Let us in! (5/5)
Please refer to master post for notes, disclaimers, etc.
part four || glossary
Jensen calls out of work two days in a row and Mike doesn’t bother giving him a hard time. Asks softly, voice pitched with concern: man, are you all right? And Jensen says, I’m fine dude, just exhausted, you know? And Mike says, yeah, I know. I’ll call you later.
On the first day off, frenzied bolts of energy (anxiety) have him buzzing around his house in a way that would dizzy his own mother: he cleans, launders, deodorizes, disinfects, wipes down, scrubs, trashes, DUSTS, neatens, tidies. The sun is high and bright in his east facing windows and his apartment smells like Lysol and Windex and he’s out of paper towels. At noon he collapses on the couch, having broken a sweat, and wonders----
What the fuck am I even doing
---and that is the end of that. He spends the rest of the afternoon in front of the National Geographic channel, lying in pajamas caked with dried sweat.
Mike calls him at four, on his drive home from the office. Asks, “Are you being a total slob?”
“I cleaned a lot,” Jensen says, flipping the channel. “But yes. How was work? Nothing from human resources? I’m sure it’ll take a freaking month for corporate to put all we had to say into something that makes sense.”
“Yeah, that’s one big black hole of who the fuck knows. But I’ll tell you, Jen. Sort of glad that went down. Might not get what we want, but someone had to know. At the very least, I’m sure we got her to shit her pants at least once, which is completely worth it.”
Jensen laughs; can’t shake that nasty fear-of-the-establishment shudder from his mind, but he can agree - a change might do Mountain View some good.
Then Jensen asks, “How’s -- June? Get her to change her mind about that surgery?”
And Mike hold a breath, sighs, and then Jensen can feel him rolling his eyes when he answers, “Oh please, Jensen. He’s stupid. Getting dumber by the second. Can’t even complete a sentence. Why don’t you call him?”
Jensen drags a hand down his face, groans at the discomfort that bubbles up inside at the mention of Jared. The heated stab of exhilaration that still digs into his ribs, followed instantly by dark wet heavy malcontent. please don’t remind me
“I can’t, all right?” Jensen says. “I just can’t.”
“Well, whatever, man. But he’s waiting on you. You’re the one who walked away.”
“I know.”
“You fucked up, Ackles.”
Jensen bristles immediately: “No, I really fucking didn’t, Mike. We disagreed. I’m an adult, and I get to do that with other people. Jared took us all on a huge gamble and just let it ride. He was young and dumb and clueless and had no right to do it without any of us involved. Don’t even fuckin’ get me started, I’m heated just thinking about it. I can’t even -! Mike, how am I even supposed to talk to him about this, when I can’t even talk to you, and I don’t even care what you think?”
“I don’t know, man,” Mike sighs. “I guess you just don’t talk to him about it then. No big - it’s not like you love him, or anything.”
Jensen’s thoughts stop all at once, crashing into each other, falling, leaving nothing but open space. His jaw snaps shut on whatever words were in guerilla position. He thinks about that for a second.
“Shit, man,” he sighs, face in his palm.
Jared calls once, on Jensen’s second day off, and the sight of his name on the display has Jensen’s throat closing in a mild panic. He doesn’t ‘ignore’ the call, just lets it ring and vibrate and make ruckus and then divert to voicemail. When it’s safe, he picks it up with careful finger pads, stares at the missed call alert until a voicemail message joins it.
He puts the phone down gently and leaves it in his bedroom while he spends day two on his couch.
When it rings a few hours later, Jensen is triggered again. For a moment the anxiety crunches his chest in an iron belt. Then he gets so panicked - elated - afraid it might be Jared that he leaps from the couch to see the display. He doesn’t want to answer, isn’t going to answer, but he needs that phone call to be from Jared.
It’s Misha.
Jensen deflates immediately, and after a moment to reorganize his mind, he answers: “Hey, man.”
“Hey, where were you last night? Jared was covering your shift - kid’s a big boy now, huh? Doin’ stuff all by his lonesome. Listen, are you at the office? I was going to stop in, I need some help on a few things.”
“Yeah, I haven’t really been feeling great. I wasn’t in yesterday, and I’m actually at home right now.”
Misha is quiet for a long distressing and calculating moment, and then: “Wait, what? Dude, is everything okay? Should I come over? I was gonna study for my NCLEX, but, obviously.”
Jensen sighs, answers: “I don’t even know anymore.”
“Hey, okay. It’s cool. I’ll be over in twenty minutes.”
“Thanks, man.”
Misha shows up true to his word, with a box of honey garlic wings (dude - ten cent Tuesdays) that smells like Shambalah and stars. He toes off his sneakers silently, drops down into the couch beside Jensen, and cracks the box. The pile is heaping, and sharp flavors drift off the top in a hot, mouth-watering wave that gives Jensen a jolt of simple, dumb pleasure as he makes the first move.
“You have a lot to tell me, I think,” Misha says, getting his fingers dirty as he picks out a meaty first bite. “I’ve heard some things.”
“What’ve you heard?”
Misha doesn’t answer, spares a short glance to Jensen, who drops his eyes immediately and returns to the sticky wings. They eat in uncomfortable silence, with Jensen’s stomach churning in anxiety, trying to put a stop to any theory involving Misha being disgusted with him. Jensen knows better.
Misha is quiet, mild as he ever is, when he says, “We’ve sort of been through a lot lately, huh? I mean, I’ve been wild with classes and clinical and wanting to die just to end the insanity. And you, man. You’ve brought yourself to hell and back so many times I can’t even count anymore. I know you’re still hung up on what happened with Jess, but you aren’t that guy anymore. You don’t have those problems. You’ve found what you want in life. Clearly it’s time to move on. Because, Jared, man. That’s new. This is new.”
“I wish it were that easy,” Jensen murmurs.
“Let me tell you, dude, if you let it be easy, it’ll be easy. You tried to move on right away and it didn’t work. The partying, being out all night, rebounding on Kristen--”
“She didn’t deserve that, I am such a--”
“-you’re right, Jen, she didn’t. But whatever, that shit happens, and you guys moved on, you’re fine. You’re friends again. My point is, I think you’ve done your time. You took some time to yourself, calmed down, and man, when you went for Kristen again I think that was serious. I think you were ready, you know? Relationships. She wasn’t IT, obviously, but it still happened. So fuckin let it.”
“I don’t know if I can do it again.”
“Dude, you already have. Get with the fuckin’ program.”
Jensen leans back into the couch, dinner forgotten. He looks down at himself, feels his pulse thrumming with nervous energy as the admission sounds in his head. I already have. He feels weighted with the need to scream, to push everything out of him, to end up limp and boneless on the floor.
“I don’t even know what to say to him anymore, Misha. I want him but I’m mad, still so mad that he didn’t even think, didn’t even ask me, but I hate it because it doesn’t even matter. I still just fucking want him, I want to be mad at him, but I just need him. I need to have him. I want to kill him, and then. Just, be with him.”
Misha studies Jensen’s face, licks a thumb, and nods: “Say that. Start by saying all of that.”
Jensen comes back at nine AM on Thursday. Licensing is tomorrow morning and he just took two mental health days off. His charts are fucked.
Alona is in the office, documenting a slew of old medications that need to be destroyed. She looks up briefly at the sound of the door, distracted, then goes back to work, then looks up again and stops what she’s doing. They stare at each other, Alona’s eyes rich and sympathetic, hey, Jen, she says softly, and Jensen lifts an eyebrow, feeling awkward, heart thumping a rhythm of misgivings.
Can everyone just BACK OFF, this is hard enough
His throat constricts as he nods to her, ignores the moment, takes off his coat, tries to settle in while refusing to meet her gaze. He checks the boards, the log, the med sheets, his mailbox, the fridge before she finally breaks.
“He is a different person without you around,” Alona says.
Jensen doesn’t look up from where he’s relentlessly digging through yogurts and mystery Tupperware. “Who,” he asks.
When she doesn’t answer, he looks up, guiltily meets her eyes. She lets him feel smaller as the seconds tick by, the obvious answer hanging between them, and it’s vicious, knowing that it doesn’t require clarification for either of them. Jensen feels like a cheat, a liar, and a dog for even trying to fake it.
“Don’t you dare,” Alona says, menacing, offering no asylum. “I know it’s been rough, heartbreak, misery, loneliness, all that shit - and really, Jensen, join the fucking club - but you better be planning on giving this kid a chance. Hell, give yourself a chance. Because what you’re playing at is fucking selfish, mean, and wrong. You can’t just make someone love you and run away, okay? Shit doesn’t work like that. Get it together.”
Anger kindles, lights his eyes, warms his cheeks. He can feel it running through him.
They all blame me
It’s my fault
I’m the fuck up
I’m the idiot, the dick, no reason, I just like being a dick, is that what you think
He takes the bait, bites down hard: “Thanks for the speech, Alona, truly. I wasn’t sure the first two I got this week were enough to get me to see the light, but you’ve finally broken through the hoggish, self-seeking me to the gushy center full of love and trust.”
“Fuck you, Jensen,” she spits, like an animal trap clamping down viciously on his cattiness. “I hope you fall on your face. Enjoy logging in the two boxes of meds back there that we’ve been saving for you.”
He wordlessly turns from her, moves quickly to the back office, flips on the desk light, and trembles with anger. Can’t believe his friends think he’s this much of a cretin, can’t believe they don’t understand, or care how upset he got. He’s surprised at how alone he feels.
Pushing aside the rot of feelings piling up in a heap at the bottom of his stomach, Jensen pulls out the new meds and settles in for a good hour of quiet, brainless work.
It’s forty-five minutes of acrid tension in the silent office before anyone else enters.
(Alona is an insufferable bitch sometimes)
The opening of the front door is punctuated by deep, full-bodied laughter. Jensen’s reaction is pure, down-deep instinct.
Jensen is standing, face flushed, ears pounding, before he has any idea what he’s about to do or say. He moves before he can give himself a second to decide if he first should determine “where they stand.” Jensen hasn’t seen Jared in two days, and their last conversation was upsetting and sad. Jensen doesn’t care what words are traded, as long as he can just see him.
He slips cautiously out of the back office. Jared is there, in the kitchen, standing with Danneel, taking her coat. His head is ducked, eyes hidden under a snow-dampened slop of hair. A warmed smile is still stuck at the corner of his mouth.
Jensen darts a look to Alona, who drags her eyes from Jared and Danneel to meet his. Finally on the same page, they exchange: Jensen says, What is this? And Alona says, What in fuck’s sake IS THIS?
Jared shakes the hair out of his face, glances up to catch on Jensen, leaning in the door frame. His eyes widen lightly and his smile sobers into a flat line. The expression is a close approximation to Jensen’s own feelings and the burning mad disquiet inside.
Danneel misses the exchange entirely, moving past them to get to the computer in the back. Jensen feels some sort of trembling relief that, clearly, Danneel didn’t know to watch for anything between them - which means Jared hasn’t been talking to her about Jensen.
And that makes Jensen feel small, small, small - because Alona is staring at them as if waiting for them to explain to her everything happening between them in great, gory detail.
Jared’s eyes are carefully picking around her and his expressive face has shuttered away any of its tells. Jensen’s heart falls. He’s made a (nother) mistake. Still, when Jared inclines his head toward the door, asking a silent question, Jensen does not hesitate in nicking his jacket from one of the computer chairs and following him out.
Jensen follows him out into the mild snowfall, and the sky is tinged with misplaced brightness for a winter morning. They cross the parking lot to the high-piled snow banks on the far side of the property. Jared stops, looking down at his feet, and Jensen stops, too close but too shameless to care.
Jared doesn’t move away and they turn into each other naturally. Jensen looks up into Jared’s closed expression and trembles at the way Jared looks down into his. Jensen feels pulled in and nervously bites at the inside of his lip. It is a moment of directness, the connection open, the feelings passing freely between them, where were you, I missed you, I’m sorry, me too, I need you, me too,
Jared says, “You left. How was it?”
And Jensen looks away, guilty. Ran away and hid.
“Quiet,” he replies, and it gets stolen up by the wind.
“Didn’t miss much.”
“Looks like I did.”
Jared’s gaze sharpens instantly. He edges off, out of Jensen’s space, eyeing him critically.
“Well I’m sure in the time it took you to fill yourself in, you were able to tell most if not all the staff anything they might have missed, too.”
“So it’s a secret?” Jensen asks, on the defensive. It’s a cheap challenge that is empty to him.
Jared rolls his eyes, calls it like he sees: “Of course it’s not a secret, Jen, but I’d rather not be hashing this shit out with an audience that’s trying to figure out who’s side to be on.”
“What’s left to hash out? You’ve done what you needed to do for you.”
Jared narrows his eyes in a way that chases Jensen back even further.
“That’s what I did?” Jared intones levelly. “I did what I needed to do, for me? You believe that?”
“What the fuck else, Jared?” he snaps. “You didn’t ask anybody else, didn’t ask me, how to go about it or how to get involved or how to help. You just went ahead and settled that pesky, self-righteous conscience of yours, fast and big as you saw fit. If you’d cared about anything else but being a hero and taking down the Big Bad and ‘saving our program,’ you’d have had the sense to fucking include us.”
“And what the fuck is happening that’s so awful? What’s come out of this that’s so apocalyptic that you can’t forgive me? That you can’t even see where I’m coming from, what I was trying to do. What I was trying to say for you. There’s no end of days, no clients losing their apartments, no pink slips, shit - not even a fucking phone call. So why don’t you relax already, and--”
“-and what?”
Jared sighs in frustration, turns away from being cut off. “Forget it, Jen. Just forget it. This is worthless.”
Jensen stands there, jaw clenched, slush seeping into his sneakers. He silently watches Jared walk back to the office and wonders how it was so quick that they became a waste of time.
There is civility for the rest of the day, at least, but Jensen isn’t sure he is comfortable with that because it seems that Jared just gave up on caring one way or the other. The chilly distance sticks Jensen fiercely in the gut and makes him cringe every time Jared passes him the phone or asks an innocuous question.
He hates it, and he’s not gotten any better at trying to explain himself. So he sulks, acts like a child, is rude to clients and his friends and people on the telephone. Every moment of the day that passes with Jared showing no regard for him is enough to make Jensen lose his mind.
It helps slightly that the entirety of the staff is in today, spread between the two sites, and will probably be working hard into the night to make sure all of their paper work is up to date. That’s a five-person buffer between them that effectively dulls the throbbing wound of Jared’s disinterest.
He throws in the towel at about eight, just can’t take it anymore. He’s exhausted and riddled with tension and dehydrated and his charts are about as complete as he will ever get them, without launching into a round of perfectionism that would easily drown him if he let it. There would be signature chasing, date-checking, objective modifications, goal rewrites, and he just can’t. He’s done. He shoves them all back, for better or worse, and gets his things together to leave.
Jensen can’t help studying Jared under the guise of adjusting his baseball cap. His nerves churn in one last rush to make things right. This time he knows what to say; it’s very, very simple. He won’t fuck it up this time. He can’t go home feeling like this, feeling like the next time he sees Jared he’s going to want to hide from him.
Jared looks up then, feels Jensen’s eyes, and they stare at one another. Jensen is afraid to breathe, can barely get a sound behind his voice.
“Listen, I --”
“Leaving?” Jared asks, swiftly cutting him off, eyes dropping. “Have a good night, Jen. See you tomorrow.”
Jensen’s mouth opens and closes; he is aware of the ears in the office tuned to this - particularly Mike and Alona, but Danneel and Kristen are also looking to make themselves appear overly harried and distracted.
Who cares who’s listening
He has to hear this
“I just wanted to say,” Jensen continues. “I’m sorry.”
Jared doesn’t look up from the doctor’s orders he’s verifying. He finishes signing them and then walks into the back room to put them in a chart. As if he never heard a word come out of Jensen’s mouth.
Jensen’s mouth works as he stares at the empty doorway to the back office. Belatedly, he notices that everyone is staring at him - faces of mixed feelings, and predominantly - well! What are you gonna do!
And Jensen shoulders his bag, eyes dropping to the floor. He leaves, defeated.
Friday morning is licensing. Early, Mike asks Jensen to help bring all of the charts to the Canyon Road site. Officials from the State Department of Mental Health will be brought down there by Celeste at 9AM to assess their quality in relative peace and quiet.
The entirety of the staff clusters at Mountain View all morning, burnt out, ignoring phones, groaning at one another, telling clients to come back later.
“I didn’t sleep,” Kristen says. “Again.”
“I didn’t finish,” Mike says. “Again.”
“Jensen finished his shit at eight and walked out like a pro,” Alona smirks, raising a challenging eyebrow.
“Jensen doesn’t count,” Danneel argues. “He’s all workaholic and twitterpated with this place, for whatever fuckall reason. The rest of us normal, full-blooded, procrastinating Americans don’t care enough about stupid paperwork to put in the extra effort.”
“Don’t hate the playa, D,” Jensen mumbles, embarrassed and feeling his cheeks redden. He hides his face in yesterday’s newspaper and tries not to wither under the stare he feels digging in between his shoulder blades.
(He doesn’t look up because he doesn’t want to find out it isn’t Jared.)
Surviving yet another licensing wordlessly calls for a mental health brain meld over beers at the Train Car. Jensen’s heart isn’t in it.
Any word on how it went?” he asks Mike, sucking down cheap beer he hopes will start to taste like beer soon.
“Talked to Celeste about it this morning - who still has her job, by the way - and she said it went fine. So I guess we didn’t fuck up, but I’m sure that’s all we’re ever gonna hear about it.”
“Figures. Same as last year. Hopefully we’ll here a little bit more on the human resources investigation than ‘it went fine.’”
Mike laughs, salutes with his bottle. “We’ll see. Here’s to jobs, for today.”
Jensen fills a couple more hours with listening on conversations; he says little, drinks steadily, nods or laughs when it’s appropriate. He’s had the same conversation with Kristen and Mike at least three times, about Davis pissing in the snow behind the complex. Kristen’s nose curls the same way every time, and she says, every, time, “that’s just not right. Someone’s going to see him and call the police. Way to perpetuate the stereotype.”
Draining his last beer for the night, because it’s close to midnight and he can’t take this anymore, he hedges himself slightly away from the conversation and settles into staring across the bar at a couple of just-21s devouring a plate of nachos and a pitcher of something with fresh blueberries in it.
kids
Unwillingly, his gaze falls on Jared, who’s sitting across from their bar stools in a booth with Danneel, Misha, and Alona. Heads are bent close over the table, sharing a laugh, but Jared’s eyes are on that same group of kids and pitcher of beer; distracted and tense as Jensen feels. But when he locks on Jensen’s gaze, he turns inward and gazes back with practiced hollowness. As if to ask, well? And Jensen’s instinct is to bristle pridefully, shoot back, well WHAT?
They sit in the bar, staring at each other. It’s a challenge, and Jared’s looking at Jensen with hostility: you chose this. You don’t get to be upset. You wanted this. As if Jensen wants to forfeit speaking terms with Jared. As if he wants Danny to be at Jared’s arm, quietly watching the tension that curls in the air (and fuck that drama queen for wanting to be part of this and not stepping down to let them work through it.)
Jensen says his goodbyes to Mike and Kristen, moves over to the table, stands awkwardly in front of it. “I’m leaving,” he says, and gets salutations all around.
“Okay,” Jared says. “See you.”
They stare at each other and Jared’s chin is cocked, his mouth twitches, an imperceptible tremble, except that Jensen is looking for it. Jared is stiff against Danny’s drifting fingers on his arm. He stares at Jensen: go ahead. Walk out. To a lesser extent: fuck you.
Jensen wants to scream: you’re the one with the girl on your arm. You’re the one moving on. You’re the one saying fuck you. He doesn’t say these things. His breath is quick and burns in his nose, his flared nostrils, but his clenched jaw won’t give up and exhale. But he can’t stand there and glare furiously at Jared all night, so he goes.
He gets into his car and onto the road, a reckless and angry swing into traffic, but he can’t make himself go home. HE’S FURIOUS!, he’s sad, he’s panicking. His body isn’t still: his hips shift anxiously, his foot taps the break at every stop light, his fingers wring at the steering wheel.
Go back, don’t, go back, don’t, I hate you, don’t,
He does fifty through neighborhoods where children play, where teenagers wander in the dark, laughing drunk. He changes songs, CDs, radio stations, and finally lands on silence. His chest is burning tight and heavy, breathing squeezing out, tortured by indecision.
He won’t forgive me
I don’t want to forgive him
Fuck him
I love him
With finality, Jensen turns at the main route that will bring him home. This is stupid, thinking this is love, this is definitely not love. He won’t care about any of this in the morning; he’s having some bizarre freakout that he just needs to sleep off.
His blood surges at the thought of sleeping this off. He turns around, and then around again. He parks on a side street and puts his fist into the dash. He’s breathing like he just swam a Michael Phelps lap, so undone that he feels the horrifying burn of tears.
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t
He slams the car into drive, does another u-turn, and heads for Jared.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t have a plan or anything to say. He just can’t go home tonight. He stares down at the zipping yellow line, trying to get control of his thoughts, but they race along in a blurred microfilm behind his eyes, a bunch of impressions that tighten Jensen’s throat
Hands, anger, laughter, tissues, Danny, their ankles
God just make it stop, get me there before I explode
it’s been 57 minutes
And Jensen bursts into the bar, beelines for the back corner, almost comes unglued. Jared isn’t there, so many empty seats, and Danny is gone too. Jensen didn’t really know that coming here and seeing that would cause heartbreak, but that’s what he feels. Undone, deflated, nothing left in him. And he figures out what he needs to say, right there with Mike pulling him in and telling him, welcome back, sweetheart, right there, in their bar, while it’s too fucking late. Where it would have mattered an hour ago, but it doesn’t anymore.
He has to say it anyway.
I have to say it anyway
He gets a thought, of Jared’s bed, Danny with Jared pushing her knees apart, he is physically repulsed by this, it slugs him in the gut like a lead pipe, and Jensen thinks, oh please, this can’t be happening, oh, please.
He books it out of the bar with no explanation, but Mike doesn’t need one, he just salutes and calls, Ciao, baby, to Jensen’s back, and Jensen doesn’t hear him because he is in full-blown panic.
They are kissing against Jared’s door RIGHT NOW, while Jared is digging for his keys, and she’s laughing and making him groan -
Jensen throws the car into reverse, peels out of the parking lot and onto the road that will take him to Jared’s. He’s too late, he feels it in his own heartbeat, in the way all his body wants to do is run in circles and then collapse.
Jared’s picking her up, her ankles lock around his hips and then
Jensen runs a red light, cuts off a Hummer, and enters a one-way at the wrong end. The car is silent but his thoughts are apocalyptically loud, pushing him to the brink in a way that no rap, metal, or dance beat could ever achieve.
“Oh God,” he says out loud, to no one, because there’s so much inside that it has to come out, and he is too late, he feels it. It’s over, it’s never happening, ever. Jared is fucking Danneel Harris against a wall with a strength that only Jensen could ever really appreciate. Jensen wants to throw up. The mental images make his face twist.
He parks outside Jared’s building and as soon as he cuts the engine, Jensen is terrified to get out of the car. Scared of what he’ll see, what he’ll interrupt, what he’ll hear (harder, god, I love you). Terrified of facing the inevitable rejection, of confirming the fact that he’s lost all the good things that have just come to him.
I have to say it anyway
Energy explodes through him so hard it practically has a color.
He gets out and can’t stop himself from running up the walk, up two flights of stairs until he thinks his heart is going to come out of him. He gulps in air like he’s dying. He pauses at the top flight, sweat beading at his temples, the hair on the back of his neck gone cold and shivery.
Jared and Danny are outside Jared’s apartment. They look at him.
Jensen feels hot embarrassment instantly flush him from ears to toes. He’s gasping for breath. He feels weak as the adrenaline abandons him and his muscles go lax under the weight of their eyes.
“Oh,” Danny says, like Jared was just trying to explain something and Jensen’s presence just made her understand.
“Yeah,” Jared says, and his eyes are wide, on Jensen, and Jensen realizes, that’s exactly what just happened.
“I’m sorry,” Jensen says. He feels so out of sorts, awkward and dumb, like a crazy person. “For intruding,” he elaborates. “I don’t even, I don’t know.”
“It’s okay,” Jared says.
“Yeah, I’m going,” Danny says.
“Oh, well. Okay,” Jensen says.
He’s confused, still out of breath, and the anxiety is creeping back in. Tunnel vision and ringing ears are about six heartbeats away.
Danny walks over to him, heels clicking, slides arms around his neck. And he hugs her back because, what else is he supposed to do? When she apologizes, into his hairline, a part of him says he doesn’t know why, and then he and Jared just stand there, listening to her steps fade until the front door slams closed two flights down.
Jensen realizes with horror that they’d heard him pounding up here like his life depended on it. There aren’t enough adjectives for “idiot.”
They are quiet for a long, drawn out moment of indecision. Jensen is afraid to move, afraid to open his mouth first, because when he does that he usually says something dickish. (Better leave the conversation starting to the experts).
Finally, Jared sighs: “Jensen, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that, with Danneel. I don’t.”
“It made me madder than I have ever fucking felt in my life,” Jensen says helplessly.
Oddly, Jared smiles.
“I’m, well I’m sorry,” Jensen continues. “That I blew all this out of proportion. That it was important to you and I wasn’t there for you.”
“Whatever,” Jared says, mouth curling up.
.
Jensen doesn’t know what else to say to stall off saying the big one, the one that’s on repeat in his head, on his springboard tongue, just needing to come bursting out. He stares at Jared, who is still smiling, and Jensen’s heart is racing, his mouth is making the shape of the words, he’s so afraid to let this one out but it has a mind of its own, but then Jared is cocking his head at the door and asking if Jensen’s coming in, Jeff’s in the city for the weekend, and thank god because that was a close one.
“Am I coming in,” Jensen growls, and he stalks at Jared, because after all this, Jared still has to ask?
He brushes by Jared, who’s ushering him in, and the second he feels Jared’s hand fist in the back of his coat he’s spinning on his heel and shoving Jared against the door.
Jensen feels all those RIGHT feelings well up in him: caught breath, pounding heart, sweat prickling his neck, goose bumps raising his skin. He takes Jared’s face in his hands and just breaks over him.
Jared stutters a breath against Jensen’s lips before they catch. Then there is silence for the one second of flirting mouths it takes for Jensen to decide that this is the greatest feeling in the world, and for Jared to open, hitch his hips up, and groan into Jensen’s mouth. After that are the hums and gasps that always accompany the feeling of getting everything you want.
In the dark there are dogs rushing up to them, snouts pressing against his thighs and elbows as he kisses Jared, and he feels their excitement, their heated breaths on him, and he feels Jared reaching out hands to greet them while he opens his mouth against Jensen’s and Jensen thinks that’s the hottest fucking thing that’s ever happened.
It’s the first time they’ve kissed, and Jensen realizes it’s all he’s been waiting for since they met.
Jared moves hungrily, pushing the jacket off Jensen’s shoulders, tongue curling hot and soft against Jensen’s. Jensen’s hands settle against Jared’s hips and they circle roughly, pulling them jagged against one another. Jared hisses into Jensen’s mouth, teeth baring against Jensen’s lips, and then Jared grabs the back of his head and forces him into a bruising fight for dominance. It ends with Jensen’s back thumping hard against the door, dogs whuffing excitedly, and a chuff of laughter escaping before Jensen can hold it back.
Jared laughs too, then grimaces and falls forward because the big box-headed mutt noses him in the balls from behind. Jensen really loses it then, puts lips to Jared’s temple to stave off the laughter, focuses on the warmth of Jared’s skin, the sweat in his hair, the smell of his breath and skin and sweat and the way it all tastes when Jensen kisses with just the tip of his tongue.
“That really hurt,” Jared murmurs into Jensen’s neck.
“I know,” Jensen says. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.”
Jared slaps the back of Jensen’s neck for the tease, but after another moment is able to straighten himself out. He catches Jensen’s eyes for a moment, holds them, and it’s serious - for a second, not sexual, but real. When he kisses Jensen it’s soft like a promise.
Soft is lips that worry gently, a tongue that grazes just the inside of Jensen’s lip. It’s easy breathing and drifting hands writing invisible letters over Jensen’s skin. It’s fingers brushing lightly at his hair line, making him shudder. It’s the press of their hips, hard and locked against one another, feeling each widening ripple of heat as it emanates.
and god - that - is just
oh, God, if he could just -
They sag comfortably against one another, leaned up against the door, for so long that the dogs lose interest, wandering off, probably to crash on Jared’s bed..
Jensen loves this; can hear the change in Jared’s breathing as two minutes turns into three, and then four, and these long slow kisses are a struggle to keep to. Jared’s ragged, taking slow labored breaths. He slips away from Jensen’s mouth to let his lips tremble there, eyes closed, forehead to Jensen’s while he tries to calm down and keep the pace. Jensen smiles to himself, kisses lightly until he draws him back in.
When Jensen can’t take it anymore, when his heart starts pounding and his head can’t stop screaming WANT he hooks an arm around the back of Jared’s head and opens wide, kisses deep, runs his tongue suggestively against Jared’s and hopes for the best.
The surge that runs up through Jared’s body is almost awe-inducing; he groans something deep hot and guttural into Jensen’s mouth, runs an intent palm up the inside of Jensen’s thigh and lifts. He cants hips up into Jensen hard enough to bring him off his feet.
Jensen’s eyes crush closed, not expecting that in the least, the shove, being man-handled around. He breaks away in a gasp and a broken sound, and his fingers dig deep and hard into the muscle of Jared’s shoulder. His calf flexes over Jared’s spine, heel scrabbling, digging in.
The pressure is enough to kill him, denim stretching painfully tight, the hard wet throb of it pushing all thought from his head, the agonizing shifts of Jared pressing this way and that, here and there, trying to find the right - oh fuck, god, oh please, oh -
And then Jensen’s fingers tighten, and the light bursts behind his eyes, and he practically shouts at Jared, “There.”
And Jared moves fast when he gets it, and Jensen can feel how RIGHT it is, the way they suddenly fall together in a frantic rhythm, uncontrollable, so good Jensen wants to scream for harder, harder, more. Jared ruts hips up into him hard and fast, huge, hot hands sliding over the curve of his backside and making sure they hit as hard as they can.
Jensen is shocked into grasping on tight, knee buckling, back slamming against the wall, and he is wringing Jared’s shoulders in his white knuckles, shouting things that aren’t words when all he can think in his head is more - more -
“Jared,” he gasps in the middle of it all, and Jared sobs out some non-reply in the midst of how completely the need takes over, and Jared grinds into him desperate and just right and he comes so hard his head pounds from the panicked drive of mentally forcing them to this moment.
Breathless and exhausted, he realizes a second too late - which is to say, just long enough for him to feel like an asshole about it - that he just came in this jeans because Jared fucking Padalecki just picked him up and fucked him into a wall. His legs are boneless, sweat running down his neck, breath coming strained and shallow.
Jared drops his weight onto Jensen, long fingers running softly over Jensen’s thighs, where they’d just been dug in hard enough to bruise. His face is pressed into the curve of Jensen’s neck and he pants, chest heaving, lips trembling, and then Jensen can feel a kiss, and then the swipe of a tongue, and Jensen cards fingers into Jared’s hair and holds him.
He leans his head back against the wall, closes his eyes, scratches gentle fingers in Jared’s hair. He lifts his chin, arches his neck into Jared’s mouth, sighs as his heart finally begins to ease. They don’t say anything, and Jensen is happy with just the feeling of their touches.
Goddamn, happy
He feels Jared’s lips on the underside of his jaw, sneaking up to his mouth. Jensen feels lit from inside when their eyes lock and Jared’s are bright and full of color. Jensen can’t help but smile, and Jared kisses him, and Jensen bites, and Jared laughs (fucker.)
“That felt good,” Jared says, quiet, mouthing at Jensen’s temple. “Stay, please stay. Please don’t even think about leaving.”
“Believe me, I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
And the way Jared pulls him off the wall and fully into his arms chases the tremble right on out of Jensen’s voice.
Jensen follows him light-headed down dark midnight hallways to the bedroom. He hears the hollow thumping tails on the bed before his eyes adjust enough to see the two dogs stretched out possessively over the rumpled covers.
Jared stands behind him in the dark, rests his warm, pliant weight over Jensen’s back. Jensen leans into him, lets Jared skate palms under his tee-shirt and across his abs, pulled tight with tension. Jared eases his shirt off, drops it to the floor, drops his mouth to Jensen’s shoulder and his fingers to the fly of Jensen’s jeans. His knuckles brush Jensen’s quivering stomach.
(Jensen thinks, Things I Want to Happen Every Night Until I Die:)
Jared undresses both of them, shoves the dogs out of bed, Sadie - Harley - out, take a hike. Beat it! Jensen just watches, smiles at the way Jared tugs the covers down, slides into bed. After a moment of Jensen’s stillness, Jared immediately scrambles out to stand again - hesitates, asks: “Um, wait, are you - is this? Right? I thought.”
And Jensen laughs outright, imagines Jared is scarlet from his neck down to his bare chest and into his toes. Shakes off the desire to stare openly at how good a bed looks with Jared in it and finally moves his feet, climbs in on the opposite side.
Jared rolls his eyes, gets in, fumbles at Jensen’s body to get them lined up. “Don’t freak me out, you idiot, that’s against the rules, all right?”
“Couldn’t help myself, you know, just to look. Because I can. There’s probably a rule that I get to do that now.”
“Shut up, I’m trying to woo you,” Jared says, kissing him.
“It’s mostly working,” Jensen concedes, between catches on Jared’s lips. “Like, except for the part where I’m still mad at you for all that human resources shit.”
“Oh for - get over it already. How are we supposed to be in love when you secretly hate me?”
Jensen holds his breath at the thought, saves that discussion for another time. Instead, he just lets himself curl into Jared’s chest where he wants to be, and he sleeps soundly, dreamlessly, with deep breaths and languid muscles and Jared’s big warm arms.
When he wakes the next morning, he feels sweat trickling down his forehead. He thinks it’s maybe because the bedroom window is carving a block of sun directly over Jensen’s face, which is buried in Jared’s armpit, because Jared’s arm is draped over his head. And Jared is snoring, and Sadie is standing over Jensen, on the bed, two paws perilously close to the inside of Jensen’s thighs and more, and she is licking Jensen’s face in a way that her tongue is actually entering Jensen’s nose.
(Things That Could Never Happen Again and Jensen Would Be Okay With That:)
He grimaces, yughs, shoves Sadie away, shoves Jared away, wipes his face in the sheets, and Jared winces awake, grousing, shoving Jensen back, mumbling, fucker, notices the dog, kicks her off the bed unceremoniously. Sadie barks piercingly in argument, and Jared shouts, shut the fuck up!, and Jensen kicks Jared off when his long legs start to curl with his, grumbling, too hot, get off. With a heaving sigh Jared rolls away onto his stomach and buries his face back in the pillows. Praising God, Jensen rolls over and goes back to sleep.
He wakes up again forty-five seconds later, sits up so fast he gets dizzy, searches the room for a clock, which. Apparently Jared just tells time from the position of the sun, because.
“What time is it,” he asks, groggy, voice rough, already stumbling out of bed. “Fuck, man, I gotta go to work.”
Jared picks his head up, watches Jensen blearily from one eye, says, “Huh? I don’t even, know.” His hair is tangled and flat on one side and he props himself onto an elbow to try and assess what is going on.
Jensen is pulling on his - oh, gross, oh come on, Ackles, get it together - jeans and digging in a pocket for his cell phone. Four missed calls, three voicemails, holy shit it’s eleven o clock. “I was supposed to be at work an hour ago, I gotta, uh, shit, Jared, I’m sorry---”
“Dude, it’s fine,” Jared says, and he’s sitting up now, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Let me just, I’ll walk you out.”
Jensen picks his tee-shirt out of the two tangled together on the floor, heads down the hallway in search of socks and shoes. Jared follows along behind him, yawning and scratching and shuffling his feet, unbalanced. He catches Jensen’s wrist just as Jensen’s going for the jacket he left on the floor.
The question, what? Is in Jensen’s mouth but it never comes out because Jared’s pulling him in, kissing his mouth open, nipping at dumb sleepy lips. Jensen closes his eyes, his heart comes up into his throat, and he kisses back with a long rumbling sigh of, yes, this, is nice.
“Have a nice day, honey,” Jared smirks, nosing Jensen’s warm cheeks.
“See you at 2, bitch.”
Jensen’s got the door open before he freezes at the sound of Jared humming a quiet, Umm, behind him. He turns, eyebrow raised, asks, “Yeah?”
Jared says quickly, looking down, “Never mind. I’ll see you.”
“Tell me.”
Jared hesitates for a long time before he seems to get the nerve to ask. “So, is this, happening? This wasn’t just, like, nothing, right.”
And Jensen shakes his head, heart pounding, answers, “Definitely not nothing. I don’t just, like. Do this. With anyone.”
“Okay, good. Me either. I’ve sort of been hoping.”
They smile dumb at each other, mussed, sleepy, dressed crooked. Jensen fumbles with the zipper of his coat. Jared rubs at his hair, tries to shove it into place.
Jensen says, “Go back to bed.”
“Come with me.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m trying but I can’t help it.”
And Jensen grins, shoves back through the half-closed door, kisses Jared’s sleepy sticky morning mouth.
Two weeks later, Jensen is in the office, trying to explain to Ellen why he can’t sign any more of her money out to her (remember when you asked for all of your money at the beginning of the month? Yeah there is no more, because of that, so.)
Jared comes in, drops a load of backpacks onto the kitchen floor, and raises fists triumphantly, sweatshirt riding up over the belt loops of his Levi’s.
Jensen grins, says, “You made it.”
And Mike, who is busy creating next week’s schedule, looks away from the computer. “Anything I need to know about? Should I get the incident reports?”
“Matt called me a giggly cunt. Otherwise, I am amazing at the run,” Jared says, dropping down to sit on Jensen’s desk.
“You are sort of giggly, in a manner ---”
“You,” Jared says, raising a warning finger at Jensen, who presses lips together innocently. “Shut up.”
“Make me.”
Mike says, “Oh please, don’t.”
Jared laughs, leans back against the wall, asks Mike: “You ready for tonight?”
Mike shoots a painstaking look to Jared, shakes his head in a why I oughta, and kicks away from the computer. He rubs both palms over his face, says, “I don’t even know how I let this happen.”
“Hate to break it to you, Michael, but it was your idea.”
“Right, but, I was joking! The last date I went on, was, I don’t even remember. And he’s going to be too tall for me, and fucking, I’m too old for this shit, and for another thing. I have nothing to wear! And also---”
“Mike,” Jensen breaks in calmly. “You’re gonna be fine. This is going to be good. And if it isn’t, Jared and I will get you both good and drunk and you might at least get lucky.”
And Ellen says, “Where are we going? I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Gay bar,” Jensen says.
“Well, I’ve been known to like the women.”
There’s a knock on the door. Jensen bites his lip to keep from laughing. Jared shouts, come in.
Mike looks up and pales. He darts a glance to Jensen, completely awash with horror. Jensen grins, shoots him a discreet thumbs up at the waist. Mike shakes his head with the slightest tic of his jaw.
“Jeff, hey,” Jared says, getting up and slapping hands with his brother. “Welcome to the office, I know, command central, sorry about those bags, watch it, okay. You remember Jensen, yeah? Okay, listen, so this. Is Mike, who, I told you about.”
Jeff grins and it’s just like Jared’s, something that starts in his chest and just breathes outward. He brushes a hand nervously through his hair, holds the other out in greeting. “Hey, I’m Jeff, great to meet you. I’ve, heard a lot about you.”
“Yeah, likewise, hey,” Mike says, fish-mouthed.
“So Jared said you’re out soon, told me I should swing by, meet before we go out. But I was thinking, I didn’t know if you wanted to take a ride with me? I just, I have to go out to Worcester to drop off some designs---”
“Jeff’s in architecture,” Jared supplies, smiling big.
Jeff slants a narrow look at his little brother, says: “Jared, don’t help. Anyway, so it’s kind of a haul, but I thought we could grab coffee on the way and. Whatever. And meet these two chuckleheads later.”
Mike looks utterly at a loss for words, trying to catch up to the situation and how he fell into it. Jensen knows the feeling well.
“Just say yes, Mike,” Jensen supplies after a moment.
“Shut up, Jensen,” Mike says. “No, yeah, definitely, I would love to. Let me just---”
“I’ll finish it, Mike,” Jensen says, grinning.
“Oh, okay, well, all right, I guess I’ll just. I mean, like right now?” Mike says, standing awkwardly, eyes caught on Jeff’s like he can’t look anywhere else. He kicks into gear, trying to shove stray paperwork and phone messages away, pulls his jacket from the back of his chair, looks down at himself, smoothes his tee-shirt self-consciously. Then he pans the office with a mild sensation of panic written into his eyes.
He locks on Jensen, what did you do
And Jensen puckers a brief, sweet kiss at him. You’re welcome.
Mike turns to Jeff, smiles, morphs into a shadow of his confident self, and nods at the door, shall we? They wave off Jared and Jensen, who bid them adieus that are far too saccharine, Ciao, babies, and behind Jeff Mike turns back and gives them a rude gesture before slamming the door.
“We really meeting them out?” Jared asks, after they’ve gone.
“Hell no,” Jensen laughs. “I am taking you home with me.”
“Jensen Ackles, you little sneaking liar. I like it.”
Jared’s halfway to wrestling Jensen into a noogie when the phone rings. Jensen shoves off, bitch, and swipes the phone off a neighboring desk. He doesn’t recognize the caller ID, answers hesitantly:
“Hi, Jensen, is Celeste Roven available, please?”
“She’s actually not in her office today, who is this? Can I help you with something?”
“This is Paula from Lakeside Community Human Resources. I just had a few questions I needed to ask her.”
Jensen’s eyebrows go to his hair line; Jared looks on curiously, trying to decipher the one side of the conversation.
“Hi, Paula, I remember meeting you. You interviewed me, actually. During that whole, process.”
“Oh, yes, I remember the name - Jensen. I know that was a difficult thing for you all to go through, but I’d like to say again, thank you so much for all of your cooperation in this matter. Meeting and speaking to your staff was a pleasure. Clearly, you are a strong team, and you really support each other. Lakeside could use more like you. The information you supplied us was extremely helpful; a situation like this was important for Lakeside to address, and we couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Well really, it was no trouble, ma’am. Thanks for taking the time to come out, for taking us seriously. We’ve been having some issues, as you can probably tell.”
“Absolutely. Which is why I’d really like to catch Celeste today; I have several things I need to discuss, and issues that need clarification. Might there be another number for us to contact her at?”
Jensen gives Celeste’s personal cell phone number and hangs up, blinking at Jared.
“Human resources?”
“Yeah. I think it’s gonna be fine,” Jensen says slowly.
And Jared grins, pushes at Jensen’s shoulder, says: “I think it is, too.”
[end]
thank you for reading!
an extra-special thank you.
okay seriously? i have to do this. because i am like beside myself, i don't even know. to everyone who has commented, to everyone who will comment, to everyone who directs someone else here.
DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND HOW HARD YOU ROCK MY WORLD?
there are not enough meaningful words in the english language.
thank you. it means a lot, a lot, a lot. i know it seems like not a big deal, but it really is. one small gesture can seriously change a person's day, and you've all done that for me! over and over. thank you, thank you. seriously.