Fic: Haven. RPS. Chris/Jensen. NC-17. Chapter 4/11

[felisblanco]

Continued from here.



Chris peeks into Jensen’s room when he comes back, not surprised to find him fast asleep on top of the covers. For a moment he allows himself to just stand there and study Jensen’s face. Chris wasn’t joking, he expects Jensen’s fans won’t take lightly to the object of their adoration having been so obviously battered. Crowd like this, they’ll know what it was about. Especially since it’s far from the first time it’s happened around here. Well, it can’t be helped.

An hour before Jensen is due on stage, Chris wakes him up, a plate of grilled sandwiches and a tall glass of water waiting for him in the kitchen. “No beer,” he says sternly and hides a grin when Jensen blushes. “How’s the voice?”

“Fine.”

Chris raises his eyebrows.

“It’s fine,” Jensen insists. “Maybe a bit hoarse. I’ll just drink plenty of water. Or you could give me a shot of whiskey,” he adds with a cheeky grin.

“Funny.” Chris takes their empty plates and dumps them in the sink. “You gonna wear that? You been sweatin’ in those all day,” he elaborates when Jensen blinks at him, not wanting to admit that he’d been visualizing Jensen on stage when picking out a few of the clothes. And it sure weren’t those baggy sweats. “Forgot to ask, clothes fit alright?”

“Haven’t tried everything but I’m sure it’s fine,” Jensen says, looking awkward. “Thanks. How much do I owe you?”

Chris thinks back. He honestly can’t remember. “I’ll check. Don’t worry ‘bout it. Just go and get ready.”

“Yes, boss,” Jensen mutters, sliding off the stool. He’s limping quite a bit and he looks pale and tired despite having just woken up. Chris thinks he was probably right about being better off sitting than trying to stand on that leg. Means the gig will be a little more mellow, a little less rock, but Chris doesn’t think the crowd will mind. Sunday nights have never been much for partying anyway.

He should be going downstairs to make sure everything is ready but instead he picks up Jensen’s guitar, loving how it fits just right in his arms, strings vibrating under his fingertips like they’re begging to be played. It really is a beauty.

‘Beautiful instrument for a beautiful boy’ pops into his head, and he pushes the thought down with a grimace, his face heating. He’s not gonna go there. It’s pure damn luck Jensen doesn’t remember what happened last night. Bad enough himself being stupidly infatuated with the boy’s pretty face, that’ll blow over as soon as he gets used to it. But if Jensen starts flirting with him for real, and not just because he’s drunk and horny, it will spell a whole different kind of trouble.

He strums the guitar quietly, pretending he’s not listening to Jensen closing the door to the bathroom or the shower turning on and then off again a while later. Doesn’t look up when he hears the bathroom door open, warm damp air smelling of his own shampoo drifting out as Jensen limps back into his room. Waits patiently and definitely doesn’t strain his ears, listening to Jensen get dressed behind closed doors. When he hears the door open he glances up, a blank look plastered on his face. Only to blink stupidly at the kid standing nervously before him, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. The obscenely tight jeans. Did he really buy the kid jeans that tight? And a t-shirt that snug? Chris swallows. Accidentally though. Must have been. Right?

“This okay?” Jensen asks, looking self-conscious. Chris thinks he means because he’s showing every line of his body, like he might as well be fucking naked, when Jensen adds, “Or maybe I should put on something with longer sleeves?” and rubs his arm that’s tattooed in dark bruises and raw scrapes. Oh.

“It’s fine,” Chris says. “Ain’t no one gonna notice. You look, you look good.”

Jensen smiles, glancing up at him through those stupidly long eyelashes and goddammit, why did he have to be so fucking pretty? “Yeah?”

“Stop fishin’ for compliments,” Chris grumbles, embarrassed. He packs up Jensen’s guitar before standing up. And then, because he’s a stupid idiot who just can’t help himself, he reaches out and brushes Jensen’s hair away from his face with his fingers. “Gonna knock’em dead, lookin’ like that.”

Jensen blinks at him, eyes huge and green. “I should change,” he blurts out, which makes absolutely no sense.

“What? No. You’re fine. You’re good. You’re…” Chris clears his throat. “C’mon, time to get goin’.”

He ends up having to help Jensen tie his sneakers again, closing his mind furiously against any thoughts of what other things he could be doing, kneeling like that.

They’re halfway down the stairs when he notices Jensen slowing down behind him. When he looks up, he catches Jensen touching his face, wincing as his fingertips brush over the worst bruises. Chris waits until they’re all the way down before turning to him, taking his wrist gently between his fingers and pulling the hand away from his face. “They’re just battle scars, darlin’. Nothin’ to be ashamed of. But if you want, I can call one of the girls back here, see if she can cover them up some.”

Jensen looks undecided for a moment but then he shakes his head. “No. It’s okay.”

Chris nods. “Alright.”

He throws opens the door, leading the way into the bar. Oh wow. It’s absolutely packed. Far from their usually meager Sunday crowd. He glances back to see Jensen frozen in his tracks, eyes blinking rapidly. Someone brushes past him and he jerks back, hands flying up, like he’s expecting a fist to the face. Ah. Shit. Suddenly Jensen’s worry about looking good makes more sense.

Without thinking Chris reaches for Jensen’s hand, squeezing it tight as he offers a reassuring smile. “In here, with me? You’re safe. Alright?”

Jensen swallows, then nods and allows Chris to pull him through the crowd. Despite Jensen keeping his head bowed, hair obscuring most of his face, they start drawing attention, as evident by the whispers and nudging elbows and eyes staring at them as they go by. Chris shifts to Jensen’s side, putting a protective arm around his shoulders to warn off any overenthusiastic fans. Every time someone steps into their path Chris shoots them an angry glare and it speaks of his reputation that they immediately get out of their way.

Chris meant to bring Jensen straight on stage, but the kid might just panic if he doesn’t get a bit of a breather first. Shoving him into the regular booth Chris signals to Matt for drinks, trusting him to know what they want. Well, Jensen probably wants something a lot stronger than what he’s getting but that can’t be helped. Chris is not risking his liquor license, not for all the pretty boys in the world.

“Just sit back and relax. Ain’t a thing to be nervous about,” he says as he nods his thanks to Danneel who gives Jensen a reassuring smile along with their drinks. She looks baffled by the unusually large crowd but then again, she wasn’t here last Sunday. Well, she’s in for a treat. If Chris manages to get the kid on stage before he runs off.

“Easy for you to say,” Jensen mumbles nervously. “You’re not the one going alone up there.”

Chris frowns at him. “I’m up there every Saturday night, son. All by my lonesome. You were sittin’ right here watchin’ me last night. Fuck, kid, how much did you really drink?”

Jensen opens his mouth and closes it again, blinking in confusion. Then his eyes suddenly widen, and his face flushes deep red. Ah, seems he’s remembering something after all. And judging from the look on his face that something is exactly what Chris was hoping he wouldn’t. Fuck. Why did he have to open his stupid mouth?

“You ready?” Chris asks quickly and gets up before Jensen has a chance to answer. “I’ll go up and introduce you and remind’em not to be fuckin’ assholes.”

“Wait!” Jensen calls out, sounding flustered, but Chris is already going, crossing the floor and jumping up on stage to face the expecting crowd.

“Good evenin’, my lovelies!” he yells, grinning when the crowd cheers. “Now I ain’t ever seen such a crowd on a Sunday night. Y’all really miss me that much?” There’s laughter and he pretends to be offended. “No? You here for someone else?”

“We want the pretty boy!” someone yells and the wolf whistles and laughter are deafening.

Chris shoots Jensen a glance. He looks rattled, covering the battered part of his face with his hand, like he’s ashamed that he can’t deliver what they’re asking for. Well, Chris won’t have that.

“Hey!” Chris glares out at the audience and slowly the noise dies down until all that can be heard is the shuffle of wary feet taking a step back. “Now,” Chris finally says, keeping his voice low and hard. “Same rule as last time and I’mma warn you, I ain’t fuckin’ kiddin’ when I say, any of y’all scare my boy, I’ll throw all you fuckers out. He’s had enough trouble this week without you assholes addin’ to it. You hear me?”

There’s some awkward mumbling of “Sure” and “Yeah” and “Ain’t gonna be no trouble, man.”

“Good. Now, like I said, he’s had a hell of a week. So, we’re gonna have ourselves a nice quiet evenin’, seein’ as my boy needs to take it a little easy. Sit back, have a drink, listen with your ears instead of your dicks for a change. That goes for you ladies, as well. And tip extra well when y’all leave cause they stole all of what you left him last time.”

He waves Jensen over before dragging the stool to the center of the stage and checking the mic. He can hear the crowd whispering, and glances up to see some faces frowning, then more and more turning angry as they catch a glimpse of Jensen limping to the stage. Chris reaches down, first for the guitar, then Jensen’s hand, helping him up with some difficulty, Jensen’s face taut with pain. He really should fix some kind of steps, maybe even a ramp up here. No one really thought of accessibility when this place was built back in the seventies but that’s no excuse for letting it remain that way.

He stands in front of Jensen as he adjusts the mic, shielding him from view for just a little while longer. Finally he gives Jensen a smile and lays a hand on his shoulder, rubbing his neck reassuringly. “Remember, just sing to me, sweetheart. Alright?”

Jensen nods, eyes downcast. Chris gives Jensen’s shoulder a firm squeeze and steps aside, allowing the light to hit Jensen’s face. There’s a collective gasp, the kind Chris thought only happened in melodramatic movies. He falters in his steps then grits his teeth and jumps off the stage, not looking back until he’s sat in his booth with whiskey in his hand.

The room is completely silent, apart from the heavy angry breathing of a crowd of people that know exactly what they’re looking at. Jensen sits rigid, the spotlight illuminating his battered face in a harsh pale light. Chris curses himself for not making his instructions clearer. He’s about to stand up to go fix the lighting himself when the beam softens and drops down to focus on the guitar. Jensen’s shoulders instantly relax. After a moment he takes a deep breath and clears his throat.

“Hey,” he says, and this time when the mic feedbacks, no one laughs. “Sorry. Still getting used to this thing.” He chuckles nervously.

“You’re doing great, honey,” someone calls softly, and Jensen finally looks up, eyes blinking in the edge of the light that reaches his face. Then he smiles, and Chris swears, he can hear the hearts of everyone in the room stutter in their chests.

“Thanks. Thank you. I’m, I’m a little…” He hesitates. Chris can see him swallow. “Afraid I had to leave the rock ‘n roll at home this time. Hope that’s alright.”

He clears his throat again but before Chris can gesture at Matt to bring him some water, Lori is there with a bottle, unscrewing it and handing it over with a smile.

“Thanks. Throat’s a bit sore,” Jensen explains into the mic before taking a sip. Chris can see quite a few people curl their fingers into fists. “Anyway, hope you enjoy.”

He looks down, strumming the guitar a few times, just letting it hum its contentment, then he starts plucking the strings, fingers moving like a light-footed ballerina, fast and confident with a skill that Chris had no idea he possessed. Damn. Where did the kid learn to play like that? Jensen looks up to find Chris in the audience, just like Chris told him to do, but the intensity of his gaze still hits Chris like a warm breeze. Then Jensen starts singing, his voice low and hoarse.

Chris swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He takes a gulp of whiskey, the burn of it bringing heat into his cheeks and tipping his ears red. Well, it must be the whiskey because damn if he’s blushing just because a pretty boy is singing a sweet song at him. Not to him, at him. As instructed. That’s all it is. Goddammit, man, grab a hold of yourself.

The glass is suddenly empty and when he waves absentmindedly for a refill, the bottle appears like magic at his table. Maybe it’s Matt’s way of apologizing, yet again, for their argument. Chris doesn’t really care. He can’t take his eyes off Jensen, any more than anyone else in the room. Every now and then Jensen glances his way and smiles, and every damn time Chris’s heart clenches in his chest. Jesus, the kid is just… God, how is he so beautiful?

As one soft song follows another, a weird mood settles over the bar. It’s not like there’s always wild dancing and rowdy singing but even on their most quiet nights it’s never been like this. It reminds Chris of late-night parties back in high school, when the few people still left standing were just talking in hushed tones, sharing a joint or passing a bottle, some of them making out, while someone, usually Chris, sat a little off-center, quietly strumming a guitar.

The audience must feel it too, they seem reluctant to talk, and not just because of Chris’s warning. Maybe out of respect for Jensen’s obvious ordeal. Maybe because they’re remembering so many of their own. Or maybe because they can feel this is a special night, unlikely to be repeated.

Chris loses time. It’s like he’s caught in a magic spell as the music and Jensen lull him into a trance. Everything else, the crowd, the heavy air, the smell of booze and even the taste of the whiskey he keeps pouring down his throat, it all fades into the background. He doesn’t notice the tempo start to slow down even more, the singing getting quieter. Only a few whispers stir the air. Chris is about to pour himself yet another drink when the song Jensen’s singing tapers off and then he just sits there in the expectant silence, head hanging, for a long time before he looks up at Chris and whispers, hoarse and embarrassed, “I’m sorry. I’m all out.”

Shit. Chris gets up quickly, staggering a little as the alcohol hits his brain. He hurries to the stage, feeling guilty as hell. He’d been so lost in the music, in Jensen, he hadn’t been paying attention, but now he can see Jensen is trembling, and his face is so pale the bruises stand out like ink on his skin.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, darlin’,” Chris says, keeping his voice low as he lays a steadying hand on Jensen’s shoulder. His words are slurred, his tongue feels thick in his mouth. How much did he drink? Dammit. “I lost track of time. Y’alright?”

Jensen’s head falls forward, resting heavy against Chris’s stomach. “Tired,” he mumbles. “Everything hurts.”

Fuck. Fuck. Chris has no idea what time it is, how long Jensen’s been at it, but they haven’t taken a single break. “I’mma take care of you. Can you stand up, sweetheart? Or you’d rather sit while I get everyone out?”

“I can stand,” Jensen says, but when he tries the knee on his bad leg buckles and Chris only just manages to catch him.

“I got you, darlin’,” he murmurs, tucking his shoulder under Jensen’s arm and grabbing a hold of his waist. Jensen’s back is drenched with sweat, the heat of his skin soaking into Chris’s side. Chris lets out a shaky breath. His heart is racing in his chest from the mix of alcohol and rush of emotions he has no idea where are coming from. It’s okay. It’s alright. He just has to hold it together long enough to get Jensen upstairs.

When he looks up there’s a sea of worried faces staring at them. Chris throws the crowd a stiff smile. “That’s all for tonight, folks. Don’t forget to tip.”

Someone starts to clap but is instantly shushed, like they’re in church and not closing a gig in a damn country dive.

Chris lowers Jensen to sit on the edge of the stage, waving Matt over to help him before jumping down. Danneel hurries over to pack up Jensen’s guitar, handling it with as much reverence as a holy relic. As Matt and Chris each drape one of Jensen’s arms over their shoulders, and start the slow trek across the room, the crowd parts like the Red Sea, making a path to the back door. Someone starts to hum. It takes Chris a moment to recognize it as Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive, hummed slow and quietly like a hymn, and by then others have joined in, more and more, until the whole room is vibrating like a beehive. It’s the strangest scene Chris has ever witnessed and grabs his heart like no other he can remember experiencing. He’s run this bar for three years, but this is the first time he’s felt the strong sense of community, of joined pain and solidarity, on his own skin. It makes him wonder why he’s been so reluctant to be a part of it. He might not be gay but he’s something. Maybe it’s time he starts thinking about what that means.

By the time they make it upstairs Jensen is not so much dragging his feet as completely off them. Matt helps Chris lower Jensen onto the bed in his room before reluctantly backing out, leaving them alone. Danneel has already run back downstairs, having left Jensen’s guitar by the door. Chris checks his watch. It’s roughly an hour until closing time (which means Jensen was on stage for way too long without a break. Dammit!) but he bets the place will empty pretty soon. He doesn’t think he’s ever had so many customers buy so little booze. He doubts a single order was placed while Jensen was singing. Or maybe they will hang around after all, if only to drown some of the feelings tonight performance obviously stirred. Either way, he’s going to let Matt close up. He’s got more important things to take care of.

“Hey, sweetheart. You with me?” he says, tugging off Jensen’s sneakers, one after the other.

Jensen’s eyes slit open but close again, his eyebrows knotting. “Hurts,” he whimpers and Chris’s heart clenches at the pain in his voice.

“Where, darlin’?” he asks, brushing Jensen’s hair out of his eyes. “Where you hurtin’?”

“Back. Leg. Arm.” Jensen hitches his breath. “Fuckin’ everywhere.”

“Shh. Alright. C’mon, darlin’. Out of these clothes and then I’mma get you somethin’ for the pain.”

He helps Jensen sit up and peel off the sweat-soaked t-shirt. Jensen fumbles with the fly of his jeans but then he just gives up and slumps back on the pillows, sucking in his breath as the movement jolts his back.

“Lemme,” Chris says and tries not to feel like a goddamn pervert as he undoes the button and pulls down the zipper on Jensen’s jeans, his fingers shaking from the booze buzzing in his veins. “Okay, can you lift… Good.” He pulls the jeans off the rest of the way which proves no easy feat because they really are incredibly tight. What the hell was he thinking, buying them like that? He's never worn tight jeans in his life.

The guilt churns in his stomach as he goes to fetch a glass of water and a couple of painkillers. Why did he let Jensen play for so long? Why didn’t he insist the kid take a break? Why didn’t he notice Jensen was in pain? Why did he even let him go on stage tonight when it’s so obvious he’s far from fit? And God, Chris thinks, as he stumbles and almost spills the water all over himself, why the hell did he drink so much? His goddamn head is swimming.

Once again he helps Jensen sit up so he can swallow the pills but this time Chris makes sure to lower him gently back down on the pillow to keep him from hurting his back again. Jensen is sweating, his breathing is labored, his face so pale he looks like he’s about to faint.

Chris sits on the edge of the bed and tugs a strand of Jensen’s hair behind his ear. “I’m so sorry, darlin’. I shoulda noticed you were hurtin’. Shoulda told you to take a break, to stop when you got tired. I’m a goddamn idiot.”

“It’s okay,” Jensen mumbles. “I should have said. I just…” His eyes slit open, gazing at Chris through long lashes. “Didn’t wanna let you down. Liked the way you looked at me.”

Chris swallows. “Liked lookin’ at you, love. You were… Damn, kid. I-”

“Not a kid,” Jensen interjects, fumbling for Chris’s hand where it rests against Jensen’s cheek. He hadn’t even noticed. “Not a kid.” Jensen turns his head, kissing the inside of Chris’s wrist. “You can look all you want,” he sighs, his eyes falling shut. “If you like what you’re seeing.”

Chris sucks in his breath. “Darlin’, you don’t even know… Fuck.” He cradles Jensen’s face in the palm of his hand, feeling the smooth skin of Jensen’s cheek against his calloused fingertips. “You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he whispers.

“Don’t.” Jensen squeezes his eyes shut. He sounds like he’s about to cry. “I’m not- I’m just me.”

“I know,” Chris says and leans down and kisses him.

Jensen wakes up with a groan. His arm aches, his leg isn’t much better, his back feels like it’s on fire. He blinks his eyes open, staring blearily up at an unfamiliar ceiling before he remembers where he is. Before he remembers…

He turns his head, expecting to see Chris sleeping beside him. Chris, who’d kissed him so gently last night, his lips tasting of whiskey, his tongue burning with it as he licked inside Jensen’s mouth. Kissed him until Jensen felt dizzy, even if he was lying down, and had to grab hold of Chris’s shirt to keep the world from spinning. Kissed him and laughed drunkenly into Jensen’s mouth, like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. Kissed him and tumbled into bed beside him, warm hand stroking Jensen’s hair, his shoulder, down his chest, his stomach, going still at the last moment, palm warm where it came to rest just below his bellybutton. Kissed him and Jensen kissed hungrily back, between Chris’s soft murmurs of “Want you,” and “Don’t know what you do to me,” and “So beautiful, love, so goddamn gorgeous.” Kissed him until Chris’s lips fell slack with a sigh and he fell asleep with Jensen’s tongue still in his mouth.

He's not there. Jensen is alone. The sheets are cold next to him. The only proof he didn’t dream the whole thing are a couple of long hairs, clinging to his pillow.

Jensen closes his eyes. There’s a painful pull in the pit of his stomach. Fuck.

By the time Jensen gets out of the shower, Chris is in the kitchen, scrambling eggs and frying bacon by the smell of it. He glances over his shoulder and mumbles a greeting before turning back, his shoulders tense. Jensen hurries to his room and gets dressed. The hot shower softened his muscles considerably but he’s still limping when he goes over to sit in front of the plate of food waiting for him, along with a steaming cup of coffee. Chris is already eating, focusing on his food like it’s the most interesting thing he’s seen in years.

Jensen drinks up half of his coffee for strength, before putting the mug down. “This really how you wanna do this?”

Chris goes still.

“So, what is it? You feel guilty ‘cause you think you’re too old for me? Or what, you’re panicking ‘cause I’m a guy and you’re, you know, ‘not gay’? Or are we going with the old ‘I was drunk and didn’t mean it’ defense? Which one is it?” His voice keeps rising, he hadn’t even realized how angry he is.

Chris looks up. His eyes are bloodshot, and he looks so tired, like he hasn’t gotten any sleep at all. “Jensen…”

Jensen stands up so abruptly his leg almost gives out. Chris never calls him by his name. He calls him kid and darling and son and sweetheart and his boy, and once even baby, but he never calls him by his name.

“Forget it, I don’t care.” Jensen turns away, his throat hurting and his eyes burning hot.

“I was drunk,” Chris says, voice like gravel. “I was… It was wrong of me to… I’m sorry.”

“I said forget it.” Jensen squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m not hungry. I’m gonna…” He stops because he has nothing to do and nowhere to go and Chris is right, this was a fucking bad idea. What’s he supposed to do now? Where is he supposed to go?

“Jensen…”

“What, you can’t even call me ‘kid’ anymore?” Jensen snaps. “Too fucking pedophilic for you now?”

“What? No! I’m not… It’s your fuckin’ name!” Chris growls.

“Yeah. It is my fucking name.”

Jensen limps into his room, closing the door behind him. He sits down on the bed and looks around. He doesn’t own a single thing in here except his guitar. Everything else Chris owns or bought for him. He hasn’t even got his bloodstained clothes back because Chris doesn’t own a washer and they haven’t gone to the laundromat yet. He supposes he made some money last night but probably not that much. He was half out of it by the end, but he can’t remember anyone even clapping. Maybe they were disappointed because he only played slow songs. He’d just been so tired, and everything hurt so much.

There’s a knock on the door and Chris steps inside. He has an envelope in his hand that he puts at the end of the bed, eyes downcast like he can’t even stand to look at him.

“For last night,” he mumbles then just stands there, hovering.

“Thanks,” Jensen says stiffly because no matter what, Chris is still his boss.

“Look,” Chris starts then stops, huffing air through his nose like an angry bull. “I’m sorry,” he finally says and damn is Jensen tired of it.

“For what?” he asks, feeling increasingly bitter.

Chris blinks. “What?”

“What the hell is it you’re sorry for? Please, explain. I wanna know.”

Chris frowns, eyes blinking rapidly like he’s flipping through different options. “This whole situation,” he finally says. “Never meant for it to get like this.”

“For what to get like what?” Jensen insists, jaw tight.

Chris throws up his hands in frustration. “Why you bein’ like this? You know what I mean!”

“No, I really don’t,” Jensen snaps. “‘Cause I liked it, okay? I liked it. And now you’re acting like kissing me was the worst fucking thing you’ve ever done!”

“Jen-” Chris sighs. “Darlin’, no. That ain’t what I’m sayin’.”

“Then what? Because… because I don’t get…” Jensen swallows but the lump just won’t leave his throat. “Is it ‘cause I’m- I know what I look like! You think I don’t know? I’m too fucking ‘pretty’! Like a girl, that’s what I am. Maybe you just saw this,” he points at his face, “and forgot what I was and then you woke up and realized you’d been making out with a guy and-“

“Darlin’, stop. No. That’s not…” Chris walks over to sit at the end of the bed, shoulders slumped. “No. I know what you are. You may be pretty but you’re a pretty man, not a woman. And I ain’t got no problem with that.”

“Yeah, right,” Jensen sneers. “You said you weren’t gay.”

“I ain’t.” Chris sighs when Jensen rolls his eyes in annoyance. “I’m guessin’ you didn’t get much education in these things back home but there’re a lot more colors in that rainbow than you think.”

Not that again! “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Jesus, kid, you really don’t know anythin’, do ya?” Chris closes his eyes briefly, as if begging for strength, before giving Jensen a patient look. “Alright. You already know some people like their own. Like you. Well, some people like both and some people like… whatever, they don’t care. Hell, some people don’t like any of ‘em.”  He scowls. “Stop whatever you’re thinkin’, it’s all just as real as bein’ plain straight or gay.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” Jensen denies hotly, even if he had been thinking that sounded like some people were just really confused. Or in denial.

“Sure,” Chris snorts. “Think I don’t know what people say? Not just straight folks but our own. People like you that think it can only be one way or the other. Runnin’ a place like this, I hear it all. And since we’re on the subject, there’s a lot more in that rainbow than just what people like, it’s also what they are. ‘Cause people are all kinds. Like them that look like one thing now but started out as somethin’ different that just didn’t fit’em.”

At Jensen’s blank stare Chris rolls his eyes. “You didn’t look around at all downstairs? Didn’t wonder why some of those stunnin’ ladies are so fuckin’ tall? Didn’t notice there’s some you can’t tell are men or women? ‘Cause they’re neither. Or one version of the other. And some, some are one thing one day and somethin’ else the other, depends on what they feel like.” A smile tugs at his lips. “Can get a bit confusin’, sure, but it’s a damn beautiful thing, seein’ people feelin’ safe enough to be who they are. Don’t matter if I understand all of it. It ain’t about me. That’s what I mean by Haven bein’ queer friendly. People don’t come here for the beer, they don’t even come for the music, they come ‘cause it’s a place for all kinds to feel safe.”

Chris’s lips go thin, jaw ticking. “Why you think those fuckers that beat you up came here lookin’ for trouble? ‘Cause the people who come here, they’re people who’re different. All kinds of different. And assholes like that don’t like different. They want everyone to look and act just like them. To fit in their square little box.” He takes a deep breath. “I ain’t in that box. I dunno where I fit but I know I ain’t there. I’m over halfway to thirty and still tryin’ to figure out who I am. But if you need a word, you can call me queer, cause whatever else I am, I know I’m that. That good enough for ya?”

Jensen hesitates. “Isn’t that a bad word?”

Chris shrugs. “To them, all our words are bad. ‘Cause we’re all bad, and wrong and not supposed to fuckin’ be here. But they don’t get a say in what words we use. ‘Cause they’re our words. And we’ve got a whole lot of’em.” He gives Jensen a stern look. “And if you’re gonna stay here, you’re gonna have to learn them and what they mean ‘cause I ain’t havin’ you disrespectin’ anyone in my bar. And that includes me.”

Jensen’s face heats up. “Wasn’t trying to disrespect anyone. I just… didn’t know it was that complicated,” he admits.

Chris sighs. “Fair enough. You can’t know what you ain’t been told. But you can educate yourself.”

“I tried,” Jensen says, incensed. “I mean, at first when I… When I realized. There were no books on stuff like that at the library back home and Mrs. Bower kept watching me when I tried to use the computer. And we only had the one computer at home and Dad would have killed me if…” He glances up to find Chris watching him with what looks like pity. “I’m not stupid! I just didn’t have anyone to ask.”

Chris nods slowly. “I’m startin’ to get that. I mean, I didn’t have anyone either but… No one paid much attention to what I was doin’. They look at me, all they see is a straight shooter.”

“Lucky bastard,” Jensen mutters. What he wouldn’t have given to be just one of the guys. He’d tried, he really had, but he’d been too delicate, too… feminine. There was just no hiding that.

“Am I?” Chris shrugs, lips pinched. “Means everyone thinks I’m somethin’ I’m not. And then they get mad if they find out, like they figure I’ve been lyin’ to them. Got me in a fight one time too many.” He closes his eyes briefly, before straightening up, flicking his hair back. “So, I figured it weren’t any of their goddamn business what I was. Not like I was gonna hook up in my place of work anyway. Except with Steve and that’s more like… exchangin’ favors.”

Jensen frowns. He just feels more confused. “So you’re… queer, but only with Steve?”

Chris snorts. “I’m always queer, darlin’, no matter who I’m with. Just like you’re always gay, even if I’m guessin’ you ain’t been with anyone.”

It’s like a slap in the face and Jensen reacts without thinking. “I could be with you if you weren’t such a fucking chicken!”

Chris recoils. “What?”

“Whatever the fuck you are, you still ran off like a pussy,” Jensen snarls. “And you keep going on and on, but you still haven’t given me one good reason why you don’t wanna be with me. So yeah, I’m saying you’re a big damn chicken.”

Chris’s scowl would be scary if Jensen wasn’t so damn angry. “No. That ain’t it. It’s just a bad idea. Me bein’ your boss. And you livin’ here. That’s why. I was drunk, yeah, but that changes nothin’. Done much worse things drunk than kiss a pretty face.”

Jensen stills. Of course, that’s all it was. His fucking pretty face.

“Darlin’,” Chris says softly, regret lacing his voice as he reaches out for him. “I didn’t mean…”

Jensen shifts away so Chris’s fingers only brush his elbow. “Are you done?” he says coldly. “Cause I’m tired and I wanna lay down.”

Chris sighs but he doesn’t argue, just stands up. He pauses in the doorway and looks back. “Weren’t just ‘cause you’re pretty, even if you’re so goddamn beautiful it makes me fuckin’ stupid lookin’ at you.” He seems about to add something but then he shakes his head and walks out, closing the door softly behind him.

Jensen throws himself flat on his stomach and buries his face in the pillow, screaming out his frustration. ‘Pretty’. ‘Goddamn beautiful’. Like he’s a doll. Or a girl. Somehow it always comes back to that and fuck, he’s so goddamn tired of it.

He’s heard it so many times, from his dad, his grandpa, his brother… from the bullies at school, even his teachers. Mocking him, sneering, because in their eyes there was nothing worse for a boy than to be feminine. For all the progression supposed to have happened the last few decades, where he grew up they might as well have been going backwards.

And still they were better than the ones who look at him like... like they want to break him, just to prove they’re real men. Their eyes hungry but their minds furious for lusting after his face when his body is so wrong. Was barely in his teens when he learned to recognize that look, learned to run and hide, but not before- And always hands, touching him. Soft touches turned hard and cruel when they realized what they were doing. Cruel and painful.

He’d thought so many times of doing something to make them stop. Stood with a knife in front of the mirror, hand trembling as he moved the edge closer to his face. Feeling the coolness of the steel brushing his skin. He’d never managed to go through with it, always twitched away at the last moment, leaving at most a small drop of blood from the tiniest nick that’d be gone within a week.

Because the truth is, he doesn’t hate his face. It’s all he knows after all. Plus, it feels somewhat traitorous to fall in league with the assholes that despise him. To agree with his dad. But he doesn’t love it either. His views on beauty are probably skewed, he’s never felt drawn to the more delicate features of girls after all, and so has a hard time seeing the appeal of his own looks.

He still has no use for a razor, his skin as smooth as it’s ever been. His lips are oddly plump; it’s been thrown in his face what they’re good for more times than he wants to remember. His skin blushes too easily, his eyes are too big, his eyelashes too long. Bottom line, nothing of what he finds attractive in men is there when he looks at himself in the mirror. So why would anyone want him when all they see is something he’s not?

Like Chris. He might like men on occasion but, judging by Steve, he clearly likes them manly. Despite Steve’s long hair, and what Jensen’s dad would consider hippie appearance, he is clearly male, no doubt about it. His face is broad, his forehead high, his cheeks peppered in stubble. His body strong and compact and… musky.

Jensen is none of these things. Jensen has more in common with the waitress at that coffee place they went to. Well, from the neck up anyway. Which, despite Chris’s objections, Jensen feels sure is why Chris kissed him last night. Not because Chris likes him as a guy, but because he thinks Jensen is ‘pretty’ and ‘goddamn beautiful’ and in his drunken haze he’d switched over to his straight side - or however that works when you are whatever Chris is - and wasn’t until he woke up this morning that he realized he’d gotten it all turned around. And now he’s trying to dismiss it by finding stupid reasons why them kissing is the worst thing ever.

Jensen sighs. Alright, they’re not bad reasons. In fact, if the real reason wasn’t so blatantly obvious to him, Jensen would have been hard set not to agree. After all, he’d thought of these reasons himself before this stupid thing happened. Chris is his boss and his landlord and if things went sour between them… Like they just did.

He groans. Fuck.

Chris is right. Them hooking up is a bad idea. Of course it is. As much as he hates to admit it, Chris is actually being the reasonable one, the adult, because Jensen is being stupid and horny and lovesick-

Oh.

Jensen lifts his head, blinking.

Oh no. No.

Fuck!

Doesn’t matter if it’s stupid hero-worshipping from Chris saving him too many times. Or because he’s lonely and Chris is the first one to show him any kindness in longer than he can remember. Or because Chris is the first one to make him feel safe, the first one to treat him like he mattered, the first to kiss him without anger…

Doesn’t matter what the reason is, Jensen is falling in love with him.

Jensen buries his face again in the pillow. He wants to scream. Why does he have to be so goddamn stupid?

Chris is sitting in his truck, staring out at the rain pouring down the windshield. When his phone rings his heart jumps, until he sees the name on the display. He groans. What now? He doesn’t even get out a growly ‘What?’ before Steve is yelling in his ear.

“Have you lost your goddamn mind? What the fucking hell are you doing? He’s a fucking kid, Chris!”

For a second he panics, thinking Steve was there last night, in the room with them, maybe even in bed. He was blind drunk but not that drunk, right? “What the fuck you on about?”

“I did as you said,” Steve says, sounding like he’s gritting his teeth. “Came by last night to see your boy wonder. And yeah, I saw alright. Saw you mooning over him like he’s your fucking dream girl come true. Saw him looking at you like you’re his goddamn lord and savior. Don’t even try telling me you’re not screwing that kid. What the fuck, man? Is he even legal?”

“Shut up!” Chris sputters. “It ain’t-! No.”

“No? Like hell, ‘no’! I walked right up to you, and you were so busy gazing starry eyed at that pretty boy you didn’t even notice!”

“That what this is? You jealous?” Chris asks incredulous. Whatever they are, they’re not that.

Steve sighs. “I’m not fucking jealous, you moron. I’m fucking worried. What the hell are you thinking?”

His heart is hammering in his chest. “I’m not… It’s not…” He stops. Fuck. Squeezing his eyes shut he swallows past the lump in his throat. “He’s so damn beautiful, Steve. I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh Jesus.” He hears Steve laugh, strained, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing even if he’s the one that asked. “Chris, baby, since when have you ever let a pretty face fuck with your head, huh? What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know, man. I swear. I keep tellin’ myself it’ll pass but then I look at him and…” He hasn’t wanted to admit it to himself but he’s never going to get past it. Especially not now. Not after what they did. What he did. “Shit, Steve, last night… I screwed up. And now he hates me and I… I swear I didn’t mean to. I was just so damn drunk and he was so beautiful and… I screwed up.”

There’s silence for a nervating long time. “What did you do?” Steve finally asks, voice strained. “Did you…. Chris, did you hurt him?”

“Well, he’s in his room cryin’ so… yeah,” Chris mutters, face hot with shame.

“No, I mean, did you hurt him?” Steve hisses.

Chris recoils. What the hell? “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? No, I didn’t rape him, you fuckin’ asshole! How can you even…? I kissed him, alright? I kissed him! That’s all. We kissed. A lot. And then… I passed out, I guess, ‘cause I was piss drunk and then I woke up and panicked and when I tried to make him see why hookin’ up would be the worst idea ‘cause I’m his boss and he fuckin’ lives with me, he got real angry and called me a goddamn chicken. Oh, and then he got mad ‘cause I called him pretty which apparently means I think he’s a girl and that’s why I’m panickin’ ‘cause I told him I ain’t gay and the kid’s so damn ignorant and naïve he’s never even heard of bisexuality or… fuck, anythin’. It’s like he’s from the fuckin’ nineties, and I swear to God, if you don’t stop laughin’, I’ll come over and beat your fuckin’ ass!”

There’s hiccupping for a long while before Steve finally manages to wheeze out, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry but… You’re killing me, man. You are the most ridiculous asshole I’ve ever met. And good for him for standing up to your bullshit! You’ve been throwing that ‘not gay’ line around for too damn long, hearing you actually admit you’re bi is just… I’m proud of you, man. I’m real proud.”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Really?” Steve deadpans. “Because it sounds to me like you’d rather fuck him.”

Chris groans. “I hate you. I hate you so fuckin’ much. And I never said I was straight, dickhead. Not gay don’t mean straight.”

“I know. I’ve seen your dick way too often to believe that. But you know it sounds that way.”

“Whatever,” Chris grumbles, even if of course he fucking knows it does. “Ain’t sure I’m bi anyway, just threw that out there ‘cause apparently ‘queer’ is a bad word,” he rants. “The kid don’t know trans from trains but TERF propaganda apparently is alive and well in the good ol’ Reagan era he time travelled from.”

Steve sighs. “I hear ya. Still proud, man. Whatever you settle on. I know it’s not easy.” Steve clears his throat. “Hey, for what it’s worth, you were right.”

“About what?” Chris mutters, suspicious. Lately, from where he’s standing, all he’s done and said has been wrong.

“The kid is good. Only stayed for a couple of songs but… damn, man. It sure was something. I can’t blame you for falling in love.”

Chris blinks. “What?”

But Steve has already hung up, leaving Chris staring at his own reflection in the rain spattered windshield. Love? Oh no. No, no. That’s not what this is. No way in hell that’s what this is! Infatuation, yeah, he’ll admit to that. Lust, more than a little. But love? Not that he’s actually ever been in love, but he’d know if that was happening. For one thing, it sure as hell can’t be this goddamn frustrating.

Matt looks like he wants to start preaching about Jensen again so Chris ducks away and pretends he has to check the stage gear. Which is not a lie, but maybe doesn’t need his undivided attention like he’s pretending. There’s no act tonight, with his regular girl having to cancel after been offered a gig upstate, and no time to fill in with such short notice. Maybe he’ll do a few songs himself. Or just leave it. Mondays are pretty quiet anyway, usually solo acts and no band, with people looking for a simple drink after work before going home, rather than to dance and hook up. Maybe he’ll just tell Matt to go home and work the bar himself. He’s no good with cocktails but this early in the week most people just go for a beer and maybe some whiskey, sometimes a shot or two. Nothing too fancy. Plus, it would give him an excuse to stay down here all night. As well as postpone the lecture he just knows Matt is itching to give him. What is it with everyone going at him lately? Wasn’t this why he decided to be his own boss and not work for some jerk who’d be on his back all the time? Instead he’s getting chewed out by his own damn employees.

“Hey, boss?”

He takes a moment to feel relieved it’s Danneel and not Matt before he turns around with a strained smile on his face. “Yeah?”

“Just wanted to ask, how is he? Jensen, I mean.” She bites her lip when he just looks at her, wondering how to answer that question. “He looked pretty done in last night. Was he really hurt that bad?”

“Bad enough,” Chris says. Worse than I thought, he thinks, feeling guilty. It was a nasty beating, but the kid should be better by now. Maybe he should have taken him to the ER after all. He could have figured something out about the insurance. Lied and said it happened on the premises, that should make him qualify for employee insurance. Except they never made a contract or anything to back that up. “He’ll be alright, honey. He just overdid it. My fault. I shoulda been payin’ attention.”

“Can’t blame you, boss. Last night… You guys told me he was good but wow! That boy is hot stuff!” She fans herself and just like that, anger flares in Chris’s chest. It must show on his face because she drops the grin and takes a step back. “I should get back to work.”

He grits his teeth. “Yeah. You should.”

She hurries away, looking awkward and embarrassed and more than a little nervous but he’s too angry to care. She has no business talking about Jensen like that. None!

Turns out she managed to distract him just long enough for Matt to sneak up on him. Suddenly he’s right there, looking up at Chris from the dance floor, a worried expression on his face. Great. “What?” Chris growls.

“The kid, is he-”

“He’s fine! For fuck’s sake!” Chris snaps. “You’d think we’d never had a pretty boy sing here before!”

“We’ve never had a beaten-up kid almost pass out on stage because his boss was too busy drooling over him like a goddamn pervert to let him take a fucking break!” Matt shouts. Then his eyes widen in alarm as he catches himself, way too late.

Chris draws in a breath, nostrils flaring. “What the fuck did you just say?” he snarls. His heart speeds up so fast he feels dizzy, the edges of his vision turning red. He jumps off the stage and stalks toward Matt, the fury so wild in his head he can’t think of anything but how goddamn satisfying it will be to feel Matt’s bones crack under his fists.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean…” Matt backs away quickly, eyes frantic. “Boss! I’m sorry!”

He bumps into a chair and loses his balance, falling on his ass on the floor, and Chris is on him in seconds. He grabs Matt by the front of his shirt and hauls him halfway up, fist raised and ready.

Mat grabs his wrist, fingers digging in and elbows locked. “Chris, stop! Stop! Please, don’t hit me! Chris! Please! STOP!”

Chris freezes, eyes blinking rapidly as the world snaps back into focus. Matt is staring up at him, eyes so wide the whites are showing, breath coming in short, panicked inhales. Chris looks at his fist and the air goes out of him with a whoosh. He stumbles back, the blood draining from his face so fast the room starts spinning. His hands shake. He thinks he might throw up. “Shit. Matt, I’m…”

He stops because this is beyond ‘Sorry’, this is beyond ‘I didn’t mean to' and ‘I never would have’. He doesn’t know what made him snap out of it, but if he hadn’t, he just knows he would have beaten Matt to a bloody pulp. Just like his old man did to his mama. And just like then, there would have been no coming back from it, for either of them.

“You want me to call the cops?” Danneel asks.

It takes Chris a good second to realize she’s not talking to him, she can’t even look at him, she’s purposedly watching Matt who’s shaking his head as he stumbles to his feet, still backing away from Chris, eyes never leaving his face. Like he’s a rabid dog that could pounce any second. And that’s what he is, right? A rabid dog that should be put down. That’s what he thought of his dad, all those years ago, and now he’s in that same place, making his old man proud by following in his bloody footsteps.

“You…” He clears his throat; it’s so dry he can hardly get the words out. He’d kill for a whiskey. The desperate need is another harsh eye-opener. “You can. Should. Or I’ll go. Turn myself in.”

“For what? Yelling at me?” Matt’s voice trembles. Chris can’t remember ever seeing him so shaken.

“We both know that ain’t where I was headin’. I’d have-” Chris breaks off, swallowing. “I’d say I was sorry, but that’s for nothin’ if I’d killed you. So, we can tell’em I was gonna do that ‘cause that’s what would have happened if I’d started beatin’ on you. I know it, you know it. How things been goin’ lately it’s just as likely I’ll snap again, sooner than you know. Better lock me up before that happens.”

They stand staring at each other, Chris keeping as still as he can, face blank because if he moves a single muscle it will be to break down and cry, and he doesn’t deserve to.

Matt swallows. “You need to take your meds.” When Chris nods, Matt continues, voice rising, “And go to your fucking therapist! And, I don’t know, meditate! Do fucking yoga!”

“I know.”

“Then why the fuck don’t you?” Matt yells, voice breaking. “I thought we were friends, man. I thought… You’d have fucking killed me?”

Chris’s knees start to shake and he fumbles for a chair, falling rather than sitting down on it. “This thing, it don’t care if we’re friends or not,” he confesses. “My old man loved my mama, loved me, but when the rage got him, we could as well been strangers.”

The shocked look on Matt’s face makes Chris realize he’s never told him, has never told any of them, except Steve and Jensen.

“Last time, he beat her so bad she couldn’t get up. Never did. Brain scrambled so bad he might as well have shot her. When he came to…” He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the room gets so blurry he can’t see them staring at him anymore. “It broke his heart. Literally. He keeled over, clutchin’ her bloody body in his arms. She lived a couple more days, then she went as well.”

“How old were you?” Danneel whispers.

He looks over at her and then away because he doesn’t deserve her pity. “Nine. Almost ten. Don’t matter. What matter is…” He looks up at Matt, wiping at his eyes until he can see him properly because this is important. “He loved her and he still killed her. You are my friend, Matt, I care for you like a brother. But if I’d gotten to you just now… yeah, I might have killed you. Cause this thing, this rage, it’s all-consumin’. And once it gets a hold of me it don’t let go until one of us is down.”

“You know this?” Matt says, voice shrill. “You know this, and still you don’t take your meds? What the fuck is wrong with you??”

Chris drops his head, staring down at his hands that lie twitching in his lap. “The meds calm the beast but they kill the man. I ain’t me. I can’t think, I can’t… I can’t feel much of anythin’.” He looks up. “But I’ll take’em. I will. I’m sorry I let it get like this. I thought I could handle it. I thought…” His voice trails off as his head drops again. “I’m sorry.”

There’s silence for a moment, with Matt still breathing harshly, like he’s been running for his life. “I believe you,” he finally says but he still sounds furious. “And I’m sorry they make you feel like that but… If you don’t take them, you’re as much a danger in here as those queer-bashers out there. Not just to me but to everyone. And you’ve got Jensen now…” Chris looks up, alarmed, but Matt continues, oblivious, “…living with you. You already hurt him once. What if-”

“What you mean I already hurt him?” Chris cuts in, dread rising in his chest.

“You know. When you grabbed his bad arm and yanked his back all out of whack. When you had your rage attack.” Matt stops when Chris just stares at him in horror. “Oh. You didn’t know?”

“Shit.” He stands up so quickly his head spins. “Why didn’t you say somethin’?”

“I thought you knew!” Matt yells after him as he starts running. “We’re not done talking about this!”

“I know! Meds, therapy, yoga!” Chris shouts back, taking the steps two at a time, his heart beating so fast he fears he might have another attack, just from panicking.

Continued here.