Fic: Haven. RPS. Chris/Jensen. NC-17. Chapter 3/11

[felisblanco]

Continued from here.



“You sure you should be up?” Matt asks. He still looks guilty and it’s goddamn annoying. He came in early, allegedly to help restock, but Chris doesn’t buy it. He can practically see the questions burning on Matt’s lips.

“I’m fine,” Chris grumbles. He’s tired, not because of what happened but because Steve didn’t leave until three in the fucking morning, complaining about having to drive home instead of, as usual, sleep over in Chris’s bed. And because the couch is hell to sleep on. For a moment Chris had contemplated just shoving Jensen over to the side and crawl into his own bed. Then he came to his senses and downed a shot of whiskey instead to help him ignore the lumps in the couch prodding him everywhere they shouldn’t.

He’d ordered a simple bedframe and a mattress online first thing this morning, to be delivered in the afternoon. Nothing fancy but it will have to do. Bought some proper bedding too.

“Scared the kid half to death,” Matt is saying while hauling another keg in from the storage room. “Came running down here, all shook up.” He puts the keg in place and straightens up, face wary. “You didn’t hit him, did you?”

Chris snaps upright, eyes blazing, and Matt takes a step back, raising his hands. “You don’t always manage to hold back, man. I’m just looking out for the kid.”

“I didn’t fuckin’ hit anyone!” Chris growls. “But I’m seriously thinkin’ ‘bout landin’ one now!”

“Okay, okay.” Matt swallows but clearly his survival instinct is shot to shit because he adds, “So, you and Steve, huh?”

Chris clenches his jaw, nostrils flaring. “Matt? Stay the fuck out of my business.”

“Sorry, I just… I’m sorry about what I said. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Chris swirls around, shoving Matt hard up against the bar, shirt twisted in his fist. “You don’t know anythin’ about me,” he snarls. “You get that? Nothin’!” He lets Matt go with a growl and storms away, seething.

“Jesus, what the hell does it matter?” Matt yells after him. “We’re all fucking queer here, man. No one fucking cares!”

Chris stomps up the stairs, hands shaking. He finds Jensen on the couch, strumming his guitar, singing in a low voice. It’s a déjà-vu of yesterday’s tableau, complete with Chris’s heart hammering in his chest and the fury threatening to overpower him, again. He leans against the door, closes his eyes, and lets the tranquility of Jensen’s music wash over him. Gradually his heartrate slows down and the tension starts to ease.

The room suddenly falls silent, and he opens his eyes to find Jensen looking at him, more than a little wary. “You okay?”

Chris is surprised to find that when he smiles, it’s entirely genuine. “Yeah. Just enjoyin’ the music. You’re damn good, kid.”

“Not a kid,” Jensen says but he looks pleased, his cheeks turning pink. He puts the guitar away and stands up slowly, huffing through his nose as he puts weight on his leg. “Can we go out? I’m going stir crazy in here.”

“I ain’t keepin’ ya,” Chris points out. “You can go wherever you want.”

Jensen bites his lip. He looks away. “Nah, that’s okay. I should probably be practicing anyway.”

He picks up his guitar again and Chris wants to slap the back of his own head. “I’m just messin’ with ya,” he amends quickly. “I could use some fresh air. We could go grab some decent coffee.”

The smile on Jensen’s face lights up the whole damn room. “Yeah? I didn’t wanna say anything but what you’ve got… It’s bad, man. Like real bad.”

“That’s cause you don’t drink it with the proper ingredient,” Chris says, ignoring the way his stomach is doing that weird swoop thing again.

“Decent taste?”

“Funny. A shot of whiskey. Only way to drink coffee,” Chris says, only half joking.

“Only way to drink your coffee, you mean,” Jensen jokes back.

He looks so happy, Chris’s heart clenches in his chest. Damn, how bad does your life have to be that bantering about shitty coffee is enough to make you smile like that? It’s fucked up, is what it is. Chris plasters on a grin and waits while Jensen puts on his sneakers. After watching him struggle with tying his laces while panting through his nose, Chris sighs and crouches down to help him.

“You don’t have to,” Jensen murmurs but he looks relieved. Chris catches a whiff of his own shampoo as he stands up and steps quickly back before he starts thinking about why that makes his stomach tighten.

Chris shoos Jensen toward the back door in case the fuckers that were staking his bar are still out there, but more because he doesn’t want Matt to see them leave together and draw even more nosy conclusions.

Jensen is still limping. Every move clearly hurts him. If anything he seems even worse than yesterday. Chris really hopes he’ll be better tomorrow. Quite a few have asked when the ‘pretty boy’ will be back and Chris would hate to disappoint them. Plus, the kid needs the money.

He drives them to a café downtown that Danneel has been raving about, not only for their coffee but the pastries as well. Chris isn’t much for sweet things, but he can get behind a nice donut if he gets a decent cup of coffee with it. They get a table by the window, Chris smiling at the waitress the way he knows will get him better service, maybe even a discount. Sometimes more. Mostly though to stop her from staring at Jensen’s battered face before he notices. He shoots Jensen a glare when the kid snorts, like he can see right through the charade. Like it is a charade, which yeah, it might be, this time, but not always. Sometimes he even calls them.

“You really got a handle on that southern charm,” Jensen says and for a moment Chris contemplates feeling insulted but it’s not like it’s a lie.

“What can I say, my mama raised me right,” Chris says, which is an actual lie, although she did try. It just didn’t stick long once she was gone. “Ain’t no problem a smile and some manners can’t fix.”

Jensen just shakes his head but he’s grinning and fuck, it’s the most beautiful thing. Chris has to look away for a minute to stop himself from doing something stupid, like saying it out loud. Christ, this kid is really fucking with his head.

“Can I ask you something?” Jensen says and the nervous tension in his voice makes Chris look back at him with more than a little trepidation.

“Guess so,” he says anyway.

“Why…” Jensen stops, looking like he regrets it already. “Why a gay bar?”

Chris frowns. “Queer friendly. There’s a difference.”

Jensen raises one eyebrow, like he’s the coolest motherfucker and not just a kid getting a little too cocky. “Right.”

Chris stares him down. “There’s more than one color in that flag, son,” he finally points out.

Jensen blinks, looking confused. Chris is wondering what the hell is so unclear when the waitress shimmies up to their table. Chris accepts the coffee from her hand, shooting her a smile as she slides a fresh donut in front of him. It’s got a small paper American flag pinned to it, with a phone number scribbled on it in tiny letters. He grins and makes a show of pocketing it, which makes the girl blush and grin. When he looks back at Jensen, he’s shaking his head. “What?”

Jensen snorts. “Like you’re gonna call her.”

“Maybe I am,” Chris snaps, even if he wasn’t planning on it.

“Yeah, sure.” Jensen heaps sugar in his coffee and stirs. “Cause you’re so straight.”

Chris puts the cup down on the saucer with a clatter, loud enough that people turn around to see what’s going on. Jensen’s head snaps up, a startled look on his face. Chris takes a deep breath. What is it with people coming at him with this crap today? “You’d be wise to keep your opinions to yourself,” he says coolly.

Jensen looks honestly confused. “I’m sorry. I thought…”

“What?” Chris growls.

“Nothing. Just…” Jensen swallows. “I heard you and Steve last night.”

The blush is so sudden it makes him slightly dizzy. “That’s none of your business.”

Jensen looks down. “Sorry.”

Chris sips his coffee, silently steaming. Jensen sits still, his coffee and pastry abandoned. He looks like he’s planning to run again. Fuck. Chris sighs. If the kid’s gonna stay with him it was bound to come up sooner or later. “We’re good buddies. Sometimes we fuck. Alright?”

“Alright,” Jensen echoes quietly.

“I ain’t gay. Nothin’ wrong with it,” Chris adds quickly, because he can just imagine what Jensen is thinking. “It just ain’t what I am.”

“Okay,” Jensen says, sounding even smaller. “I wasn’t trying to… I just…” He bites his lip “At home… it was just me. Far as I know. I was just happy ‘cause I thought… It was just nice, not being the only one anymore.”

Chris runs a hand over his face. Shit. “Hey, look at me.” He waits impatiently until Jensen finally raises his head. “You’re not alone. Alright? For one thing I’ve got a bar full of guys like you, any day of the week. And…” He takes a deep breath. “You need to talk, we can talk. You and me. But my business is my business. I don’t like people talkin’ about me behind my back.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Jensen says, looking hurt.

“Good. Now let’s have some nice coffee, without the drama.” He waves to the waitress who comes bouncing over. “Sweetheart, can we get a refill on that coffee? Got a bit carried away talkin’ and hell, this donut looks way too delicious to waste on cold brew.” He winks at her and she giggles, removing their cups and bringing them steaming new ones. “Thank you so much, darlin’. Ain’t you just the sweetest thing.” He gazes after her as she walks away, swinging her hips a little more than necessary, then sighs. “Yeah, you’re right. I ain’t callin’ her. Shame, it’s a nice place.”

“You could still come here,” Jensen mumbles, and Chris has to smile. So naïve.

“Yeah, no, I really can’t.” He shoots Jensen a grin, nodding his chin at the donut. “Better enjoy it while you can.”

“I can still come here,” Jensen points out, grinning a little.

“You can. Maybe I’ll send you on coffee runs.”

Jensen relaxes, laughing softly, and man, it really is a sight, Chris thinks, taking a big bite out of his donut, the filling dripping down his chin.

The bed gets delivered just as Chris is about to head downstairs so all he’s got time for is helping the driver carry it in, shooing Jensen away when he tries to assist. “And don’t try puttin’ it together by yourself either. No use fuckin’ up your back even worse.”

“I’m fine,” Jensen argues but he’s secretly relieved. Limping on his bad leg has made his back hurt even worse and it was plenty bad to begin with.

Chris’s spare room looks like no one’s been in there in ages except to add crap and twirl the dust. There are boxes, some marked BOOKS or PAPERS but others could hold anything. Definitely no room for a bed unless they get rid of those boxes or at least stack them against the wall.

“And no movin’ the boxes either,” Chris says, like he’s reading Jensen’s mind. He looks at the mattress that’s leaning against the door. “Let’s just put it out here tonight and then we can clear this mess tomorrow.”

“You really don’t have to do all this,” Jensen says since he feels he should.

“Don’t have to, want to,” Chris says, voice brooking no argument. Jensen smiles because Chris always looks a little happier when he does. “Listen, you don’t have to sit up here all night. Come downstairs if you want some company.”

Jensen hesitates. “I don’t know.”

Chris sighs. “Just think about it, alright? And eat somethin’ when you get hungry. No more sittin’ around starvin’ just cause I ain’t here to serve your lazy ass.”

“That’s not…” Jensen starts before deciding it’s not worth the argument. “Sure.”

Chris looks at him thoughtfully. “C’mon,” he says and stalks into the kitchen, opening the fridge. “Whatever’s in here, feel free. Eggs, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes… You know how to fry? In a pan.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jensen lies. Only cooking he really knows how to do is outdoors, on a grill. His dad wasn’t about to let his son “pussy around in the kitchen like some woman”. But setting things on fire on the patio was apparently alright.

“Uhuh,” Chris says. He doesn’t look convinced. “Worst case, just have some cereal.” He jabs his thumb at one of the cabinets. “In there. Got a friend who lives on that stuff.”

That would probably be easiest. “What about you? You’re not gonna eat anything?” The donut was nice but that was hours ago and not exactly sustaining.

“I don’t really eat much,” Chris dismisses. His eyes narrow when Jensen frowns. “What?”

“You’re like… nothing but muscles, man,” Jensen says, trying not to sound as awestruck as he feels. “Don’t you need fuel? Plus, you’re taking meds.”

Chris scowls. “Which is why I don’t eat much. They fuck up my appetite.” He slams the fridge shut. “I’ll be downstairs. Call if you need anythin’. Or just walk your sweet ass down. Meet some of those gays you’ve been missin’.”

Jensen steps quickly aside so Chris can stomp past him, face like a thunder cloud. Shit. He really needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. It’s just… Those pills with that little food, mixing with the whiskey Chris drinks most nights, it’s a wonder he’s standing by the time the bar closes.

Jensen ends up frying some eggs and bacon, feeling pretty good about himself when it turns out alright, if a little burned and soaking in fat. He only hesitates a little before stealing one of Chris’s beers. Chris did say he could have whatever was in the fridge. He cleans up after he’s done eating then returns to the couch to play a couple of songs on his guitar. He gets bored soon enough though, feels like he’s been doing nothing else these last few days than play and sleep.

Putting the guitar aside he stands up, gasping and almost falling back down when his back twinges. Fuck. Once he can breathe again, he limps into the kitchen to put away the empty beer bottle, only hesitating a moment before grabbing another. He makes his way into the spare room - his room now - bottle dangling between his fingers. Chris told him not to move any boxes but there’s other stuff he can do.

There’s an empty bookcase standing by one wall, like Chris had bought it for his books and then forgotten all about it. Jensen takes a deep swig of his beer and rips open one of the boxes marked BOOKS then gets to work putting them on the shelves, a couple of books at a time, his movements slow and painful. It’s a surprisingly diverse collection, everything from Grisham to weird sci-fi by authors he’s never even heard of. There are even a few romance novels which he must admit surprise him. Maybe they belonged to an old flame. Maybe Chris is a closet romantic.

He pauses regularly to drink and breathe through the pain, but by the time he’s emptied the first two boxes he’s still damp with sweat, and everything hurts like a motherfucker. He drains what’s left of the beer before going to swallow a couple of painkillers. His head is swimming a little but he’s thirsty, so he picks up another beer on his way back. Chris has plenty, he won’t miss them.

Jensen’s never really got drunk, always too scared of making bad choices if he didn’t keep his head clear, knowing he’d better keep his eyes and hands to himself when they wanted to wander elsewhere. He got bullied and beaten enough for just “looking gay”, he wasn’t about to give them proof that they were right. But here… here he feels safe. And fuck, he deserves to have a fucking drink, after the last couple of days.

There are four boxes containing books. By the time he’s put them all away he’s feeling done in and more than a little lightheaded. He folds the empty boxes before going back to the living room to collapse on the couch, bottle in hand. It’s surprisingly heavy and he realizes he’s fetched another without even thinking about it. He’s kinda lost count but fuck it, he’s too drunk to care. Finding the remote to the tv he flips the channels until he runs across an old western movie that he remembers watching a long time ago, before he realized he was never gonna be the big strong Texas boy his dad was expecting him to be.

Jensen draws his knees up, curling his arms around them. Bet his dad is happy now, being finally rid off him. His mama though… His vision suddenly blurs. A couple of tears break free and he wipes them away with the back of his hand. ‘Never let them see you cry, honey. You know it only makes them angrier.’ But no one is here to see anything so Jensen allows himself to cry a little because he misses his mama and he misses Mac and he never even told them he was leaving and now it’s just them against dad and Josh, not that Jensen was ever any help in standing up to them, he only made things worse because his dad fucking hated him most of all and Josh just loved it, loved being the golden boy, the only son because Jensen was ‘no son of mine, a weakling is what you are, a damn girl’, and Jensen lied, he lied when he told Chris and Steve he didn’t get beaten at home because he’s too ashamed and he couldn’t tell anyone, wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, and the only time he tried his dad backhanded his mama right in front of him and told him that’s what would happen if he ever told people their business again and so he blamed his bruises on falling off his bike and then later, when he started school, he could have blamed it on his bullies but he wasn’t supposed to tell about them either and he didn’t, only once when his mama asked why he was all banged up and she cried so he never told her again and as he got older it just got worse, so much worse, and God, he just got so tired of being so scared all the time, of feeling so weak, so wrong and he thought, he thought if he just got away he would be safe but then his first night here those assholes picked him out and he thought he’d gotten away, that Chris had scared them off but then they, they…

He cries, drunken sobs, snot bubbling out of his nose. Letting out all the stress, all the fear and hurt and grief for a life he hated but at least he knew then what to expect, even if it was all bad. Here, now, everything is so unpredictable, so damn scary. He’d been so determined, so sure he could start a new life, so stupidly optimistic. And now he just feels even smaller and weaker because… Nothing ever changes, he’s always going to be picked out, picked on, beaten up and, and…

When he can finally breathe again, he sits staring out the dark windows, all empty inside. His face feels gross so after a while he stumbles to his feet and limps into the bathroom to wash clean, fetching another beer on his way back. He mutes the TV, sipping slowly from the bottle while he listens to the music coming from downstairs. It’s muffled enough that he can’t really tell what it is but Haven is undeniably country so probably that. Some other pretty boy for Chris to ogle, maybe.

Not gay, sure, Jensen thinks, snorting out loud so the beer threatens to come out of his nose. Typical macho man. Can’t even admit he likes cock. Unless it’s attached to Steve, which apparently doesn’t count. And what was all that about different colors in the rainbow? Like, duh. That’s why it’s a rainbow! Sounds like Chris is in denial. Thinks he’s straight just ‘cause he’s fucked women. Jensen’s heard about that, about men who get married and have kids and everything and then they get caught sticking their dicks down some stranger’s throat in a dirty alley. Straight my ass.

He goes to take another sip only to find the bottle empty. Huh. Pouting he drops it on the floor then sits frowning, contemplating what to do. Maybe he should go downstairs and tell Chris it’s okay, he can totally be gay if he wants to. He’s not married and as far as Jensen knows he doesn’t have any kids. So, what’s to stop him?

Jensen stumbles to his feet, the alcohol somewhat dulling the pain that keeps running like electricity through his body every time he moves. He stands swaying for a moment, wondering how the hell he can be so drunk from just a couple of beers. No wait, three. Four? There might have been four. Maybe five. He snorts and it turns into giggles because Chris is gonna fucking kill him. There was a rule, a rule about drinking, except he can’t quite remember how it went. Oh yeah, no drinking at the bar. But he’s not at the bar, he’s upstairs, above the bar. So, the rule doesn’t apply. Nope, he’s fine. This is fine. He should go downstairs and tell Chris it’s absolutely fine. Right? Right.

He pulls on Chris’s hoodie over his still sweat-damp t-shirt. The sleeves are slightly short but the sweater is comfily wide and the hood smells like Chris’s hair. The spiral staircase proves a bit more difficult than he remembers. It seems to be spinning, like some weird carnival ride, making him dizzy. Finally he’s on solid ground again, in the small room with the door, the door that leads to the bar. Must be because there’s only one door and why would there be a door if it didn’t go anywhere? Jensen opens it carefully, there’s no one in the hallway outside but the music is suddenly a lot louder and ha! He was right, it is country! Goddamn predictable hick. Redneck cowboy. Crazy motherfucker.

There are a lot of people. A lot more people than when he was playing and for a moment he feels insulted but then he remembers he was playing on a Sunday and who the hell goes to a bar on a Sunday? They should be at church or something. Probably. But tonight is Saturday and whoever is playing is pretty damn good. Good enough that there’s cheering and people singing along and dancing and… uhm, those two guys are kissing. Jensen stumbles to a halt, gawking. Oh wow. They’re just making out like… like it’s nothing. Like there aren’t crazy bastards waiting right outside that door to beat them up for being, for being…

Suddenly the noise, and the heat, and the smell of bodies and booze, and the people bumping into him become violently overwhelming. He stumbles back, breathing heavily, trying to get his heart to slow down but it’s no use, it’s already racing the highway to panic. Shit, he has to get out of here! He turns to go back but somehow he’s got turned around, there’s people everywhere and fuck, where’s the door? Why is it so hot in here? God, he can’t breathe! His eyes are darting around, looking for the way back, when they fall on the stage and screech to a halt.

It’s Chris. Chris is on stage. Chris is singing. On stage. Chris is on stage singing. And he looks…

Heat explodes in Jensen’s stomach, spreading downwards. It’s so sudden he staggers, almost losing his balance from the blood in his head rushing where it’s absolutely not supposed to be. Uh. This is not good. This is very, very bad.

“Jensen! Hey, you alright?”

He turns his head. Matt is shoving his way through the crowd, eyes filled with concern. “Hey, kid. You okay?”

“No,” Jensen breathes out and Matt’s nose twitches.

“Christ,” he groans. “Are you drunk?” He grabs Jensen’s arm and Jensen jerks back, almost losing his footing. “Calm down, I’m here to help you. C’mon.”

He puts his head down and lets himself be dragged through the crowd, to Chris’s booth that is empty apart from the small sign that says ‘RESERVED’.

“Sit down. I’ll get you some water.”

“Uhuh,” Jensen says, eyes swiveling back to the stage. His head is swimming. He might be maybe a tiny little bit drunk, but that still doesn’t explain why Chris is suddenly so… hot. Like really, really, really wanna-go-up-on-that-stage-right-now-and-kiss-him hot. Kiss him, lick him, hump his leg. Oh God, Jensen has never actually wanted to suck someone’s cock but now... Now he wants. He wants it so damn bad!

“Here.” A big glass of water is thrust into his hand. “Chris is gonna fucking kill you. Where the hell did you get booze anyway? And how much have you had?”

“Fridge. Upstairs,” Jensen huffs, because where else? “He said I could! I could have anything I wanted.” His eyes glide back to the stage. “I want...” He whimpers.

“God save me from horny teenagers,” Matt sighs. “Drink up. And sober up. And for Christ’s sake, wise up. It ain’t gonna happen.”

Jensen empties the glass in one go. It doesn’t sober him up at all. And it definitely doesn’t make him any wiser about anything. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” he whispers.

“Believe me, we’ve all been there,” Matt says, patting his arm in sympathy. “He’s this grumpy little bastard who you wanna punch half the time and then he starts singing and…” Matt looks up on stage where Chris is finishing up a ballad that makes Jensen’s insides feel like goo. “Talk about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

“Which… which is which?” Jensen gulps.

“Stick around and you might find out.” Matt pats his arm again. “Look, I gotta get back to work. Maybe you should go upstairs. Go to bed, sleep it off.”

Jensen shakes his head. “Chris told me to come.” True. “I’m okay.” Definitely not true. “I wanna stay.” Right here, gazing at Chris, forever.

“Alright. Let me get you a Coke. And move a bit further in. No one should bother you as long as you sit here but there are always assholes.”

The reminder makes Jensen slide nervously along the bench, as far in as he can get. He can still see the stage but it’s dim enough that he’s lost in the shadows. Jensen can’t take his eyes off Chris. He’s absolutely mesmerized. A bottle of coke suddenly appears before him, along with a bowl of bar mix. He looks up to find Danneel smiling down at him. “I don’t have any money,” he says stupidly.

“Don’t worry, I put it on the boss’s tab.” Danneel grins. “So, you like?” She nods her head towards the stage, wagging her eyebrows.

Jensen wants to deny it but he’s just drunk enough to sigh, “Yeah,” with a dopey smile that has Danneel tilting her head, eyes going soft.

“Oh, honey.” She smiles in sympathy and then she’s gone, leaving Jensen to gaze up at the stage, his heart aflutter and his dick tenting his too loose sweats.

Chris takes a swig from the bottle of Jack which admittedly is a lot lighter than it should be. The burn from the first sip is long gone, by now the liquor just feels comfortably warm sliding down his throat. If Steve was here he’d have removed the bottle halfway through the show but Steve only gets to mother him on Fridays. Saturdays are all his own. And yeah, maybe he’s downed a little more than usual, but it’s been one hell of a week and he fucking deserves it.

It’s a good crowd tonight, the usual suspects dancing, laughing, singing along. Letting loose and having fun in what should be a safe space. Knowing it might not be, has Chris seething. He’s been thinking; those times he’s heard about queer folks getting beat up close by, he never linked it to his bar specifically, but what if it is? What if those fuckers are using Haven as a hunting ground? What if they’re out there, right now, lying in wait for their next victim? What if next time the injuries are fatal?

His heart starts racing, the fury elevating his blood pressure so fast he feels dizzy. Shit, not now. He stands up, kicks the stool back and stares out over the crowd. It’s gone quiet and he realizes it’s been too long since the last song ended and he must look like a goddamn crazy person, glaring out at a threat that might not even be there.

He takes a deep breath and drags his thumb over the strings, making them screech in protest. He’s about to launch into a furious version of Rattlesnake Smile when his eyes land on someone cloaked in shadows, sitting in his booth. His already dangerous temper is about to pop up a notch when the person leans forward enough for the light from the stage to reach his face. It’s Jensen, gazing up at him with an almost reverent look. Chris’s anger evaporates instantly, and he’s left staring back, suddenly a little dizzy.

Someone hoots and he tears his eyes away from Jensen’s, looking back to the crowd that’s still staring up at him in quiet anticipation although they’re starting to fidget. “Y’all still here?” he yells and grins at the answering laughter. “Sorry for the intermission, was just tryin’ to decide what to leave you fuckers with, ridin’ into that lonely, lonely night.”

“I can keep you company, baby, just say the word!” someone yells and the room dissolves into wolf whistling and all sorts of lewd suggestions. Chris smirks and rolls his hips, knowing full well the reaction it will get, and the crowd doesn’t disappoint, whooping and whistling. He laughs, his earlier anger forgotten. God, he loves them, with their shameless flirting and open invitations.

He shoots Jensen a glance, expecting to see him roll his eyes or cringing like a typical embarrassed teenager, but what he gets is Jensen giving him a clumsy wave, his smile loopy, cheeks flushed. Is he… drunk? Jensen licks his lips and Chris looks away, blushing fiercely. Shit. Kid is definitely drunk. Drunk and horny the way only an eighteen-year-old can get. Christ. He’s gonna fucking kill Matt! And then fire his ass, goddammit.

He turns back to the crowd, swaying his hips where he stands, fisting the mic suggestively in front of his lips. It’s an act, a show, a performance, nothing more. That doesn’t explain why he suddenly feels hot in his belly, his dick fattening up in his jeans. His cheeks flame when he realizes, and he shivers from the sweat prickling the back of his neck.

“How ‘bout some summer heat to wet ya panties?” he asks, voice low and growling. “You like that, huh?”

The ones in the know cheer and hoot, those who aren’t got a good enough idea to join in. From the corner of his eye, he sees Jensen shift in his seat, mouth falling slightly open. Jesus!

He breathes in, breathes out, breathes in. Permanent 99 is usually a pretty peppy song, rock ‘n roll in a country coat. This time he starts slow, keeping his voice low and sultry, focusing on the words, wanting each and every member of the audience to feel the sweat dripping as he gets their undies soaking wet with innuendo. He’s panting before he’s halfway through, feeling dizzy with lust, dick so hard in his jeans it’d be obscene if the guitar wasn’t covering his crotch. The whole time he keeps glancing at Jensen, each time a little longer until he’s having trouble looking away because Jesus! the kid is practically melting into the table, head cradled in his arms, eyes gazing at him, dark and heavy, mouth panting.

By the time the last note dies out he swears half the crowd is either making out on the dance floor, or wishing they were. He grins and waves and bows his thanks before jumping off stage, only staggering a little before stalking to his booth. It tells of his reputation that the crowd parts easily, despite its drunken lusty haze. He can still feel them watching him hungrily, feel the heat of hands longing to reach out and grab a handful of what he’s been dangling before them. He won’t lie, it’s a damn high like no other, knowing he made them feel that way. Just like it’s a high knowing they won’t dare to touch him.

Jensen’s pitch-dark eyes are watching him advance. And damn, that’s a different level of high right there, having someone so young and beautiful lust after him. Having Jensen lust after him. A different and a lot more dangerous kind of high which might have been fun to indulge in while he was on stage but it’s time to put a stop to it, right now. For both their sakes.

“What did I tell y’about drinkin’ in my fuckin’ bar, boy?” he growls, slamming his hands down on the table and leaning into Jensen’s face.

“I ain’t been drinkin’ in your fuckin’ bar!” Jensen shoots back, sounding indignant. God, he’s even drunker than Chris thought. His eyes are practically swimming. “I drank from your fuckin’ fridge!”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Chris pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“You said!” Jensen argues, poking his finger in Chris’s face. Would have taken his eye out if Chris hadn’t pulled back at the last minute. “You said I could have whateeever I wanted in there. I wanted beer so I had beer! I broke no rules!” He smirks, looking absurdly pleased with himself.

Chris growls. “You think if the cops bust in, they’re gonna care if you drank that beer down here or upstairs? No, they fuckin’ ain’t! Jesus! C’mon!” He grabs Jensen’s arm, quickly changing his hold to the sleeve of Jensen’s hoodie when Jensen grimaces, reminding Chris of his injuries. “Off to bed!”

“Not tired!” Jensen pouts, putting his heels in. “Hey! Hey, you! You didn’t say!”

“Say what?” Chris grunts. Jesus, how is the kid so heavy? “Let go of the table!”

“That you were singing! You didn’t tell me, man!”

“I didn’t tell-?” Chris gives up and sinks down on the bench, dropping his head into the crook of his arm on the table. There’s a chance he might also be drunker than he realized.

“You were like so cool! And hot.” Jensen shuffles closer, warm thigh pressing against his. “Fuck, Chris, you’re like really fucking hot.”

Chris raises his head. Jensen is staring at him, looking absolutely awestruck. “Darlin’, you’re drunk,” Chris sighs.

“I ain’t…” Jensen frowns, like he’s considering it. “I may be a little drunk. But you! You’re like…” He leans in, wet lips mouthing sloppily at Chris’s jaw just as a warm palm lands on Chris’s thigh, sliding up. “I wanna suck your dick, man.”

“Oookay!” Chris scrambles out of the booth, dragging Jensen with him before he has time to grab on to the table again. “Bed! Now!”

“Okay!” Jensen says quickly, slinging an arm around Chris’s neck.

God, Chris hates tall people. “To sleep!” he snaps. “Jesus!”

“Alright,” Jensen agrees and Chris sighs in relief. “After I suck your dick.”

“No!”

Somehow he manages to drag Jensen up the stairs while fighting off his less than subtle advances. Really doesn’t help that Chris’s dick, that was already having one of the best nights of its life, has decided it likes all the handsy stuff just fine. Someone needs to have a talk with it about substance abuse and dubious consent because it’s not listening to anything Chris is telling it, no matter how many curses he silently throws its way.

Looking around, there must be close to a sixpack of empties, strewn around the apartment. Jesus! No wonder the kid is sloshed. He plans to just dump Jensen on the couch, but the kid whines and pouts and insists, “You said bed!” and goddammit, Chris is too drunk for this shit. He drags Jensen into the bedroom and discards him on the bed, freeing Jensen’s grabbing hands from his t-shirt three times before he manages to get away and step back.

“Sleep!”

“But-“

“No!”

He’s turning away when Jensen mumbles, “I don’t feel so good,” and thank God the bucket is still by the bed since the night before because Chris only just manages to shove it under Jensen’s head before he’s chucking the beer along with whatever else he’d consumed.

Chris sighs. He is too damn drunk for this shit.

He leaves Jensen heaving into the bucket while he staggers to the kitchen and fetches a glass of water, stopping by the bathroom to shake out two painkillers. Hopefully they’ll help Jensen get over the worst. If he’s too hung over to sing tomorrow night, Chris is gonna fucking kill him.

He gets back into the bedroom to find Jensen lying on his back, breathing heavily, his lips glistening with spittle and his pale face pearled with sweat.

“You done?”

Jensen starts to nod and then jerks over to the side, grabbing the bucket again. Chris winces in sympathy as the kid shakes with cramps, having nothing left to hurl. When the spasms finally subside, Chris sits down on the brink of the bed and holds out the glass of water. “Sit up. Think you can do that?”

Jensen starts to nod again, then thinks better of it and instead struggles to sit up. Chris ends up having to put the glass on the bedside table and help him. Jensen is feverishly warm from the exertion, damp clothes sticking to his skin. He sips the water, cleans his mouth and spits into the bucket, bringing up a nasty whiff of puke that has Chris’s stomach rolling.

“I’m just gonna…” he says, grabbing the bucket and hurrying into the bathroom to empty and rinse it, hopefully before Jensen decides to chuck the water as well. He only just makes it back in time. Jensen is covering his mouth with one hand, eyes wide and desperate and his head disappears into the bucket as soon as Chris shoves it at him.

Finally done, Jensen leans back, breathing ragged. Chris pats his chest and goes to empty the bucket and fill the glass again. This time the water stays down, along with the two painkillers Chris hands him.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of these clothes,” Chris grumbles. He’s still pissed off but it’s no use bitching about what’s done, especially not when Jensen is already so damn miserable. Hopefully it will teach him not to steal other people’s booze. Not that Chris ever learned that lesson.

Seeing the bruises on Jensen’s sweat-soaked skin makes fury curl in Chris’s belly, just like before. He brushes his fingertips over the worst of them to make sure the heat has subsided. Jensen hitches his breath at the first touch. Chris withdraws his hand, not looking up to meet Jensen eyes because suddenly he’s unsure what he’ll do if Jensen is still looking at him the same way he did earlier. The realization makes his whole body tense and he quickly stands up and steps away from the bed.

“The rest, too,” he says, voice rough. “Need help or you got it from here?”

“I, I got it,” Jensen says. He sounds out of breath and Chris takes another step back, still unable to look up.

“Good. Good. Go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turns around but Jensen grabs his wrist, stopping him. “What?” he growls.

“I just… I’m sorry,” Jensen says, voice low. “Didn’t mean to drink so much. I just… I lost count.”

Chris sighs. “Shouldna been drinkin’ at all, kid.” Never mind that Chris was way younger when he started drinking himself. “Not alone anyway,” he adds because damn, they had beer the night before so saying never is a bit too late. “And I weren’t kiddin’, you could get me in real trouble if the cops decide to show up. Which they do every now and then. I ain’t exactly popular around here.”

“I’m sorry,” Jensen says, his voice so subdued it’s hardly audible. “I can… I can leave. If you want.”

Oh hell. Chris can’t but turn around at that, his earlier resolve be damned. Jensen looks just as dejected as he sounds. And God in heaven, he’s still the most fucking beautiful thing Chris has ever seen in his life. He sinks down on the edge of the bed, brushing Jensen’s hair away from his face. The kid looks up, green eyes glittering with unshed tears and alcohol and Jesus, it’s unfair how he can be such a goddamn pain in Chris’s ass and still he wants nothing more right now than to lean over and brush his lips over that soft looking mouth, bad-tasting as it might be.

He closes his eyes, breathing in deep before opening them again. “Already bought you a bed, didn’t I?” He cups Jensen’s cheek, allowing himself to run his thumb over Jensen’s lower lip, swallowing when Jensen’s eyes flutter. “Now go to sleep,” he says, standing up and hurrying out before he does something even stupider, like crawl into bed and pull Jensen into his arms.

Fuck, he really needs to lay off the booze.

Jensen wakes up feeling like crap. Like… absolutely awful. Jesus Christ, he’s never drinking again! He groans and the sound vibrates in his skull like a gong. He doesn’t remember much, apart from puking his guts out, the taste of it is still on his tongue, grown fuzzy and acid sour during the night. Oh, and Chris being pissed off at him. That he remembers. Shit.

He lies staring up at the ceiling, waiting for it to stop spinning. It doesn’t. After a while he grows too disgusted with the gross taste in his mouth to stand it any longer and stumbles out of bed, his body hurting no less than the day before, now with added headache and nausea. He’s oddly cold and looks down to find he’s naked. Like, completely naked, not wearing a damn stitch on his body. The rush of blood to his face is so sudden he almost falls back on the bed. Did… did Chris undress him? He has a vague recollection of Chris pulling his shirt off but after that it’s all a blank. Maybe he passed out. Maybe they…

No. If nothing else the awful taste in his mouth tells him the chance of them doing any kissing is at least out of the question. Besides, Chris would never. Not just because he’s made it very clear he’s not interested (and apparently ‘not gay’, which Jensen would roll his eyes at if his head wasn’t hurting so much) but because Chris is a good guy. Not the kind to fuck with someone who’s drunk out of his stupid skull. Right?

Jensen swallows. Then grimaces because seriously, his mouth is fucking disgusting. He looks around and finally finds his underwear and sweats at the foot of the bed, kicked under the covers. The t-shirt he was wearing lies by the bed, still slightly damp from lying in a heap on the floor. He can’t bring himself to put it on, no matter how self-conscious he feels about walking around half naked. Chris must have put the bag of clothes he bought for him in the other room since Jensen can’t see it anywhere. Damn.

He opens the door carefully, peeking out. The new mattress lies in front of the door to the spare room, stripped of the plastic cover. Chris is sleeping on top, spreadeagled on his stomach, arms hugging Jensen’s pillow. Looks like he couldn’t be bothered unwrapping the new bedding before crashing last night. The blanket covers Chris from the waist down. His t-shirt is ruffled up around his armpits, showing a strip of naked skin at his lower back. The visible side of his face has creases from the pillow, like he just turned his head, and his hair is all mussed up. He looks…

Jensen scowls. Stop it.

Jensen limps past him and into the bathroom. The face that meets him in the mirror is grey and haggard. His bed hair is the worst he’s ever seen and that’s saying something. He pisses what feels like gallons then brushes his teeth, twice. He still feels yucky so he fetches the bottle of mouthwash from the medicine cabinet. It tastes disgusting but at least he feels a little bit fresher. Stripping out of his sweats and underwear he turns on the shower. He might not be able to wash off his shame and embarrassment about whatever happened last night, but at least he can smell a little better. And his sweat stoked hair won’t look like the backside of a wind-caught chicken.

After drying off, he wraps the towel around his waist. He better find the spare clothes Chris bought him because he can’t stomach putting on his damp underwear again. When he opens the door, the sweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee hits him straight on. As well as the glare of piercing blue eyes.

“About time,” Chris grumbles, pushing past him. “Were about to pee in the goddamn sink for Christ’s sake.”

“Sorry,” Jensen offers but the door has already banged shut. He sighs. Seems he’s managed to piss Chris off yet again and the day hasn’t even started. He limps into the spare room and finds the bag of clothes that Chris bought him on the floor. He picks a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Like the rest, they fit surprisingly well.

“Coffee?” Chris growls behind him and Jensen jumps, turning around so fast his leg and back twist, making him gasp. Chris frowns. “You alright there?”

“Yeah,” Jensen says on a shaky inhale. Fuck, that hurt. “You just startled me.”

He limps after Chris into the kitchen, accepting the mug of steaming coffee Chris hands him. “Already put the sugar in,” Chris grumbles, taking a gulp of his own. “Milk?”

Jensen shakes his head. “This is good.”

They stand sipping their coffee for a while, the silence growing increasingly uncomfortable. At least Chris doesn’t look as pissed off anymore. More hung over and maybe a little wary. Maybe he just really needed to pee. That would make anyone cranky.

Finally Jensen can’t stand it any longer and puts the mug away. His hand shakes a little and he catches Chris eyeing it, lips twitching in what Jensen can only interpret as disgust. “Look, I’m sorry.”

Chris looks up, eyebrows drawn together. “About?” he asks, looking guarded.

“Last night. Stealing your beer, getting drunk. Puking. I didn’t get any on you, did I?” Jensen asks in sudden horror.

Chris grimaces. “No.”

“Okay. That’s, that’s good. I’m sorry. I… I can’t really remember much.”

If anything, Chris looks even more wary. “Much of what?”

“I don’t know. Was I… Did I do anything stupid?”

Chris watches him, the intense blue eyes making Jensen increasingly anxious. Then Chris breathes out through his nose, shoulders relaxing a little. “You came downstairs. Real drunk. Had to haul you out of there ‘fore someone called the cops on me. You coulda gotten me in real trouble, son. Don’t do it again.”

Jensen flushes red. “Oh. Shit, I’m sorry.” Now he thinks about it he has a vague recollection of a crowd of warm sweaty bodies. That’s it. And something about the music. Something… he can’t remember. “I won’t. I promise.”

Chris nods. “Alright.” He pushes himself away from the kitchen counter. “If you’re done with that, how ‘bout we start cleanin’ up your room. Startin’ to miss my bed.”

Jensen cringes. “You could have just dumped me on the couch last night.”

For some weird reason that makes Chris’s ears turn pink. “Was gonna but you were a prissy little bitch and wouldn’t let me,” he grumbles. “Now, c’mon.”

As soon as they step into the room Chris notices the books that Jensen put away the night before and shoots him a frown. He taps his fingers against a couple of spines before rearranging some of the titles.

“I didn’t know how you wanted them,” Jensen says, feeling suddenly guilty, like he’d been snooping in Chris’s private things even if they’re just books.

“Don’t really care,” Chris mutters.

“They all yours?”

Chris shoots him another frown. “I guess,” he says, which makes no sense until he adds, “No one’s gonna come askin’ for’em if that’s what you mean.”

Jensen isn’t really sure what he meant, mostly he wanted to ask about the romance novels without actually mentioning them. Like, did they belong to old girlfriends, or did Chris buy them for himself? Is he a closet romantic? The thought has Jensen pursing his lips to keep from laughing out loud.

Chris’s frown turns into a scowl. “Somethin’ funny to you?”

Jensen shakes his head.

Chris stares at him for a moment longer before huffing in annoyance and getting to work. He moves the remaining boxes to one side of the room then starts assembling the bed. It takes almost an hour, with a lot of cursing, mostly from Chris, since he won’t let Jensen do much except hand him bolts and such. But finally the bed stands ready, shoved to the wall by the window that has a great view of the back alley and the brick wall of the next building over. Not that Jensen was planning on staring wistfully out at meadows or anything. Actually, he’s relieved to know no one will be staring at him through the window.

Chris hauls the mattress through the door and on to the bedframe, then goes to make them lunch while Jensen rips open the bedding and makes the bed, the only thing Chris seems to think him capable of. He might have been right because as soon as it’s done, Jensen has to lie down, completely exhausted. His back hurts, his leg and arm hurt, his head is still pounding, and his stomach has yet to settle.

Breathing slowly Jensen stares up at the ceiling. Guess he lives here now. He tests the word ‘home’ on his tongue and it feels a little strange but still good. Better than the house he used to call home. Chris may be gruff and short tempered at times but it’s nothing compared to Dad looking at him with that air of disapproval that turned into disgust and hatred the older Jensen got. And gayer, he assumes. Not that he ever told his dad that. He didn’t have to. According to his father, he could just tell. “And if you think that’s something I’ll tolerate in my home, you have another think coming, boy.” Backhanding him so hard his teeth rattled in his skull and then shoving him aside so he fell and -

Jensen lets out a shaky breath.

From the moment he realized he liked boys instead of girls, he’d known he was living there on borrowed time. In the end he didn’t even say goodbye. He felt it had been implied, in his father’s sneered, “I won’t have no goddamn homosexual in my house,” prompted by nothing more condemning than catching Jensen singing what his father considered “goddamn sissy music”. Jensen took that, and the beating that followed, as his cue to leave. With his grandma’s old guitar that his dad never even touched anyway.  He figured it was his by right.

That was three weeks ago. Three weeks of constantly looking over his shoulder, constantly looking everywhere because nowhere was safe and even if his dad or his brother didn’t come after him there were others, there were always others, and he’d been so scared and so alone until he’d spotted that rainbow sign in the window and it had been like finding an oasis in the middle of Sahara, like being handed a key to a safe haven in the middle of a war zone, and he’d thought maybe here, maybe now, maybe finally he would be safe. Maybe finally he would find someone who understood and wouldn’t-

“Food’s ready,” Chris says from the doorway, making Jensen jump. He has no idea how long Chris has been standing there. “Y’alright?”

Jensen quickly sits up, swinging his feet down and turning his face away as he wipes discreetly at his eyes. “Yeah. I’m good,” he mumbles.

“Okay.” Chris still doesn’t move.

“I’m fine,” Jensen insists, sharper than he intended.

Chris doesn’t say anything, just lingers a while longer before pushing away from the doorway and heading back to the kitchen. When Jensen joins him a few minutes later, eyes still burning but dry, Chris pushes the plate over to him without looking up.

Jensen sits down with a quiet, “Thanks.” He feels he should apologize except he’s not sure what for. Being rude? Was he? He doesn’t think he was. He just didn’t want Chris to see him like that. Bad enough Chris keeps calling him a kid without Jensen giving him proof that he is. He doesn’t even know what he was crying about. He’s safe now. And it’s not like he misses anything or anyone from back home. Wasn’t even a real home so what is he being such a baby about anyway?

“How you feelin’?” Chris asks, rousing Jensen from his thoughts. “Not just…” He waves his hand at Jensen’s head which Jensen takes to mean his hangover. “You think you be alright tonight?”

Jensen nods even if he feels like hell. He can’t afford to bail. “I might need to sit,” he admits though. “Leg still hurts.”

Chris shrugs. “They won’t care.” He finally looks up, eyes twinkling as he smirks. “Might get a bit upset ‘bout the state of your pretty face.”

Jensen’s cheeks flush warm. “Maybe they’ll stop drooling long enough to actually listen then,” he mutters.

Chris snorts. He picks at his food, then says, “They did. Thought you were good.”

Jensen looks up, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Liked the pretty package too, but yeah.” Chris stabs at a cherry tomato that keeps rolling away. “Been askin’ ‘bout you. So don’t worry, you’ll make up that money you lost in no time.”

“Oh. I mean, great.” Jensen ducks his head, feeling weird all of a sudden. “Means I can pay you back,” he says to stop the moment from becoming too awkward. “And for staying here. Food and board.”

Chris frowns. “I guess,” he says, like the thought of Jensen paying his share hadn’t even occurred to him. Like he’d been happy enough with just his company.

A smile tugs at Jensen’s lips and before he can help it, he’s grinning like an idiot. Chris glances up and goes still, eyes blinking slowly. Jensen is about to ask what’s wrong when Chris suddenly startles and the tips of his ears turn pink as he drops his gaze, looking ten kinds of awkward.

Oh. Suddenly Jensen is the one feeling awkward. He really didn’t expect that. But maybe he’s wrong. Maybe he’d just caught Chris thinking about something completely unrelated to him but personal enough that it made Chris feel self-conscious. Even if it did look like…

He has no idea how to feel about that. Wary, yes, always, but also... He looks away, cheeks warm, biting his lip to keep it from turning upwards.

Chris runs out soon after lunch, mumbling something about errands. Jensen limps back into his room. He still feels queasy, and he wouldn’t mind a nap. The new bed feels really good, despite the bedding smelling slightly industrial, coming straight out of the packaging. He thinks maybe they were supposed to wash them first. For a second he misses Chris’s bed that smells of Chris and somehow home. Which is weird because he’s only been here for three days. He’s still trying to figure out what that means when he drifts off.

Continued here.