is direct. That's good. Last thing Jensen would have wanted was an hour of uncomfortable silence as he's laying half-naked on a table, completely at the mercy of someone else.

A few moments later, when Jensen's undressed and he's just finished folding up his clothes, there's a short rap on the door. 'Okay if I come in now, mister Ackles?'

'Er, right. Yeah, come on in,' Jensen says, towel in hand and wearing nothing more than his boxers.

Genevieve's eyes pass over him, lingering on his light grey underwear and she gives him an appreciative smile as she puts down his glass of water. 'Great,' she says and Jensen really hopes she's saying it about the situation in general and not his body, because that would make his discomfort come back with a vengeance, which is about the exact opposite of what he came for. 'There's your water. Let's get started. If you'll just get up on the table, on your stomach. Head on this side.'

He nods and maneuvers himself around as she waits by the table, holding one of the cream towels at the ready to cover him.

'One thing that hasn't been mentioned before: do you want a full body or are there any body parts in particular that you wanted me to pay some attention to?'

Jensen chokes on a cough, props himself up on his elbows and cranes his neck to get a look at Genevieve's face. She looks like she's biting on the inside corners of her mouth to keep form laughing, but it does nothing to stop Jensen's awkward feeling from skyrocketing into the danger zone.

'Relax, I'm only half-kidding,' she tells him, pushing his shoulders down gently to get him to lie back down. Jensen has to stop himself from asking which half. 'God, you're nervous.'

'It'll pass,' he says, trying to sound more confident than he actually feels and failing miserably. 'First time and everything.'

'Good thing it's my job to help you unwind, then.' Genevieve rubs her hands quickly -to warm them, Jensen assumes- and squirts some kind of lotion on them that makes the entire room smell more strongly of lavender. 'Which is why you might wanna tell me what exactly you wanted. Katie apparently forgot to ask when you made the appointment.'

'Okay,' Jensen drawls. What the hell is he supposed to say? He's never done this before. 'What're my options?'

'Any body part that's uncovered or full body,' Genevieve answers monotonously, as if she's quoting from a manual. She continues rubbing her hands together. 'Full body costs extra, obviously.'

Jensen thinks about it, weighing his choices and thinking back if he's ever heard Mike or Tom mention a similar conundrum, but he comes up at a loss.

'You're gonna have to come up with something quickly, before I've used up all the lotion on myself,' Genevieve says, amused.

In the end, Jensen decides he doesn't wanna spend a small fortune on something he doesn't even know he'll like and motions vaguely towards his back. 'If you could do my shoulders?' he says. 'I sit behind a computer all day and I get really tense.'

'Absolutely.' She smiles, tongue between her teeth.

When her hands come down on his skin, they're warm and soft, but he still gets goose bumps. She starts rubbing his skin gently, spreading the lotion over his shoulder blades and neck and eases into a kneading motion close to his spine. It's not bad at all -better than when Danneel used to do it- and Jensen closes his eyes, listening to the lounge music humming in the background.

'Boy, you are tense,' she says suddenly and Jensen is slightly startled. 'How many hours a day are you behind a computer?'

He thinks about telling her the truth for a moment (about fourteen), but quickly decides he's been scrutinized enough for that. So he says, 'Too many.'

'Where do you work?' Genevieve asks, voice low and soft, as if she's picked up on how skittish he still is and doesn't want to scare him.

'Ferris Inc, PR company couple blocks-' Jensen grunts when she pushes her thumbs down hard on a spot he didn't even know was sore and keeps rubbing it in a circular motion. 'Couple blocks down. A few of my colleagues are regulars here. They advised me to come.'

'Who're they? Maybe I know 'em.'

'Steve Carlson,' he says. 'Michael Rosenbaum and Tom Welling. They're with another masseur, I think.'

She barks out a laugh. 'Thank God Mike is. First time he was in here was with me. Took off all his clothes, refused a towel, but all he came in for was a facial.'

Jensen blows an involuntary raspberry when he can't decide whether to laugh or be mortified. 'That sounds like him.'

'I've never seen this Tom. But Steve is nice though,' she tells him, moving on to his neck, pushing softly at the nubs on the bottom of his skull.

'Yeah,' Jensen agrees, because there's nothing else he can say to that, and they fall silent.

He closes his eyes again and tries to go back to just enjoying the feeling of his muscles being kneaded until they're relaxed, the soft tones of the lounge music, but it's too late. All kinds of things are running through his head now, things he should've asked Steve before coming like, is he supposed to talk to her? And if so, what is he supposed to say? Are there subjects you're supposed to avoid? Like, is it okay to talk about your or your masseuse's personal life? Or is it supposed to be strictly business?

This silence is everything but comfortable, Jensen decides. It's hanging in the air, waiting to be broken and he hasn't the slightest what to do. He could sell milk to a cow and he can read people like they're books, no problem, but he's always been awful at small talk.

He sneaks a look at Genevieve - she seems busy, unaware of Jensen's predicament as she uses a bit more lotion and warms it up with her hands. She doesn't look like she's expecting Jensen to speak, so why does it feel like she is?

Just like that, the moment is ruined and Jensen can't get back to the almost-relaxed state he was in before. His neck does feel better when the hour is finally over and he gets back up to get dressed, so he guesses this wasn't a total loss. But he's everything but unwound, even as Genevieve shakes his hand and happily announces, 'See you next time, mister Ackles!'

Jensen hadn't even thought about it, that there'd be a next time and feels himself tense up even further at the idea of spending another hour in pregnant silence while this woman basically feels him up.

It'll be different with a man, he thinks absently as he puts on his tie. Easier to talk to, not weird when there's silence. Maybe he should go and ask about that Jared-kid they've been raving about.

Couldn't hurt, right?




XI.

‘I was told to ask for Jared?’ Jensen tells the girl, eyebrows raised.

‘Sorry. Jared is all booked up at the moment,’ she replies monotonously, as if she’s answered that same question a million times before. She doesn’t even look up from the magazine she’s reading and just keeps chewing obnoxiously on a big purple chewing gum that’s already started to color her lips an unsettling shade of violet. ‘He’s very hot, right now. We do have another couple of great masseurs ready for you. I recommend Genevieve Cortese, she’s one of our best.’

‘I’ve already been with Genevieve,’ he says gruffly. Wondering why he's even trying. He’d known this was a waste of time the moment he agreed to this and he's not particularly keen on spending more time awkwardly lying on a table. He could’ve finished up that travel agency-project twice in the time he’s been here. ‘What does it take for me to be put on Jared’s schedule?’

‘Time?’ she says with a snort, as she turns a page. Jensen thinks he can actually hear her eyes roll. When she notices he isn’t leaving, she sighs and adds, ‘I could put you in the first open slot?’

‘Sure,’ he says immediately, almost happy he got a response out of her. ‘When’s that?’

‘Next March,’ the girl tells him without even looking in the diary.

‘March?’ Jensen barks and pulls a face. ‘It’s the sixth of May.’

‘Exactly,’ she says as she finally looks up. She’s got big blue eyes that have too much mascara slapped on and lips that have turned equally blue. The smile she’s got on her face is almost evil, like she’s truly enjoying rejecting people. ‘Jared has a lot of regulars. You could always hope for someone to cancel, but I have to warn you, his massages are all the rage. People would rather die than cancel their appointment.’

Jensen takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his face in frustration. ‘On the off-chance that someone would drop dead in the next ten months, would I be able to get their spot?’

‘Absolutely,’ she says as she gives him a grin that bares all her teeth (which are also blue, Jensen notices). She leans over backwards and gets a second diary from somewhere below her desk. ‘I’ll put you on the list.’

‘List?’

‘Yup.’

‘There’s a waiting list,’ Jensen says. He shouldn’t even be surprised. ‘And how many people are before me?’

‘Eight,’ the girl answers cheerfully, holding out a pink pencil with bright pink feathers on top as if she’s ready to write. ‘Should I put you down?’

For a moment, he wishes someone put her down, but he takes a deep breath and licks his lips to keep his calm, before speaking again, ‘I need nine people to kick the bucket before I get to see Jared?’ Forget it.’

Not even if this man’s hands are made out of pure gold and taste like beer, would he be worth the trouble, Jensen decides. He weakly slaps a hand down on the desk, as if to demonstrate the conversation is over and makes to walk out of the spa - he has work to do, after all.

But when the girl calls out for him -still chewing as she speaks, what the hell?- he stops dead. ‘Will you still be seeing Genevieve next week?’

‘Why, is there a list for that too?’ he bites out without turning around properly, he’s just craning his neck to get a view of her. She doesn’t even reply to his question, but keeps staring at him with big blue eyes and smacking blue lips, so he adds, ‘Whatever. Yes.’

Jensen turns away quickly, determined to get the hell out of there as fast as he can. But not even if he’d been running, would he have missed the sharp pop of the secretary’s purple bubblegum. He closes his eyes and takes another deep breath. He’s definitely going to regret this.




XII.

‘So, did Jared work the kinks out of your pretty little neck yesterday?’ Mike asks, when his shiny head floats through Jensen's slightly-ajar-door.

Jensen looks up briefly from the screen, letting his fingers get a moment’s rest on the keyboard, before he continues typing. ‘Didn’t even get to see the guy. I got the Genevieve-chick.’

‘Yeah. I was told there’s a waiting list,’ Mike answers as he steps into the room completely and closes the door behind him. He walks over to the armchairs opposite Jensen’s desk and drops himself unceremoniously in one, stretches out like he’s ten miles long and starts tending to a hangnail. ‘Took me a while to get in too, but it’s worth your trouble. If worse comes to worst, I might even let you go to one of my appointments. Although, Genevieve’s not that bad either. A bit gentle, maybe. Gentler on the eyes.’

‘Appointments? Plural?’ And it says a lot about how much stress this whole thing has given him, that Jensen completely bypasses the lewd remark, even ignores Mike’s waggling eyebrows. ‘How often do you go?’

‘Twice a week. Three times if he can squeeze me in,’ he answers simply, as if Jensen’s the weird one for not going.

‘Three? You are the reason nine people will have to die before he’ll do any squeezing on me,’ Jensen mutters without thinking, only realizing what it sounds like when he’s already spoken. 'Wait. That came out wrong. Man, you seriously lose three hours a week just lying on a table while a guy is giving you a back rub? It costs a fortune!’

‘Oh. Babe. You know it’s full body, or haven’t you and Genevieve made it to second base yet?’ Mike shakes his head, like he can’t believe he has to convince Jensen to go, and sighs. ‘It’s not like you’re spending the money on anything better, anyway. Or at all. Trust me, two minutes in and you’ll never want to leave. It’s better than sex.’

And that, right there, is Jensen’s cue to stop listening and start working again, which is the exact message he tries to convey when he gives the guy a tight smile and turns back to his computer.

‘Well, better than the sex you’re having, at least,’ Mike amends with a grin.

Jensen thinks he can actually feel his eyes pop out of their sockets at the words, so he covers his face with his hands quickly and nearly squeals, ‘For God’s sake, does everybody know?’

‘Yep,’ Mike replies with a smile. ‘You two are just about as subtle as one of Murray’s ads. Only time we ever see Danneel is when you two lovebirds fuck off to the backseat of your car for fifteen minutes.’

‘Twelve and forty-three seconds,’ Jensen automatically corrects from behind his hands. He winces the minute it’s out and really hopes Mike didn’t hear.

Mike obviously did, though, and he fixes him with a look that doesn’t even try to hide how much he pities Jensen. He leans over, elbows resting on his knees, and narrows his eyes to tiny slits as his voice almost drops to a whisper. ‘Seriously, man. When’s the last time you had a good lay? An all-night fuckfest?’

‘It’s always good with Danneel,’ he sputters. God, could this get any more embarrassing? ‘We know each other’s bodies inside out.’

‘First of all, I don’t care how hot she is, that visual you just gave me is gross, dude. Second, knowing the quickest way to get each other off doesn’t mean you’re having good sex. It means you’ve been in the same position too long.’ Mike pauses, as if he’s actually trying to work out what position that would be exactly and adds, ‘And I bet it’s a really boring one too. Cowgirl?’

‘I’m not having this conversation with you,’ Jensen says gruffly, ignoring the blood burning in his cheeks and attempting to focus on the report he was writing, but it’s too late. Mike’s words have opened the gates and he’s already recalling images of Danneel, Danneel and him, Danneel and him naked and suddenly, he’s all too aware he’s had a woman touching his naked body for the better part of an hour and nothing happened.

‘I mean it,’ Mike continues as he moves to sit himself on the backrest of the armchair and draws his feet up on the leather cushions. ‘Coming so hard you think your eyes are gonna burst out of your skull or that your head is gonna fall off if you don’t lie down. Do you have that with Danneel? Does she have that with you?’

Jensen’s brain takes just a few moments too long to process all of that, because it’s busy imagining what Mike’s talking about and all the blood that previously was bunched up in his cheeks is starting to slowly make its way down. When he finally does speak, it’s completely obvious he’s speaking mostly to himself. ‘That doesn’t have to happen every time. Sex can be good without all that.’

God, it even sounds pathetic to his own ears.

‘Blasphemer!’ Mike almost yells. ‘That’s what women tell us so we won’t feel bad.’

‘So, you mean. That you and- She- Every time?’

‘Every single time, my friend. It’s hard work sometimes, but it’s worth it. And you know me, I’m all about giving,’ Mike tells him, sounding as if he passes around orgasms like he hands out Christmas presents (which Jensen supposes should be an indicator of how much he’s exaggerating).

He goes over this in his mind, however, comparing it to him and Danneel (steady, sure, calculated, calm) and finally comes to the only logical conclusion, ‘Shit.’

‘Yep. And however you wanna look at it, your comfy little arrangement isn’t gonna last forever. Danneel is hotter than a volcano and sooner or later, she’s gonna find a pretty little airhead underwear model that is going to blow her mind. You really think she’s gonna choose your twelve minutes over the twelve orgasms he can give her?’

Jensen shakes his head, wishing the conversation was over because it’s never going to end good for him. ‘You have put way too much thought into this.’

‘That’s just nature, man. Primal instinct.’ Mike gets up and spreads his arms wide, as if what he’s saying is the message of the Second Coming. ‘Seriously, you gotta tie her down before someone else does.’

Without wanting it, Jensen is reminded of this thing Danneel wanted to try once, before he’d made Project Manager and still had time to try things. He thinks about the black silk he’d wrapped around her wrists and the head of the bed.

Then he realizes Mike’s actually staring at him with a smile that clearly says he knows what Jensen is thinking about.

‘Good visual?’ he asks, waggling his eyebrows. ‘Never thought you’d be the kind.’

‘What? You’re disturbing, Mike,’ Jensen croaks out, but he thinks there’s no way he could sound any less convincing. ‘There’ll be no tying of Danneel. I don’t have time for a relationship, it’s just sex. I can find that anywhere.’

‘Sure, as long as your right arm is rested.’

‘Dude.’ Jensen throws his arms up in the air, exasperated. ‘Really?’

‘Really, babe,’ Mike replies and winks.

‘Yeah, yeah. Get the fuck out, will you,’ Jensen tells him, as he finally moves back to his computer. He should make a point of not listening to Mike ever again. ‘I wasted enough time on you already. I got better things to do.’

‘Like Danneel?’ Mike says with a leer, clearly not believing the opening Jensen gave him. ‘All good and proper. Nice and rough.’

‘Fuck you,’ Jensen grunts as his friend gets up and opens the door.

‘That’s what she said,’ Mike yells for the entire floor to hear before he runs off, cackling like a maniac.

Jensen swears under his breath, angry that he’s let himself get distracted like that, for no reason at all. He’s even angrier his body appears to be really down with Mike’s entire train of thought. Well. Not down, exactly. More like up.

A couple minutes later, just as Jensen is considering going to the men’s room real quick, his cell beeps. Like it’s fate.

Just got served by hottest barista in northern hemisphere @ 42nd & Park. Got fifteen? D.

He shouldn’t. Really. That report has to be in tonight and he’s never going to finish it if he doesn’t do it now. Especially not if he goes to meet Danneel. He stares at his screen for a good minute, as if the thing might just write itself if he does it long enough.

Christ, he can’t believe he got half-hard because of a conversation. (And for a moment, it’s like he can actually hear Mike say, ‘That’s because your penis wants a challenge. If you want it to be healthy, it needs exercise, man, just like every muscle in your body.')

Eventually, he sighs and texts back,

Make that twenty.

He winds up pulling an all-nighter to make his deadline.




XIII.

When Jensen arrives at Sandover at 7:30 sharp the next Tuesday morning, the same mildly scary, bubblegum-chewing girl (who Jensen now knows is the infamous Katie, feared by many) is behind the desk. She disinterestedly informs him Genevieve overslept and tells him that she should be in in five minutes, so he can go and sit in the waiting room area or fuck off.

He sighs, annoyed, but turns to go sit anyway and is surprised when he sees Tom in one of the cream leather armchairs, reading a National Geographic magazine.

'I thought you never had to wait a single minute,' Jensen says, eyebrows raised, when Tom looks up.

'You don't, I'm early,' he says with a little smile. 'Wanted to beat the morning rush. What about you?'

'Genevieve overslept,' Jensen bites out, as if Tom might be the one to have sneaked into her bedroom and hidden her alarm clock. 'Apparently, she's gonna be in soon.'

'Happens to the best of us,' Tom says happily, not noticing Jensen's foul mood - or convincingly pretending he doesn't, anyway.

Jensen wants to say it doesn't happen to him, or at least it hasn't happened since high school, but he's too crabby to even open his mouth and talk. All he can think about now is his schedule and how messed up it's going to be when he finally makes it into the office. He's got four appointments, this afternoon, that he can't at all be late for.

Well, he can always skip lunch. Chris won't like it one bit, but it's not as if he hasn't ever done it before. Besides, he figures he's already doing him a favor by trying out this stupid massage-thing, so he could just give him this one.

A young girl -tiny like Genevieve, maybe a little more fragile even- walks in, clutching a clipboard to her chest as if she wants to protect it.

'Mister Welling, we're ready for you. And mister-' she says, trailing off as her eyes search her clipboard for something. Her jet-black hair is in a neat bun, she's wearing Sandover-scrubs and when she looks up with a friendly, somewhat shy, smile, Jensen notices she's got a mole next to her mouth. 'Ackles?'

Jensen nods, readying himself to get up and almost run to relax room four. But the girl drops her arms and gives him a sympathetic smile. 'I'm sorry, sir. Genevieve just called. She's stuck in traffic and she might be a while. Do you want to wait or should we reschedule for another day?'

He wants his money back, that's what he wants, and to get back the time he lost coming here for nothing. And while he's at it, he wants to forget he ever let himself get talked into this.

Tom must've noticed his distress, because he speaks before Jensen even has the chance to string together a semi-polite sentence.

'You know what, you look a little tense,' he says and ignores the pointed, angry look Jensen throws him. 'You could probably use this much more than me. Why don't you take my appointment with Jared?'

'What?' Jensen asks, confused, at the same time the girl says, 'Mister Welling?' as if she can't believe what he's saying.

'I'm serious,' Tom says, shoving his hands into his pockets. 'I've got the time to wait for Genevieve. My first meeting isn't till eleven. But you look like you're going to spontaneously combust if you have to sit here for another minute. So go.'

'Really?' Jensen asks again. 'You'd give up your appointment with Jared?'

'Just this once.' Tom winks. 'Besides, I haven't been with Genevieve before. Perhaps I like her even better.'

'Mister Welling,' the girl says, disbelief apparent in her voice. It's as if she thinks Tom is nine kinds of crazy for even suggesting this.

'It's okay, Sandy,' Tom says calmly. 'Mister Ackles and I are going to trade places for just one day. Payment can stay as it is. If you need me to sign anything, I'll come with you to arrange it.'

'Okay,' Sandy says hesitantly, frowning at the both of them now. 'Sure. I'll take you to Jared, sir. I'll be right back, mister Welling.'

Jensen gets up with a nod and turns to Tom before leaving. 'Thanks, man. I owe you.'

'Consider this extra incentive to do something about that crazy life of yours,' Tom tells him. 'I'd tell you to enjoy it, but I'm pretty sure that won't be a problem.'

'Yeah, yeah,' Jensen says as he rolls his eyes, but he smiles at Tom anyway.

With a bit of luck, he may even get to leave his desk for lunch, today.




XIV.

'First time with Jared?' Sandy asks as they enter the spa-area. 'It's a bit of a walk today. We move his reros around as much as we can. Some clients get pushy and try to see him without making an appointment.'

'Reros?' Jensen asks, fumbling with his phone to see how much time he's lost. 'Wait, what?'

'Oh, yeah, happens all the time.' She nods vigorously. 'They think they're being smart. Making an appointment with Jim or me or someone else and then looking for Jared's rero.'

Jensen raises an eyebrow at her and she smiles and shakes her head. 'Relax room. It's shorter. We've got about eighteen of them. Our clients are busy people and we want things to move fast around here, so we try to assign everyone their own rero. Easier for clients to find them that way. But since Jared got so popular, it's been almost impossible to keep it up.'

'Impressive.'

'You haven't even met him yet.' Sandy laughs. 'You're lucky to have a friend like mister Welling. Usually, it takes ages before you get in, if you get in at all. Lord knows I've been trying for months and I've known him since high school.'

'You're on the list, huh?' Jensen asks without thinking. When she nods, he wonders what this tells him about the guy. If he won't make time for someone he's supposedly been friends with for years, he's probably not going to like seeing Jensen instead of one of his regulars.

It's as if she's read Jensen's mind, because she quickly says, 'It's not his fault. He doesn't have much of a say in which clients he takes on. It's all about being fast and persistent,' she tells him. 'Although having a lot of money doesn't hurt. We're here, Jared's already inside.'

She motions him towards a door on his left that has Relax Room 18 on it, smiles encouragingly at him and leaves. It's only then that Jensen starts to feel nervous.

What will this guy say? If he's anything like Jensen, it probably won't be anything nice. Won't be much either. This whole thing might just seem like a little innocent switch to him and Tom, but what do they know about running a spa? This could have messed up their entire schedule and he has no idea how Jared might react to suddenly seeing this new guy on his table that he knows nothing about - and who knows nothing about him or the social conventions at a spa.

He glances at his phone again. He's late.

If he were Jared, he'd be royally pissed off. So, yeah, he's a little scared to go inside, but he figures that if this guy really is the miracle worker everyone's been saying he is, Jensen wouldn't want to miss it for the world - and he'll take the crankiness with a smile. He survived the awkwardness with Genevieve, he should be able to handle this too, right?

So he takes a deep breath, turns the doorknob and walks in.

*




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