Fic: Haven. RPS. Chris/Jensen. NC-17. Chapter 8/11

[felisblanco]

Continued from here.



Jensen wakes up to soft kisses being scattered across his exposed back. From the base of his neck and down his spine, over the slack wingspan of his shoulder blades. He lets out a quiet sigh, shifting over on his stomach to give Chris better access, shivering when the kisses move to his bare ass, before travelling down to the top of his thighs. He spreads his legs without thought, hitching his breath when he feels warm air brushing the delicate skin of his balls, gasping when the warm hot tip of a tongue licks over the puckered skin.

He’s trembling, there’s an aching feeling building inside him, a yearning for something he knows he’s not ready for, something he’s still absolutely terrified of. But it’s what gay guys do. What he will eventually have to do, what Chris will want, at some point, no matter what he says. So he doesn’t feel ready, but will he ever, really? And this is Chris. He will do everything for Chris. Even that.

Slowly he pulls his knees under him and raises his ass in the air, legs still spread as far as he can. There’s silence for a moment and then he feels Chris move closer, feels the heat of him caressing his thighs.

“Christ, ain’t that a sight,” Chris says, sounding almost reverent. “Jesus.”

He runs his hands up Jensen’s thighs, up, up until they reach the rounds of his ass, cupping one cheek in each hand. Jensen can feel Chris’s fingers trembling or maybe that’s just him, his thighs shaking.

“Easy, darlin’,” Chris soothes. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen you won’t like.” He runs his thumbs down Jensen’s crack and spreads his cheeks. Jensen hitches his breath, again and again, faster and faster, until he starts to feel dizzy. “Easy,” Chris repeats gently and then something warm and slick descends on Jensen’s asshole.

Jensen lets out a sharp yell of surprise, his hips jerking involuntarily forward and away, but Chris just shushes him and pulls him gently back. “Lemme,” he says, sounding breathless. “Please. Wanna taste you.”

This time when he spreads Jensen’s cheeks apart with his thumbs, Jensen is ready, even if he can’t quite understand what is happening or more importantly why. Chris is putting his mouth there? His… oh, his tongue?? Oh God, his tongue!

Jensen’s throat makes animalistic noises as he twists the sheet between his fingers, trying to hold still, despite his thighs trembling like crazy and his arms feeling too weak to hold him up. God, what is Chris doing? What is he doing??

While the first lick shot electric charges through his body, the further in Chris worms his tongue the more Jensen loses his grip on reality. All he knows is this hot wet intrusion into his body, like the softest sweetest caress, where he has only experienced, has only expected  stabbing, ripping pain. The noises filling the room are obscene, Chris’s wet slurps and hungry grunts, Jensen’s high-pitched mewling, growing louder and louder the closer he gets to the edge. His head hangs heavy between his shoulders, he can see Chris behind him, between his knees, dick hanging thick but soft. Jensen’s own dick is so hard it hurts, it’s leaking precome into a puddle under his stomach. He can feel his balls drawing tighter, skin soaking wet with saliva that trickles steadfastly down his crack, forming another puddle between his knees. Oh God, he’s so close! So close! He’s gonna-!

Chris stabs his tongue even deeper, and Jensen comes with a keening yell, as he shoots hard enough to splatter his chin, his chest, the sheets all the way up to the pillow. His knees give in, and he collapses, falling flat into the mess, his fingers cramping where they’re still twisted in the sheets. He’s breathing so loud he might be sobbing, and he doesn’t seem able to stop.

“Shh, shh, sweetheart. It’s alright. It’s alright.” Chris warm hands stroke Jensen’s flank like a filly’s as he draws himself up and lies carefully down by Jensen’s side, furnace hot against Jensen’s rapidly cooling sweat-soaked skin, cock resting warm against the back of his trembling thigh. “Shh, darlin’. It’s alright,” Chris keeps repeating, fingers running through his hair, dropping soft kisses on his neck and shoulder.

They lie there for a long time, until Jensen finally stops shaking. When he turns his head, with considerable effort, he finds Chris watching him, his eyes warm and so filled with love, it makes Jensen’s heart stutter.

“Hey.” Chris reaches up and brushes some stray hairs away from Jensen’s face, then lays a warm palm on his cheek, thumb sliding slickly along the wet skin under his eye. “How you feelin’, sweetheart?”

Jensen blinks slowly. His eyelashes are so damp they feel glued together. “I don’t know,” he admits.

A furrow forms between Chris’s eyebrows, eyes going soft and worried. “Was it too much?”

Jensen shakes his head. “No, it was…” He can feel his face heat. “I didn’t know people did that.”

Chris relaxes. “Ah, well… Surprise!” The grin is so mischievous Jensen can’t help the small laugh snorting out.

“No kidding. Jesus!”

“But it was alright?” Chris asks softly.

Jensen pulls himself up on his elbows and leans over. “It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced in my whole life,” he says and kisses Chris right on his ass-tasting lips, sucking his ass-tasting tongue right into his mouth. It is surprisingly okay, not really that disgusting at all. He pulls away, only grimacing a little, before looking down at Chris’s blissed out face. “When you started… I thought you were gonna fuck me.”

Chris’s grin drops instantly. “Darlin’, I already said we weren’t doin’ that. Not goin’ back on my word.”

“I know. I trust you. It’s just…” Jensen hesitates. “Was why I raised myself up. Because I wanted to give that to you,” he confesses. “If you’d wanted to, I was ready.” He’s rather proud of how steady he sounds.

Chris cups his face. He looks concerned rather than turned on. “Thank you, love. I’m… honored. I am. And I’mma make it so good for you, I promise, sweetheart, when we do that. But I think… not yet.” His face flushes pink. “I ain’t so good right now. Goddamn meds an’all.”

Oh. Jensen thought Chris was just soft because of the whole having his face in Jensen’s ass thing. “But you’ll get better,” he says, hiding his relief.

Chris smiles. “Of course, darlin’. I will. And when I do, if you still want me to, I’mma show you just how good and amazin’ it can be. Until then, my ass is right here, whenever you wanna take a ride,” he adds with a grin, laughing when Jensen chokes on his own breath.

They kiss for a long time, kisses that become slower and softer as Jensen succumbs to exhaustion and Chris finally zones out into sleep.

“You have to be vigilant,” Dr. Rosen says. “Before you start feeling better, chances are you’re going to feel a lot worse.”

“Don’t I know it,” Chris grumbles.

Dr. Rosen shakes her head as she hands him the prescriptions. “No, I don’t mean the nausea and tiredness and all that, I mean emotionally. Mentally. If you start thinking of hurting yourself-”

“What?” He reels back. “The fuck you sayin’? I take these they’re gonna make me wanna kill myself?”

“I’m saying it’s a possibility and something you have to be aware of,” she explains patiently. “Especially since you’ve harbored such feelings before.”

“Not seriously,” he argues, cursing himself for ticking that box. “I was just feelin’ down.”

“Just keep it in mind and if, if you get thoughts like that, don’t ignore them. Tell someone. Call my office and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. If you feel it’s urgent, find someone to be with and call a hotline. And remember, it will pass, it’s not real, it’s your brain being a manipulative bastard, alright?”

Well, he’s used to that. “Alright,” he mutters.

“We’ll see how these work. And if they don’t, there are others we can try. It can be tricky to find the right combination for these kinds of drugs, they’re really unfun that way.” She gives him an encouraging smile. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Alright,” he repeats with a brusque nod. He’s fighting really hard to keep his temper. What is he, a fucking lab rat? Shouldn’t all those billion-dollar pharma companies have figured out what works by now? It’s not the goddamn Middle Ages!

“Meanwhile, we’ll resume our appointments, so I’ll see you same time next week.” She gives him a stern look. “Don’t skip. I can’t stress enough how important it is we keep them up. The next few weeks and months are going to be very tough and you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” Chris mutters.

“You have someone at home, living with you?”

“Yeah, my-” He cuts himself off at the last minute. She seems nice but for all he knows she plays golf with the local Republicans on Sundays. “Roommate.”

She watches him for moment. “You know, those sessions, they’re not just to talk about your mental health. They’re for you to talk about whatever you need to. And that’s going to be very hard to do if you don’t trust me.” She gives him a small smile. “If it helps, I’ve been to your bar, more than once, even if it’s been a while since last.”

He breathes in deeply and lets it out slowly. “My boyfriend. I live with my boyfriend.” He chuckles, feeling suddenly lightheaded. “Well, I sure hope he is, we haven’t really discussed it.”

She smiles. “And that’s something we can talk about in our next session.”

Jensen jumps to his feet as soon as Chris comes out into the waiting room. “How’d it go?””

“Fine.” Chris eyes the receptionist who’s watching them with interest. Jensen has that effect on people. It would be annoying if Chris wasn’t so smitten himself. “We can talk in the car.”

They walk out, making sure to keep a safe distance between them until they’re in the truck with the doors closed. Then Chris takes Jensen’s hand and squeezes it. “It went fine. I got some new pills to try out and we’re gonna meet up once a week to make sure they’re not makin’ me crazier.”

“Okay. Good.” Jensen frowns. “They can do that? Make you worse?”

Chris hesitates. He’s not gonna scare the kid with a hypothetical suicide but some warning might be necessary. “Sometimes. But I’ve got you to keep an eye on me. I ain’t worried.” He gives Jensen a smile, glancing around before pulling him in for a kiss. “Now, what do you say we go get ourselves somethin’ to eat? Preferably greasy.”

Jensen chuckles even if he still looks anxious. “Throw in a decent cup of coffee and I’m game.”

The pills don’t work. Well, they do a lot of nasty stuff but after a month of feeling like he’s disappearing into a fog of not caring about anything, not even Jensen, Dr. Rosen shifts him over to something else. Those fuck with him even worse. He pretty much stops eating because he has no appetite, just the thought of food makes him wanna hurl. He spends hours just staring at nothing. He sleeps all the time and still feels tired. He loses hope that he will ever get any better. When he starts wondering if maybe he should swallow the whole bunch in one go with a healthy portion of Jack Daniels, just to get it over with, he calls Dr. Rosen’s office and true to her words she calls him back within the hour. Jensen and Steve have him under surveillance while he makes the overture to yet another combo of drugs, making sure he’s never alone, even if he keeps telling them he’s fine, he’s not gonna do anything, he’s fine! Jeez!

When the fog finally lifts it’s been three months but somehow Jensen is still there and Chris loves him so damn much he could cry.

He’s sitting upright in the chair across from Dr. Rosen, freshly showered and shaved, wearing clean clothes, feeling for the first time relaxed in her presence.

“You look better.”

“Feel better,” he agrees. “Still ain’t got much of an appetite but I could stand to lose a few pounds.” He smirks when she raises her eyebrow at him, knowing she can see the jeans are practically hanging off him by the power of his belt alone. Jensen keeps trying to fatten him up but so far it’s not doing much.

“What about your drinking? Chris, you know they don’t mix,” she says exasperated when he squirms.

“It ain’t like that. I own a bar, doc, I need to test the merchandise.” Nothing like he used to, but a beer every now and then never hurt no one. Or a couple of shots when he takes the stage. Singing sober just feels weird.

“What, every brand? Or just the stuff you’d drink anyway?”

“Now, that’s entrapment right there,” he protests. “It ain’t nothin’ to worry about, doc. Jensen’s got my staff under his pretty little thumb, damn cowards won’t let me have a drop more than he’s signed off on.”

She snorts. “Someday I’d like to meet your Jensen, if only to see if you’re telling the truth about how perfect he is or if I need to check you for hallucinations.”

Chris shakes his head, the smile automatic. “Drop by next Sunday. I promise, you’ll eat those words.” He hesitates. “Doc, I think he needs to see someone. He ain’t right. He’s… I’m damn worried about him. It’s been months since he got jumped and he still won’t leave the house on his own.”

She frowns. “Hmm, the police never caught them, right?”

“Ma’am, they ain’t lookin’. Been two assaults since then, that I know of, and the cops they don’t care. Been talkin’ to my people, those who’ve had a run in with’em shitheads, most don’t wanna report it. Either ‘cause they know it won’t do shit or because they’re not out and could get in trouble at work or with their folks if it went public. It’s a shit world, doc. Justice don’t care about people like us.” She eyes his hands where they rest on his lap and he breathes out, slowly uncurling his fists. He hadn’t even noticed. “Makes me fuckin’ furious.”

“How furious?” she asks.

“Enough to want to beat the wall ‘til my fists are bloody. Probably would if those pills weren’t workin’,” he admits. “I gotta tell you, doc, I never expected them to.”

“I could tell. We can talk about that next time. Meanwhile…” Her smile turns serious. “Sounds like your young man could use a bit of guidance. I can recommend a good therapist, but he has to want to go.”

“That’s part of the problem,” Chris says frustrated. “He won’t admit there’s a thing wrong. Says he just prefers my company, but I can tell that ain’t all. Few times I’ve asked him to go pick somethin’ up, food or whatnot, he makes up excuses not to.” Chris looks down, blinking as his vision turns cloudy. “I just wish he’d stop bein’ scared all the time.”

“Give me a couple of days, I’ll see what I can do.”

She gives him a small encouraging smile as he nods, swallowing the guilt that’s been clinging to the back of his throat ever since he finally poked his head out of his self-involved fog of misery and realized he’d been blind to his boy’s fears long enough for them to turn into a damn phobia.

Three days later he’s got a name and a number and Jensen scowling at him, refusing to accept the note from his hand.

“I’m fine! How many times I gotta tell you??”

“Yeah?” Chris picks Jensen’s jacket from where he threw it over the couch when they got in this morning and thrusts it into his arms. “Alright. Go out. Call me when you’re on the other side of town. Then we’ll talk.”

Jensen licks his lips before setting them in a stubborn line. “Fine. Gimme the keys to the truck.”

Chris shakes his head. “Nuhuh. You can walk. Or take the bus. I don’t care which but you ain’t takin’ my ride. Go on.”

Jensen swallows and then he just stands there, clutching his jacket, blinking rapidly before turning on his heel and storming into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Chris sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Fuck. He goes and knocks gently on the door. There’s no answer. He tries the handle. The door’s locked. Closing his eyes briefly he counts to ten before knocking again.

“I’m goin’ downstairs, darlin’,” he says out loud. “Don’t forget to eat somethin’.”

Silence.

Chris grits his teeth and reminds himself he was the one who started this fight. Well, conversation, but he knew where it would lead. But it’s not like he can just leave things as they are. Leave Jensen as he is. This is no life for a kid his age. Or any age.

Matt looks up as Chris walks in and he must show something in his face because Matt pulls him a beer without being asked. Chris sits down by the bar, rubbing a palm over his face before taking a deep draught. God, it tastes good. Not whiskey good but it’s early hours yet. He sips the beer slowly, feeling slightly guilty about drinking so early but damn, that’s what teenage drama drives you to.

“Trouble in Paradise?” Matt asks and Chris shoots him a glare. Matt lifts his hand, backing off but only for a minute. Never can leave anything well alone that man. “Just, you know, it’s my job to listen to people’s problems. I’m a regular Dear Abby by now. Also,” he adds, face turning serious, “I’m your friend.”

Chris sighs. “I know, man. It’s just…” He shakes his head. “Sometimes I forget how young he is.”

“Ah. Temper tantrum?”

Chris snorts. “Somethin’ like that.” He fingers the note in his pocket. Maybe he can just make an appointment on Jensen’s behalf and then lure him there. That might work. Or Jensen might throw a fit and not talk to him for days. Not the first time that would happen. Kid really is the most stubborn son of a bitch.

“Probably wouldn’t hurt for him to meet kids his own age,” Matt suggests.

“Yeah, and where am I supposed to find those?” Chris huffs. “Lurk outside the next college dorm and lure’em into my truck with candy?”

Matt laughs. “Wouldn’t need candy, just give them that look, and they’ll follow you out of sheer pity.” He grins when Chris scowls. “Or that one, and they’ll be too scared to run away.”

“You really mastered that whole ‘How to make friends and influence people’ shit, huh?” Chris scoffs, smiling a little when Matt laughs.

He sits sipping his beer, thinking. Actually, college might not be such a bad idea. Kid’s smart, he’d do well in pretty much anything. Of course, college costs money. Community college might be doable though. If only to get him out of the house. Maybe they can find a music program. Kid still needs to see a therapist though. The sooner the better.

By the time he’s drained the last drop he feels a lot calmer. He’s hoping Jensen is, too. He slides off the stool and gives Matt a nod. “Gonna try again. Wish me luck.”

Matt lifts one hand, fingers crossed. Chris is halfway across the room when Matt calls after him, “Maybe try telling him how you feel.”

Chris turns around, frowning. He tells Jensen every damn day. “Pardon?”

“I mean right now.” Matt shrugs. “I don’t know exactly what you were fighting about but you’re clearly worried about something. So maybe you need to talk about why. I don’t know, I’m just guessing maybe you didn’t tell him.”

“I’m tryin’ to get him to see a therapist,” Chris says after a moment’s hesitation.

“Ah. Yeah, that would be good. Kid’s really screwed up. Sorry,” Matt says, not looking sorry at all. “But it’s true. I mean, he loves you. Clearly something’s not right there.”

“I can kill you from over here,” Chris deadpans.

Matt grins but then his face turns serious. “We’re all worried about him, boss.”

Chris presses his lips together. Then he nods and turns away, stalking back to the apartment before he does something stupid, like offer Matt a raise.

Jensen’s door is still closed but this time when Chris tries the handle, it gives. Jensen is lying on the bed he hardly ever uses anymore, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t look over when Chris enters but a downward twitch of his lips tells Chris he’s clearly aware. Chris walks over and sits down at the edge of the bed, running his fingers gently through Jensen’s hair, relieved when Jensen doesn’t pull away. His eyes are slightly red. He keeps nibbling the inside of his lower lip, which makes him look even more miserable.

Chris sighs. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to bully you.”

“You didn’t-” Jensen huffs. “I’m just… It feels like you’re trying to get rid of me. Like you’re tired of me being around all the time.” His lower lip wobbles and he bites it again.

Chris shakes his head. His heart hurts. “No. No, darlin’. It ain’t like that. I miss you every minute I’m down there workin’ and you ain’t with me.”

Jensen averts his eyes, biting his lower lip. “Then why do you keep trying to get me to go somewhere else? I don’t wanna go somewhere else. I just wanna be here, with you.”

“Sweetheart…” Chris nudges Jensen gently and he scoots over, giving Chris space to lie down beside him and wrap his arm around Jensen’s waist. “I’m worried,” he says, voice quiet. “I’m worried about you isolatin’ yourself up here. I’m worried about you bein’ too dependent on me. What if somethin’ happens and I can’t be there?”

He realizes it was the wrong thing to say when Jensen goes rigid. “What happens? Is something wrong? Are you… are you sick?” He tries to sit up but Chris tightens his hold, keeping him down.

“No,” he says, voice firm. “I ain’t sick and I ain’t leavin’ you. Ever.”

“Then why are you-”

“Life’s unpredictable, darlin’. I ain’t never gonna leave you. Alright? But if the meds stop workin’ or somethin’ else happens, somethin’ I didn’t plan for, I need to know you’ll be okay. And you won’t be,” he continues when Jensen opens his mouth to protest, “if you can’t go outside on your own, ‘cause you’re too scared.”

“I’m not-” Jensen stops. He squeezes his eyes shut, sucking in air through his nose in quick successions before breathing out harshly through his mouth. “They’re still out there,” he finally says, low and subdued. “And I can’t…” He swallows. “I can’t remember what they look like. I can’t remember! They could be anyone!”

Ah. “Baby, you can’t let them control your life. I know it’s scary but-”

Jensen shakes his head. “No! You don’t know! You don’t know. They always come back. Always!”

Chris goes still. “That what happened back home?” he asks quietly. “Those fuckers came back for more?”

“Always,” Jensen repeats, voice breaking. “After practice. On my way home. Everywhere. I was never fucking safe!”

Guess he’s found the ‘others’. Or at least some of them. Chris kisses Jensen’s temple, breathing slowly while his heart beats fast and angry in his chest.

“Okay. Okay, darlin’,” he finally says, forcing his voice quiet and calm instead of growling with the fury building inside. “I’ll figure somethin’ out. Don’t you worry. Don’t you worry ‘bout a single thing. But you gotta do somethin’ for me, alright? You gotta go see that therapist. No, sweetheart, you do,” he insists when Jensen makes a face. “For me? Can you do it for me, darlin’?”

Jensen stays silent for a long time but then his lips press tight, and he shrugs. “I’ll think about it.”.

Chris breathes out. “Thank you. Thank you, baby. Whatever you decide, I’ll help you. I’ll make the appointment, I’ll go with you, whatever you want. I swear, all you gotta do is show up.”

“And talk,” Jensen mutters, looking far from happy with the idea.

“And talk,” Chris agrees with a soft smile. “It ain’t so bad, I promise. Sometimes it’s even good.”

Jensen doesn’t look convinced, but he shrugs and lets Chris kiss him, which is as much as he can ask for.

Now he just has to figure out the other problem.

That night, after the bar has closed and everyone’s gone home, Chris goes up to check on Jensen. He’s fast asleep, caught in a bad dream judging by the crease between his eyebrows. Chris reaches out and runs his finger down Jensen’s forehead to the tip of his nose, stroking softly, again and again, until the crease smooths out and Jensen’s sleep deepens.

Leaving Jensen to hopefully sweeter dreams, Chris quietly rummages through the drawers until he finds something that might do the job. Jeans that shrunk in the wash and one of Jensen’s white t-shirts that fits his skinny chest but looks obscenely tight on Chris’s broader frame. He dresses out in the living room, so he doesn’t wake Jensen up, then goes through his loot from the lost-and-found. Bracelets, necklaces, eyeliner. Lipstick. After a moment’s hesitation he puts four braids in his hair, adding the rainbow beads Jensen had bought for him but Chris hasn’t had the balls to use yet. The more hatred he can ignite the better.

He puts on his sturdiest boots, heavy leather with soles hard enough to kick anyone’s teeth in. Pulls thick rings on his fingers. Anything to get an advantage. By the time he steps back and looks himself up and down in the mirror, one thing’s for certain, he looks queer as hell. Hopefully that’s all they’ll see.

He steals a last loving look at Jensen, in case it all goes to shit and he never makes it back. Then he walks out the door and locks it quietly behind him.

Nothing happens.

He walks the streets, getting some odd looks and a couple of cautious propositions, but that’s all. By the time he slips back in at four in the morning he’s worn out and frustrated and the anger burns hotter than ever.

For the next night, and the next and so on, it’s much the same. He goes out, stalks menacingly the darkest parts of town, searching out any trouble he can find. All he reaps for his trouble are aching feet and more anger, more hatred, seething in his veins. He’s tired at work and snapping at his employees as the fire grows in his belly, day by day. Still, it’s not enough, he needs more.

He stops taking his ‘anger pills’ because when the time comes - and it will come, he’ll be out there every damn night until it does - he wants to be ready. Wants the fury to carry him forward, to finish the job, even if it means deadly results. Somewhere deep inside a voice is arguing that if he gets caught, if he gets killed, he’ll be breaking his promise to Jensen to never leave him. He drowns it in the loud waves of anger crashing in his head.

He can’t erase Jensen’s past. He can’t love all of Jensen’s pain and hurt and fear away. He doesn’t have the knowledge to deal with Jensen’s trauma or the resources to make every inch of his surroundings safe. But he has this. His commitment, his fury, the strength of his muscles and the speed of his fists. And his life, to lay down, if that’s what it comes down to.

When Friday night rolls around he’s exhausted from too little sleep and too much stress. He’s nauseous and shaky with withdrawal, and God, he’s aching for a strong drink. Well, fuck it, one won’t hurt.

The shot goes down with a familiar burn and the tight grip in his chest eases somewhat. Maybe that’s just what he needs, a night of letting go, just this once. Just a little. Ignoring Matt’s protests, he grabs the bottle of Jack, bringing it with him on stage. As the night progresses he keeps a steady grip on the bottle, ignoring Steve’s worried glances, growling at him when he tries to take it away.

“What the hell’s a matter with you, man?” Steve hisses as they jump off the stage for their break.

Chris ignores him, pulling Jensen into his arms and kissing him hard and deep. When he comes up for air, Jensen ducks his head and twists free.

“Darlin’,” Chris protests, frowning, but Jensen shies away, moving closer to Steve, eyes downcast. Annoyed Chris slides out of the booth and makes his way unsteadily to the john to take a leak. When he comes back, Steve is alone.

“Where’s ma boy?” Chris slurs, taking a swig from the new bottle he picked up on the way, despite Matt’s protests.

“He fled upstairs. You’re scaring the shit out of him, man.” Steve makes a grab for the bottle but Chris backs away, keeping it out of reach. “Chris, goddammit, what the hell are you doing? You can’t drink like that on your meds, you know that!”

“Good thing I ain’t on my meds then,” Chris shoots back, because he’s too damn drunk to care. He’s never gonna catch those damn bastards. And then what the fuck is he gonna do?

“What?” Steve stares at him. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

Chris shakes his head. “Gotta be ready. Can’t do it on that shit.”

“Do what? Ruin your relationship with Jensen?” Steve says exasperated. “Is that what you’re trying to do? Because it’s working!”

Chris frowns. “Doin’ this for Jensen. You don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t. I really, really don’t,” Steve snaps. “So can you please explain it to me before I accidentally say something that makes you lose your shit and beat the crap out of me?”

“I ain’t gonna-” Chris growls in frustration. “They’re still out there! They’re makin’ ma boy lock himself in, cause he’s so damn scared. I ain’t gonna let’em ruin his life any longer. Or anyone else’s.”

Steve frowns. Then his eyes go wide. “Those thugs that assaulted Jensen? Are you…? Jesus, man! Have you been going out looking for them?”

Chris shrugs and takes another swig from the bottle. Fuck, he’s drunk. No way he can go out tonight. Which sure means this is the night they’ll be on the prowl, those goddamn vultures. Do vultures prowl? Hover? Don’t matter, they’re out there. Somewhere.

“Chris, you can’t do this,” Steve says, voice rising. “Are you fucking insane? It’s dangerous. They might kill you! Or you might kill them if you go all crazy!”

“That’s what I’m hopin’ for, yeah,” Chris agrees.

“That’s what you’re hoping for? Jesus Christ!”

Steve stares at him, seeming lost for words. Chris ignores him, drumming his fingers on the table as he swigs slowly from the bottle. Damn, he’s really drunk. They still have the second half of the show to do. He’s not sure he can climb up on the stage again without some help.

“So what, you just walk around, hoping to find them?”

“Hopin’ they’ll find me,” Chris rectifies. “Doll myself up and wait for the fuckers to take the bait.”

“Doll yourself up?” Steve echoes incredulous. “In what, a dress?”

Chris frowns. Maybe he should. Might work better. “No. Just, you know…” He looks around then waves his hand in the direction of a couple dancing nearby. “Kinda like that.”

Steve looks over. “Huh.” He looks back at Chris. “Now that I’d love to see.”

Chris snorts. “Shut up.”

“No, really. Do you wear makeup?”

“Some.” He shrugs when Steve blinks at him. “Jus’ some eyeliner. An’ lipstick.”

“Huh.”

“What?” he growls.

“Just… I think I’m getting a boner.”

That makes him laugh. “Fuck you, man.”

Steve smirks. “Oh, in that getup, you’re definitely the one getting fucked.” He tilts his head. “How’s that going by the way?”

Chris’s face clamps shut. “None of your business.”

“Still nothing, huh?”

The fury erupts in his belly. “Steve, shut the fuck up or I’ll do it for you!”

“You’re the one who told me,” Steve argues but he does move a bit further away, eyes flickering to Chris’s clenched fists and back to his furious face.

“Didn’t tell you jack shit,” Chris hisses. “You just assumed and I told ya, I’m tellin’ ya, I ain’t talkin’bout our goddamn sex life with you!”

“Alright, alright. Calm down.” Steve eyes him warily. “We need to get back up there. But we’re not done talking about this. Your insane vigilante shit, not your damn sex life, stop looking at me like that, you psycho. Chris, calm down!”

Chris breathes in slowly, breathes out even slower. In, out. In, out. The anger ebbing with every breath until he can finally see clearly again. “I’m comin’,” he says, stumbling to his feet. He stands swaying for a moment before following Steve to the stage, accepting his hand grudgingly when he can’t get up on his own. Steps. He needs to get on that.

The rest of the show goes by in a blur of alcohol and exhaustion. He’s hanging on to Steve at the end of it, arm slung around his neck. Their audience doesn’t seem to mind, judging by the cheers and wolf whistles, although someone does shout, “Thought you’d never gonna be too drunk to put your pretty boy to bed!” and if he hadn’t been about to pass out, he would have jumped off the stage and planted his fist in the fucker’s face.

“C’mon, leave it,” Steve tells him firmly, arm tight around his waist, so maybe Chris did make a move in that direction after all. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

When they stumble into the bedroom, Jensen is already in bed, back turned.

“Darlin’,” Chris whispers although it comes out louder than he intended. “You sleepin’? Hey!”

He fumbles for Jensen’s shoulder but his hand lands accidentally on Jensen’s cheek, palming it a little too hard. Jensen jerks awake, rolling quickly out of bed. He stands blinking for a moment before ducking his head and hurrying for the door.

“Hey, where ya goin’, darlin’?” Chris complaints, stepping in front of him and almost stumbling into the dresser.

“My room,” Jensen mumbles, head still down.

“Don’t be like that. Baby, c’mon. Hey!” He catches Jensen by the waist as he tries to slip by, pulling him flush against his swaying body, but he only gets a glimpse of Jensen’s startled eyes before Steve yanks his arm hard and forces him to lose his hold.

“Chris, you’re drunk. Let the kid go!”

Jensen doesn’t say anything, just slips away and shortly after they hear the door to his room slam shut.

“I jus’ wanted a kiss,” Chris mutters, sinking down on the bed, head in his hands.

Steve snorts. “Maybe think of that before you drown yourself in Jack, you moron.”

“Shut up-” he means to say but the room starts spinning and he falls to the floor on his hands and knees, gulping frantically for air before convulsing, spewing vomit all over the rug.

“Chris? What the hell?”

“I’m alright,” he’s about to lie when his body starts seizing.

“Chris? You waking up? Chris?”

He grimaces, eyes squeezed shut against the pain splitting his skull. Fuck. “Wha’?” he growls, tongue thick in his mouth.

“Jesus fucking Christ! Finally!”

Chris starts opening his eyes but slams them shut again. Jesus, why is it so damn bright in here? And what’s that smell stinging his nose? “Wha’?” he repeats because words are for some reason terribly hard. He grimaces. His mouth tastes like ass and his throat really hurts.

“What? Alcohol poisoning, you moron!” Steve yells so loud Chris flinches. “That’s what! Seriously, I could fucking strangle you!”

“Steve,” Chris groans. “Shut up before you split my damn head.”

At least that’s what he means to say but his tongue is thick in his mouth, and it all comes out garbled. When he lifts his hand to cover his eyes there’s a tug at the inside of his elbow and he looks down to see an IV needle stuck in his arm. What?

“If you’re looking for sympathy, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” Steve huffs but his voice is not quite as loud and in a moment the lights are turned off, leaving the room mostly dark, apart from the light streaming in through a crack in the door.

Chris blinks. “Wha’? Where’m I?”

“Hospital, you asshole!” Steve snaps. “They had to pump your goddamn stomach, man! You realize you drank almost two whole bottles on your own? In one night!”

Chris frowns. “The hell I did,” he means to object, but his throat is so dry he just starts coughing instead and fuck, does that hurt.

“Also, you stupid son of a bitch,” Steve continues while pouring him some water, “it takes time for drugs to leave your system. Just because you stopped taking the pills doesn’t mean they weren’t still floating in your blood stream.”

He shoves the straw between Chris’s lips hard enough to sting but Chris is so thankful for the cool liquid running down his throat, wetting his dry tongue, he doesn’t even mind.

“For fuck’s sake, Chris, you’re lucky to be alive!” Steve spits out, slamming the empty cup back down on the small table then turning quickly away to wipe at his face before going back to glaring.

Chris stares up at the ceiling. It’s all coming back to him. Being so goddamn angry. Just wanting a drink to calm himself down. And then another and another. Everything going blurry and Jensen-

“Shit,” he rasps. “Jensen.” He tries to sit up and the whole room starts spinning, making him fall back again on the pillow, fighting not to hurl. If there’s even anything left in his stomach to spit out. “He okay?”

Steve sighs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, your pretty boy is fine. I sent him to fetch us some coffee since he refuses to go home to get some sleep. Poor kid’s exhausted.”

“He’s here?” Chris says, the lump in his throat so big he can hardly speak around it.

Steve frowns. “Course he is. I had to hold him back when they took you to get your stomach pumped, he didn’t want to let go of your hand. He’s been beside himself with worry.”

The relief that washes over him is totally undeserved. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Jensen never talked to him again. He doesn’t really remember much what happened after they went on stage but he has a hazy memory of Jensen staring at him with fearful eyes before twisting out of his arms. He must have done something really shitty to deserve that.

“I know I haven’t exactly been your biggest supporter,” Steve says, looking uncomfortable, “but if you don’t get your shit together, you’re gonna lose him.”

“I know.” He rubs a hand over his face, feeling the stubble from not having shaved in almost a week. “I just…”

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “Chris, I know what you’re trying to do but you’re just making things worse. Now, instead of just being scared of what’s out there, he’s scared of you.”

Chris flinches. “He say that?”

“Didn’t need to. His face when you were pawing all over him last night, and again when we got upstairs. Only reason that kid didn’t run is because he’s so in love with you, you could probably beat his brains out and he still wouldn’t leave. Sound familiar?”

He’s gonna be sick. “I just love him, man, so damn much,” he whispers through his paper dry vocal cords. “And it hurts, it hurts my very soul to see him so scared and not be able to do a damn thing about it.”

“I know,” Steve sighs. “But…”

“No. It ain’t right, them assholes bein’ out there, ruinin’ so many people’s lives and no one even gives a fuck ‘cause it’s just fags and queers.” Chris closes his eyes. God, he’s so tired. “It’s just us, man. And they don’t fuckin’ care about us.”

“I know. But it’s not right either, people putting it on you to make it right. You’re not some damn superhero. And you going out every night, looking for those fuckers to attack you so you have an excuse to beat them dead, that’s just gonna end with you killed, by them or by law. And I can’t watch you do that to yourself. Or Jensen. Or me.”

Chris sighs. “Steve…”

“No. I’m begging you. Stop. Please. If not for me then for that boy you claim to love. Because the only thing you’re gonna accomplish is him ending up all alone again. Is that what you want?”

“You know it ain’t.” Chris opens his eyes and fumbles for Steve’s hand. “I promise, alright. No more goin’ out lookin’ for them bastards. But,” he adds, looking Steve straight in the eye, “if they come into my bar again, I can’t be held responsible for what happens.”

Steve glares back at him, not saying a word for a long time, then he sighs and nods. “Fair enough. Just try not to kill anybody. And go back on your damn meds!”

“You were off your meds??”

They both look up to find Jensen standing in the doorway with two cups of coffee, looking absolutely furious. “I don’t fucking believe this!” he growls, handing Steve one of the paper cups. “Steve, can I get a minute alone with him? I need to kill this sonofabitch.”

“Alright,” Steve says easily and stands up, giving Jensen’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before slipping out the door.

“Darlin’,” Chris tries but one look from Jensen shuts him up. When did his boy get so damn scary?

“Tell me everything,” Jensen demands.

He’s still standing too far away. Chris wishes he could ask him to come closer, just so he can touch him, but it’s not like he deserves that. Instead he does as he’s told, face heating up as he describes his nightly excursions, for the first time hearing himself and realizing how stupid he’s been. How fucking reckless. Not just with his life but his health as well. And, most of all, their relationship. After he’s done, they stay silent for a long time, him giving Jensen occasional glances, Jensen staring down into his coffee cup.

“You wanted to go crazy. You stopped taking your meds because you wanted…” Jensen’s voice falters. “Why? I don’t understand. You could have been…” He raises his head, eyes glittering with rage. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me!”

“Baby…”

“No! You promised! You fucking liar! You promised me!” Jensen crushes the paper cup in his fist, coffee flooding over his hand and to the floor. He doesn’t even seem to notice and Chris thanks his lucky star for crappy tepid hospital coffee. “God, I fucking hate you!” Jensen says, his voice breaking as he collapses into a chair, like his legs just gave out.

“Yeah, okay,” Chris says softly. “I deserve that. You should hate me. I’m a goddamn idiot, I don’t know what I was thinkin’. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“You could have died,” Jensen chokes out. He sounds so tired, so worn out, and Chris fucking hates himself for doing this to him. “I was so fucking scared, you know that? You drank almost two fucking bottles! Why would you do that?” He wipes at his eyes. “Did I…? Is it me? Did I do something?”

“No. You didn’t… Baby, please, come here,” Chris begs.

Jensen shakes his head. He won’t even look at him.

“Okay, alright. I’ll come to you,” Chris relents and struggles to sit up. “Just need to…” He fumbles with the IV. The saline bag is almost empty, he should be alright removing the needle. How the fuck…?

Jensen is suddenly there, slapping his hands away. “Don’t! What the fuck you doing?” he yells, his voice wet. “You’re such an idiot. You’re such a goddamn stupid fuck.”

“I know, I know.” Chris grabs Jensen’s hand, pulling it to his chest. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry. I don’t wanna leave you. I never wanna leave you. I was fuckin’ stupid. I love you. I love you so damn much.”

Jensen stands there, chest rising and falling rapidly. Then he crawls into the narrow bed, wraps his arms around Chris, and burrows his face into his neck.

“Sshh, sshh, it’s alright. It’s all gonna be alright. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, love.”

“I don’t hate you,” Jensen mumbles into his hair, his voice broken. “I didn’t mean that. I love you. I love you, you stupid asshole.”

A smile breaks out on Chris’s face, he can’t help it. He doesn’t think he’s ever been happier in his whole life. He’d kinda figured, hoped at least, but this is the first time Jensen has actually said it. “Yeah?”

Jensen nods, wiping his nose on Chris’s hospital gown. “Yeah. Even if you don’t deserve it.”

“I know. I know, sweetheart. I don’t deserve you. Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jensen grumbles, clutching Chris tighter. “Fuck you.”

Chris chuckles. “Anytime, darlin’.”

Jensen goes still. “You really mean that?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Chris agrees easily. “I told you, love. Whenever you want.”

“We haven’t… we haven’t… done stuff. For a long time,” Jensen says, his cheek burning hot on Chris’s shoulder.

“Well, I was kinda not good, for a long time,” Chris reminds him. “Those drugs really fucked me over. I couldn’t, even if I’d wanted to. Which… I didn’t. I didn’t want anythin’,” he admits. “I’m sorry. It ain’t you. It’s just my fucked-up head. I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted.”

“No. It wasn’t…” Jensen falls quiet. “Okay. But you’ve been better. Or you were until you pulled this stupid shit.”

“Not really,” Chris says softly. “Yeah, the side effects ain’t been as bad but I’m still…” He waves awkwardly in the direction of his crotch. “Ain’t much happenin’ down there. But that’s alright, we can still do stuff. Like what we talked about. You fuckin’ me. We can do that, if you want?”

Jensen bites his lip. “I’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Chris assures him, stroking Jensen’s back soothingly. “We’ll take it slow and I’ll be with you every step of the way, darlin’. It’ll be alright. More than alright, it’ll be great, you’ll see.”

“But… it’s gonna hurt,” Jensen insists, his voice so quiet it’s hardly a whisper.

Chris takes a deep breath. “Sometimes, yeah, it does a bit. But it’s alright. I can take a little discomfort, ‘cause once that’s over, it feels so good.”

Jensen stays quiet for a long time, warm breath on Chris’s neck. He’s starting to doze off when Jensen asks, “Really?”

Chris has to take a moment to recall what they were talking about. Oh. “Yeah, really,” he murmurs, kissing Jensen’s temple. “And I know you can make it feel real good. ‘Cause your dick is beautiful.”

Jensen huffs out a laugh. “Okay. Alright then. When you get home.”

“Mhm,” Chris sighs. “Anytime you want, darlin’. Just gonna sleep a little and then we… then we…”

Jensen lies still, listening to Chris snore. He sounds a little congested, probably because of the tube abusing his throat when they pumped his stomach. Jensen closes his eyes, tightening his grip around Chris. Fuck, he’d been so scared. He’d been in his room, chair under the doorknob, just in case, not knowing whether to cry or punch the wall, when he heard Steve yell Chris’s name, sounding terrified. He’d wrenched the door open and run out to find Chris lying in a puddle of vomit, shaking like he was being electrocuted, with Steve crouching helplessly by his side, trying to keep him from banging his head on the floor. He’d thought Chris was dying, that his disorder had finally decided to kill him and that the last thing Jensen had done was deny him a kiss and storm off, just because Chris was drunk. As if Chris hadn’t been drunk plenty times before.

But it had been different last night. He’d never been afraid that Chris might hurt him when he got angry, no matter how consumed Chris got by rage. The couple of times he had, it was always accidental. But last night… Jensen had felt fear, sickeningly familiar fear. He hated to feel that way about Chris. Chris was supposed to be safe. Chris was the only safe thing he knew. Except suddenly Chris hadn’t felt safe, he’d felt like someone who might actually… Even if Jensen knew Chris wouldn’t. He would never. Not in his right mind. But… he hadn’t been in his right mind.

“Hey,” he hears from the doorway and turns his head to see Steve quietly close the door behind him. “He asleep?”

Jensen nods.

Steve walks over, looking at Chris with a troubled face. Then he glances at Jensen and his eyes narrow. “What’s wrong? What did he do?”

Jensen shakes his head, wiping at his eyes with his knuckles. “Nothing.” Steve frowns at him and Jensen sighs. “I’m okay. I was just upset.”

Steve holds his gaze for a while longer then nods. “Okay. You wanna talk?”

Jensen shakes his head again, but then he can’t hold back, because he knows Chris won’t ever say it but Steve hates him so... “This was my fault, right? That’s why he did it. Because of me.”

To his surprise Steve doesn’t grab his chance. Instead he just sighs and shakes his head. “Kid, I’d love to blame you, but truth is this has been a long time coming. From before you came along. He’s got a lot of self-hatred to work through. This is how he does that, for some fucked up reason.”

Jensen frowns. “Self-hatred? Why?”

Steve shrugs. “Lots of things. He blames himself for not standing up to his dad. For his mama dying, since he thinks he should have done something to prevent it. He blames himself for the damn disorder, like that’s something he chose. He hates himself for all it’s made him do. For not being in control of himself. He’s ashamed of being queer.”

At Jensen’s startled look, Steve sighs. “I know he says he’s fine with it but the way he was raised, being queer meant being weak.”

Yeah, okay. Jensen can relate.

“I’m guessing those people abusing him only confirmed that for him. So, he’s convinced himself being queer is irrelevant, when in fact it plays a big part in who he is, what he does... everything, really.”

Steve strokes a few strands of hair out of Chris’s eyes, the look on his face so tender Jensen’s heart hurts. “So, yeah. He hates himself for that and for feeling that way. He hates himself for not doing more when hell, he does so much already. He created a safe place for people who’ve got nowhere else to go, he did that. Last gay bar in this town got torched with the owner inside,” he explains, and Jensen’s blood runs cold. What?

“I hate that he lives above the damn place. But once he decided he wanted to own a bar, no other kind would do. And I know at least part of that is because he feels guilty. For not being openly out. Not being ‘queer enough’. For passing as straight when others got the crap beaten out of them. It’s stupid but it is what it is. This latest stint is just more of that.”

“Guilt makes him suicidal?”

“No,” Steve says quickly. “That’s not… No. I think he just feels he needs to do something and if it so happens it gets him killed, so be it.” He shrugs when Jensen stares at him in horror. “I love the guy, but he’s a stupid son of a bitch. Really. Rocks for brains.”

“But… none of it is his fault,” Jensen says confused.

Steve snorts. “Your looks aren’t your fault, kid. So why you so hung up about them, huh?”

“That’s not- I’m not-” Jensen grits his teeth. “That’s different!”

“Yeah?” Steve says with a mocking rise of his eyebrows that makes Jensen want to hit him.

“Yeah! I don’t hate how I look. I hate what it makes people do. Like you,” he spits out, glaring at Steve.

Steve winces. “Okay, I deserved that. Sorry. I only meant, it doesn’t matter that it’s not his fault, he still feels responsible.”

“Well, I don’t feel responsible for people being assholes about the way I look,” Jensen grumbles.

“Still shitty though, right?” Steve points out.

Jensen doesn’t answer, just turns his face purposedly away and buries it in Chris’s hair. It smells slightly of vomit and hospital but underneath that is the scent of Chris and Jensen breathes it in.

“Kid, I’m gonna head home,” Steve says, his hand coming to a cautious rest on Jensen’s shoulder before letting go. “Let me know if there’s any change. I’ll help you get the sad son of a bitch home once he’s discharged, okay? Just give me a call.”

“I can get him home fine on my own,” Jensen mutters, refusing to look up.

“Sure, but I’d like to be there, alright? Just, humor me. Please.”

“Whatever. Yeah, alright,” he relents when Steve keeps hovering.

“Alright. Try and get some sleep. They’ll probably come check on him soon so enjoy your cuddling while you can.”

“I would if you’d stop yapping and leave,” Jensen grumbles.

“Jesus. Don’t know why I bother. Fucking teenagers,” Steve mutters and then he’s gone, closing the door firmly behind him. Jensen feels a little guilty but not much. The guy is annoyingly clingy. He needs to get with the fact that Chris has moved on.

Jensen presses his lips to Chris’s neck, right under his ear and then just keeps them there, feeling Chris’s pulse beat slowly under the thin skin above his jugular. He must really be drained, sleeping through that whole exchange. They’d kept their voices low, mostly, but still. Jensen’s mouth was only inches from Chris’s ear, and he’d raised his voice a couple of times when Steve really pissed him off. Like needling him about the way he looks, just to make a point. Fucker. It’s not the same as Chris’s stupid guilt. Chris’s guilt makes him do stupid things. Jensen’s looks makes other people…

Jensen shudders, his thoughts going back to Chris the night before. How he hadn’t even noticed Jensen trying to push him off, but just kept kissing, and grabbing, and touching him all over, pulling him tighter. Didn’t matter that Jensen knew Chris wouldn’t hurt him, his body remembered all the times something like that had happened before and where it had lead.

When Chris finally released him to stumble to the bathroom, Steve had shifted closer and hesitantly put a reassuring hand on Jensen’s arm. “Hey, you alright?” he’d asked, his voice laced with worry. “He doesn’t mean it, he’s drunk out of his stupid skull.”

It’d been too much. He’d shaken Steve off and fled through the heat of bodies and smells and touches, touches, touches until he was finally free and alone and shaking so hard he could hardly breathe. And still he’d crawled into Chris’s bed because despite everything it smelled like safety and home and he wanted that Chris back, not the drunk bastard, or the distant angry man Chris had been all week. And now Jensen knows why he’d been that way. Because of him. Again. No matter what Steve said, none of this would have happened if it wasn’t for him. How the hell is he supposed to live with that?

Continued here.