And when we kiss (2/2)
second half! now with peripheral characters and music!
this thing is begging for a timestamp. i'm warning you now.
and when we kiss, (2/2)
j2 au; 3900k
pg13 for language and (more) kisses
jensen is not amused by the the tall football douche who sits in front of him in organic chem. in fact, he prefers to torture him whenever possible.
soundtrack!
thank you again, to karabou for machining through what amounted to a same-day beta. YOU CRAZY, omg. i adore you.
part one
Jensen has a restless, uncomfortable break and is back on campus, unpacked with his head buried in research, as early as possible. He’s eager for some extra time to work on his thesis. He wants some time alone in his suite before the roommates stomp back in with booze, bass, and women. He has to stop by the record shop to find out if they put him on the schedule for this week.
He looks for Jared everywhere and doesn’t find him.
For that one Sunday before classes resume, on a silent campus brushed light with snow, Jensen wanders back and forth across the quad, convincing himself that Jared is no one. Some guy in his class he’d helped out, and started obsessing over for no good reason.
Late at night, on the inner curve of sleep when the lights are out, Jensen allows himself to think of Jared differently.
Instead of a bitterly twisted mouth and pulled face, there are long fingers that span the warm dip of Jensen’s back; there are lean legs bracketing his; there are tense, darkened eyes begging for permission to touch Jensen again.
And Jensen lies alone, sleepless under the hanging moon outside his bedroom window, too busy to connect with someone he spends all his time thinking about.
On Monday night after biochem and lab, Jensen has his first shift back at the record shop. After the windows are cleaned and the place is vacuumed, Jensen shoves aside his re-stock in favor of leaning over the register, chin in palm, staring into space. He listens to Maxwell and startles to attention, hopeful, every time the door hits the welcome bell.
After a full six hours of feeling like an idiot, Jensen goes back to thinking that Jared is a complete tool.
Jensen has a hip against the Starbucks counter, talking to Alyson, when she looks over his shoulder, smiles, and says, “Well, welcome back!”
And Jared has stepped up behind him, smiling bright at Alyson, greeting her back. He nods at Jensen in brief acknowledgment.
“Meat,” he greets in return, biting down hard on his own tongue afterward.
Jared’s eyes linger for about half a second, jaw twitching, before he moves on to ask Alyson how her holidays were.
Jensen stands there, eyes on the floor, heart in his throat while it beats so hard against his skin that he trembles. He hears his mind blurt a few bitchy comments during their conversation, but for some reason he bites down on them.
In truth, Jensen spends the entire two minutes it takes for Jared to get his coffee waiting for him to take a step closer, or slip him a quiet look. But, Jensen knows a brush-off when he gets one. He remains silent, waiting for Jared to leave.
When Jared turns and walks out with a small wave to Alyson, he doesn’t even look at Jensen, which digs right into him. The whole thing abruptly starts to hurt. Jared’s the forward one. Jared’s the one who forces contact, who - and if he can’t even be polite - then what must he think of Jensen?
“What was that?” Alyson asks, raising eyebrows at Jensen.
“I think I’m a dick,” Jensen says, and then chuffs at himself. “Which is hilarious, cause that’s how we started talking.”
As obsessed with organic chemistry as he has suddenly become, Jensen can’t manage to get there on time. He spends his morning finishing a lab report, obsessing over his hair, writing a to-do list, dallying over coffee with Alyson, and finally - standing outside the lecture doors, waiting a few extra minutes.
The last thing he needs is to look excited to be here.
He finally strolls in ten minutes late, quiet, casual, unhurried. He can’t stop his eyes from immediately flitting up to their seats.
They’re empty. Jared isn’t there.
Hesitating, Jensen stares dumbly at the vacant rows. Something sinks inside that feels like it won’t ever come back. He climbs the stairs slowly, muscles painfully tense, and when he gets there, there’s nothing to do but just sit down and open his notebook.
He spends the entire class watching the door, but Jared never shows up.
When Thursday morning rolls around and again, Jared isn’t there, Jensen wonders if Jared wasn’t doing well enough in class. Maybe he dropped it and decided to try again next semester. Maybe he’s sick. Maybe Jared left the class because of him.
Jensen thinks, I am a self-important ass. He tunes back into his lecture.
A week later, Jensen is overwhelmed by the amount of work piled on top of him. He has a shift at the store tonight and he’s thinking of calling out, just for the opportunity to read enough about biochem to not fall behind.
Even before that is the painful issue of Jensen’s thesis. His research professor doesn’t get it. It needs work. If thoughts could kill, the entire university would have been blown to a smoldering crater by now.
He’s on his laptop in the library, speed-editing the second half when Jared walks by him. The draft is due in twenty minutes, on the other side of campus. Jensen thinks about it for approximately one panicked second; he shoves his work aside and scrambles up to follow Jared.
Jared is heading for the stairs when Jensen’s voice gets loud enough - Hey, Jared. Hey! - for him to finally stop, head falling between his shoulder blades before he turns.
“What’s up with you, man?” Jensen asks; he means it to be light but it comes off accusing as he catches his breath. “Can’t say hi? Haven’t seen you since we got back.”
Jared’s jaw shifts with discomfort. He’s fighting between keeping eye contact and staring at the wall behind Jensen.
“I’ve been around,” Jared says.
“Oh, that’s fucking cute. Around where? You haven’t even been in class.”
“I’m there.”
“I haven’t seen you once.”
Jared shrugs, offering no explanation. Instead, he says: “You didn’t want to run into me.”
“I never said that.”
“Well, that’s what I heard. Loud and clear.”
“Well, I’m running into you now,” Jensen snipes.
“And?”
“Jared, come on.”
“Don’t you have class or something?” Jared asks, shifting the bag on his shoulder and turning on heel. He disappears up the stairs, leaving Jensen to stand there, flustered and angry, embarrassed, and upset.
His draft is over an hour late.
It’s in the second week of December, getting his third organic exam back, that Jensen finds Jared in class. When MacLaurin calls his name, Jensen’s attention is riveted to the tall figure in the Vic training jacket unfolding from the second row to retrieve the exam.
Jensen watches Jared carefully, but his eyes don’t stray from the grade in his hands; the smile that crosses his face gives Jensen reason enough to smile with him.
He’s bothered as hell by the fact that Jared leaves the room at the end of class without looking back.
On Friday night he’s crossing to the far edge of campus, where the suites are, after an endless, aggravating shift at work. He’d shown four different people where to find the same Nick Cave album, had a teenaged girl bitch him out for not knowing who Aaliyah is dating, and argued with some emo douche regarding the Get-Up Kids versus the Anniversary until Jensen finally kicked him out of the store on principle of being an idiot.
He plans on using the buzzing, negative energy to steamroll through his last stack of journal articles, taking refuge on the quiet fifth floor of the library. No time like the present to grapple his way to a 3.9.
When he gets to his suite he finds a party: loud, frothing, and in full swing. Jensen elbows his way through the crowd towards his bedroom, but by the time he gets there he’s had two shots poured down his throat and an invite into the next round of pong.
Jensen throws his bag down and toes off his shoes without turning on the light, and then heads back to the kitchen for another drink. It’s been a while since he got good and shit-wrecked drunk; after a semester like this, he’s probably earned it.
By one o’clock, he’s proven three times over that he’s a Beirut master, and he’s had more to drink in the last two hours than he’s had in the entirety of the semester and half the summer combined. He shakes his head when one of his roommates shoves another beer at him; he’s had plenty, feeling good and loose, dizzy and sloshed, like he’s ready to go pass out fully clothed in the cool darkness of his empty bedroom.
On his way through the living room, Jensen spots a familiar face he can’t put a name to. Looking closer, he sees that the lean, broad-shouldered blonde with the goatee is talking to his roommate, Steve. It dawns on Jensen suddenly; that’s the kicker from the Vic U football team. Number 37. He remembers the field goal.
Jensen frowns. What’s that guy doing here? Jensen didn’t know that Steve hung out with football jocks. Steve’s in a band that plays in places called Joe’s Dive; what the fuck could they possibly have in common?
It’s then, on that very thought, that Jensen notices the guy sitting on the couch next to them, watching the conversation with dulled interest. It’s Jared. Jared is in his suite, at his roommate’s party, completely unaware that Jensen lives here.
Perfect.
Jensen saunters over, a solid film of awareness drifting to the surface of his mind and blocking out the drunk idiot in him that wants to slide into Jared’s lap and grind against his stomach until they both come.
Jared is piping up to support Steve’s interest in doing Ryan Adams covers when Jensen says, “Hey, Jared.”
All three of them swing looks over to Jensen and for a moment he experiences the weight of their combined stares as vertigo. Could be the Jack Daniels.
“Hey,” Jared says, eyes widening slightly. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Weird.”
And Jensen takes a minute to study Jared, always so put together: tonight in dark denim and a sensible sweater; hair combed back and out of his face, soft in the bleary overhead lighting; and black Asics that apparently count as his “good” shoes. His green and white athletic jacket is thrown over the back of the couch with the kicker’s.
“You go anywhere without that thing?” Jensen nods to the jacket, rolling his eyes.
“You guys know each other?” Steve asks, grinning between them. “Jen’s been a good buddy of mine for a long time, lives here. Jen, this is my friend Chad, met him the other night at a gig hitting on Alyson. Cute, right? No shot in hell, right? Anyway, he’s on the football team, plays with Jared here.”
Jensen holds out a hand to Chad. “I know who you are, dude, I saw that kick at the end of the last game, right before Thanksgiving. Fifty-two yards. It was awesome.”
“Thanks, man. Good to finally meet you,” Chad says. “Jared here’s told me a lot about you.”
To his credit, Jensen doesn’t flinch. “Yeah, same here. Good to put a guy to all the stories, you know?”
Chad’s grinning at him, and Steve’s got a hand on each of their shoulders. He feels Jared, focused and intense, staring right through his lie. Better be a stare of gratitude, for getting us through this awkward fuckin’ moment, Jensen thinks.
Jensen talks with Chad a moment longer before he and Steve go off on their own tangent again, leaving Jensen as much the outcast as Jared had been. Involved now, he moves to sit beside Jared on the couch and wait for something to happen.
He’d settle for the fog behind his eyes clearing, any time now. What was once a wonderful and happy drunk has become a burden and a worry, an animal not quite sure Jensen can control, now that it’s not going right to sleep.
“Funny, running into you again,” Jensen quips.
“Hilarious, Jen,” Jared says.
“Reserved for next of kin only. And don’t think you count, just ‘cause you moon over me to your friends.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Jared says, fiercely defensive, suddenly angry. “I don’t do that. Shut up.”
Jensen backs off, startled. Jared catches himself, immediately deflating. His face colors helplessly, and Jensen doesn’t know what to think anymore.
“How’s class been?”
“Fine.”
“Give me a break, Jared. I’m trying.”
Jared shrugs, staring beyond the room and into the kitchen, where Steve and Chad have disappeared for another round.
“I tried,” Jared says. “And this is what I got back, so.”
Jensen swallows. Says: “This isn’t what you got back.”
“Oh, no?”
“No.”
“Then, please - ”
The movement of Jensen rising to his feet stops the thought in Jared’s head. He swings a leg across Jared’s to stand over him, leans in, and knots fingers in the back of Jared’s hair to haul him up into a kiss. Jared responds like he’s been waiting for it, mouth opening, fingers wrenching tight in the sleeves of Jensen’s Clash tee-shirt. Jensen is breathless the entire time, chest pounding with it. He hums soft sounds into Jared’s mouth that get bitten at.
Jared drags hands down Jensen’s sides in such a depraved way that Jensen’s back arches beneath the touch. He curves his hands around the backs of Jensen’s thighs and Jensen follows the pull, getting a knee on either side of Jared’s hips and pressing in.
Jensen’s fingers go directly to Jared’s hair because it’s something to grip, something to hold onto and mess up. He uses it to tug Jared’s head back until Jared’s throat constricts with a quiet sound of wanting. He pants a loud breath against Jensen’s lips and murmurs, “You fucking cunt.”
It takes a moment for Jensen’s mind to register the seriousness in Jared’s voice, but it’s enough time for Jared to shove him away and get up from the couch, stalking toward the kitchen.
Jensen lies there, splayed out, figuring he’s supposed to be feeling this. The rejection is potent, burns at him like an acid, gets right under his skin and stings painfully at the back of his mind.
Even the name-calling hurts. Jensen hasn’t been hurt by being called something shitty since the seventh grade when a girl called him an dick because she thought he’d touched her ass.
Worst of all, Jensen thinks: I made Jared feel like this.
He pulls himself up off the couch, clumsily landing on a foot and a knee before he’s headed for the kitchen. He finds Jared there, saying his goodbyes to Steve, telling Chad he’ll see him tomorrow. Jensen stands there in the doorway, anxious, not sure what to say that won’t piss Jared off any further.
When Jared turns and sees Jensen in the door, his eyes harden, and Jensen feels the words tumble out helplessly: “Let me walk you home. Okay?”
And Jared stares at him for a long, calculating moment, but Jensen doesn’t fold. Must have been something in Jensen’s tone, or something lingering in his expression, but Jared softens after a few seconds and shrugs, picture of casual.
“Whatever,” he says.
Jensen rolls his eyes, but tugs on his Chucks and follows Jared out anyway. He knows a gift when he gets one.
It’s almost three and the December air is still as they walk. Beside him, Jared is tense, refusing to break the silence. He keeps eyes on the tree line, hands shoved in his pockets, hair still tangled and askew where Jensen had been pulling at it. Jensen tries not to stare, feeling a mixture of heat and shame lapping at his stomach.
“Glad to be done with football?” Jensen asks. Lame, he thinks.
“Training to run track, now. In the spring. Athletic scholarships, they expect you to be athletes all the time, or something. Crazy, right?”
Jensen ignores the shitty tone. Says: “Hey, that’s. If that’s what you’re good at. That’s awesome.”
“Sure,” Jared says, and lapses into silence again.
“So listen,” Jensen sighs, rubbing a frustrated hand over his eyes. “I’m kind of drunk right now, but. I should tell you I’m not good at things. I mean, I don’t even know you. I do not know one thing about you outside of hating chemistry and playing football.”
“What more is there to know?”
“Well, a lot, I’m sure. Plenty. And, I’m interested. I just. Whatever.”
Jared chances a look at this, and they make tenuous eye contact before Jared quickly looks down to his own feet.
“Just decided to leave me out to dry, right?” Jared supplies. “Cause you’ve got the hipster judgment thing going on? Cause I’m a football player and I’m dumb at chemistry, right. And it doesn’t matter that it felt - doesn’t matter what it felt like.”
“It matters,” Jensen says, more harshly than he intends.
Jared’s quiet again, and they come to a stop outside one of the team dorms on the East side of campus. The moon is blocked out by bare tree branches that set trembling shadows over Jared’s face. He looks at Jensen carefully, shoves a handful long, messy hair off his forehead.
“I hate coffee,” he says.
Jensen frowns, opening his mouth to argue the point. But then he gets it, and feels like such an asshole that he can feel his face fall.
“Jared. Let me come up. Please? I want to come up.”
And Jared thinks about it; Jensen sees it cross his face, sees his eyes darken at the thought, sees the way the line of his shoulders tightens with anticipation. Jensen chews his lip, doesn’t care that he’s begging.
“No,” Jared finally says. “Bad idea. Awful idea.”
The swoop of aching in Jensen’s chest leaves no room for words. He nods, shrugging, a reluctant agreement. He takes a step backwards.
“I’m sorry,” Jared says.
“It’s fine. I get it.”
“Call me tomorrow.”
Jensen grins. “Nine am, and we’re going for coffee.”
Jensen’s awake at 7, watching the sky, listening to his racing thoughts. If he spends one more minute with this thing unresolved between them, he’ll never make it to the end of the semester.
He throws on the jeans he wore last night, a tee-shirt from the clean pile on his floor, and the Vic U hat he got his first year here, from his dad, during Family Weekend. The air is freezing and drags the warmth out of Jensen’s lungs as the building closes itself behind him.
He calls Jared as he walks, not expecting the groggy slur of a greeting.
“I was going to leave you a voicemail.”
“What time is it?”
“Have you ever been to my store?”
“What? Jensen.”
“The record shop, had you ever even seen it? Before we met.”
Jared sighs, sounds like he’s stretching. “Alyson had to draw me a map. Where the hell are you, dude, it’s loud.”
“And you knew I lived with Steve. Jesus Christ, Jared. You really did all of this.”
“Jen, man, you’re gonna have to call back later, all right? I’m not, I just went to bed like three hours ago, what are you even doing awake, is that wind? You should be passed out cold right now.”
“Listen. You should know that I don’t date.”
“What? Okay.”
“I don’t even really like to talk.”
“That’s a fucking lie, because you love to listen to yourself, but all right, I’ll go with it.”
“Jared, I’m trying to say. Oh for - come down and let me in, will you?”
“What? You’re - what the hell are you doing here? Fuck’s sake. I’ll be right down.”
Jared comes down in gray lounge pants and a white tee-shirt, with bare feet and bleary eyes. His hair is a mess, hanging over his forehead in tangles that he uselessly tries to shove back. Jensen feels a desire rip through him that’s only surfaced briefly before now. He feels like he’s looking at a completely different person.
Jared hesitates, staring at Jensen like Jensen’s gone crazy, about to ask, Seriously, what -
And Jensen steps into his space, feels his stomach cave on a caught breath when Jensen catches that warm, soft, mouth. Jensen gives it lightly, leaves time for Jared change his mind. Jared holds himself back, arms held away, back curved to keep distance between them, but he doesn’t change his mind. He lets Jensen linger, lets their dragging lips take all of his breath until he’s panting into Jensen’s mouth.
Jensen shudders, hands tight at his sides, testing how real this is. The temple resting against his, the dark hair brushing his eyelashes, and the way his hat is crooked from nosing Jared’s face.
“It was a game,” Jensen says, not pulling away. Eyes closed, feeling the pulse in Jared’s neck. “Fun. Wanting. Every time I said something shitty to you, I felt it go right through me.”
“Well ain’t that sweet,” Jared laughs, mouth on his neck.
“Cut it out, I’m going somewhere with this.”
Jared hums, lips unevenly brushing at trembling skin. Jensen has to take a breath and re-organize his thoughts.
“So, yeah,” Jensen continues hesitantly. “A game, until, you know, it wasn’t. I didn’t know what I was doing until it was done. Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Jared, when I didn’t see you in class that day, I thought I was gonna lose it.”
“I had to move.”
“Hated me that much, huh,” Jensen sighs, chin tilting up to encourage Jared’s touches.
“You were the reason I was failing organic.”
“Pretty sure I was the one helping you pass.”
“I couldn’t focus on anything, was too busy listening to you yawn, or sigh; flip your fuckin’ notebook page; move your feet; anything. Nothing in that class was ever gonna make any sense.”
Jensen feels a flood of warmth rushing up to his skin, heating his ears, his neck, his chest. He feels so stupid, and he feels so, so wanted. He takes Jared by the side of the head and kisses hard, eyes crushed closed, letting his weight fall against Jared.
Jared catches him with strong arms around his waist, drags him close and opens wide, kissing Jensen so hard that his thighs tighten and his knees buckles. Jensen doesn’t breathe, doesn’t think. He feels light, frantic, and overwhelmed. He never ever wants this to stop.
“Can I come in now,” he gasps when Jared pulls away to kiss his face.
“No,” Jared says. “I don’t want you to come in. I never want to see you again. You’re a cunt. Go home.”
“You need practice,” Jensen grins, shoving him off and dodging inside before Jared has a chance to delay this any longer.
He feels the length of Jared press against his back, arms looping around his waist, legs bracketing his while they walk. He smiles so hard his face hurts, and he’s glad Jared can’t see.
“I do,” Jared agrees, chin falling to rest in the heated curve of Jensen’s neck. “Good thing I know an awesome tutor who just happens to be a total dick.”
Jensen laughs, and loves that Jared can feel it.
[timestamp 1: let my voice lead you.]
[timestamp 2: his breathing is music.]
this thing is begging for a timestamp. i'm warning you now.
and when we kiss, (2/2)
j2 au; 3900k
pg13 for language and (more) kisses
jensen is not amused by the the tall football douche who sits in front of him in organic chem. in fact, he prefers to torture him whenever possible.
soundtrack!
thank you again, to karabou for machining through what amounted to a same-day beta. YOU CRAZY, omg. i adore you.
part one
Jensen has a restless, uncomfortable break and is back on campus, unpacked with his head buried in research, as early as possible. He’s eager for some extra time to work on his thesis. He wants some time alone in his suite before the roommates stomp back in with booze, bass, and women. He has to stop by the record shop to find out if they put him on the schedule for this week.
He looks for Jared everywhere and doesn’t find him.
For that one Sunday before classes resume, on a silent campus brushed light with snow, Jensen wanders back and forth across the quad, convincing himself that Jared is no one. Some guy in his class he’d helped out, and started obsessing over for no good reason.
Late at night, on the inner curve of sleep when the lights are out, Jensen allows himself to think of Jared differently.
Instead of a bitterly twisted mouth and pulled face, there are long fingers that span the warm dip of Jensen’s back; there are lean legs bracketing his; there are tense, darkened eyes begging for permission to touch Jensen again.
And Jensen lies alone, sleepless under the hanging moon outside his bedroom window, too busy to connect with someone he spends all his time thinking about.
On Monday night after biochem and lab, Jensen has his first shift back at the record shop. After the windows are cleaned and the place is vacuumed, Jensen shoves aside his re-stock in favor of leaning over the register, chin in palm, staring into space. He listens to Maxwell and startles to attention, hopeful, every time the door hits the welcome bell.
After a full six hours of feeling like an idiot, Jensen goes back to thinking that Jared is a complete tool.
Jensen has a hip against the Starbucks counter, talking to Alyson, when she looks over his shoulder, smiles, and says, “Well, welcome back!”
And Jared has stepped up behind him, smiling bright at Alyson, greeting her back. He nods at Jensen in brief acknowledgment.
“Meat,” he greets in return, biting down hard on his own tongue afterward.
Jared’s eyes linger for about half a second, jaw twitching, before he moves on to ask Alyson how her holidays were.
Jensen stands there, eyes on the floor, heart in his throat while it beats so hard against his skin that he trembles. He hears his mind blurt a few bitchy comments during their conversation, but for some reason he bites down on them.
In truth, Jensen spends the entire two minutes it takes for Jared to get his coffee waiting for him to take a step closer, or slip him a quiet look. But, Jensen knows a brush-off when he gets one. He remains silent, waiting for Jared to leave.
When Jared turns and walks out with a small wave to Alyson, he doesn’t even look at Jensen, which digs right into him. The whole thing abruptly starts to hurt. Jared’s the forward one. Jared’s the one who forces contact, who - and if he can’t even be polite - then what must he think of Jensen?
“What was that?” Alyson asks, raising eyebrows at Jensen.
“I think I’m a dick,” Jensen says, and then chuffs at himself. “Which is hilarious, cause that’s how we started talking.”
As obsessed with organic chemistry as he has suddenly become, Jensen can’t manage to get there on time. He spends his morning finishing a lab report, obsessing over his hair, writing a to-do list, dallying over coffee with Alyson, and finally - standing outside the lecture doors, waiting a few extra minutes.
The last thing he needs is to look excited to be here.
He finally strolls in ten minutes late, quiet, casual, unhurried. He can’t stop his eyes from immediately flitting up to their seats.
They’re empty. Jared isn’t there.
Hesitating, Jensen stares dumbly at the vacant rows. Something sinks inside that feels like it won’t ever come back. He climbs the stairs slowly, muscles painfully tense, and when he gets there, there’s nothing to do but just sit down and open his notebook.
He spends the entire class watching the door, but Jared never shows up.
When Thursday morning rolls around and again, Jared isn’t there, Jensen wonders if Jared wasn’t doing well enough in class. Maybe he dropped it and decided to try again next semester. Maybe he’s sick. Maybe Jared left the class because of him.
Jensen thinks, I am a self-important ass. He tunes back into his lecture.
A week later, Jensen is overwhelmed by the amount of work piled on top of him. He has a shift at the store tonight and he’s thinking of calling out, just for the opportunity to read enough about biochem to not fall behind.
Even before that is the painful issue of Jensen’s thesis. His research professor doesn’t get it. It needs work. If thoughts could kill, the entire university would have been blown to a smoldering crater by now.
He’s on his laptop in the library, speed-editing the second half when Jared walks by him. The draft is due in twenty minutes, on the other side of campus. Jensen thinks about it for approximately one panicked second; he shoves his work aside and scrambles up to follow Jared.
Jared is heading for the stairs when Jensen’s voice gets loud enough - Hey, Jared. Hey! - for him to finally stop, head falling between his shoulder blades before he turns.
“What’s up with you, man?” Jensen asks; he means it to be light but it comes off accusing as he catches his breath. “Can’t say hi? Haven’t seen you since we got back.”
Jared’s jaw shifts with discomfort. He’s fighting between keeping eye contact and staring at the wall behind Jensen.
“I’ve been around,” Jared says.
“Oh, that’s fucking cute. Around where? You haven’t even been in class.”
“I’m there.”
“I haven’t seen you once.”
Jared shrugs, offering no explanation. Instead, he says: “You didn’t want to run into me.”
“I never said that.”
“Well, that’s what I heard. Loud and clear.”
“Well, I’m running into you now,” Jensen snipes.
“And?”
“Jared, come on.”
“Don’t you have class or something?” Jared asks, shifting the bag on his shoulder and turning on heel. He disappears up the stairs, leaving Jensen to stand there, flustered and angry, embarrassed, and upset.
His draft is over an hour late.
It’s in the second week of December, getting his third organic exam back, that Jensen finds Jared in class. When MacLaurin calls his name, Jensen’s attention is riveted to the tall figure in the Vic training jacket unfolding from the second row to retrieve the exam.
Jensen watches Jared carefully, but his eyes don’t stray from the grade in his hands; the smile that crosses his face gives Jensen reason enough to smile with him.
He’s bothered as hell by the fact that Jared leaves the room at the end of class without looking back.
On Friday night he’s crossing to the far edge of campus, where the suites are, after an endless, aggravating shift at work. He’d shown four different people where to find the same Nick Cave album, had a teenaged girl bitch him out for not knowing who Aaliyah is dating, and argued with some emo douche regarding the Get-Up Kids versus the Anniversary until Jensen finally kicked him out of the store on principle of being an idiot.
He plans on using the buzzing, negative energy to steamroll through his last stack of journal articles, taking refuge on the quiet fifth floor of the library. No time like the present to grapple his way to a 3.9.
When he gets to his suite he finds a party: loud, frothing, and in full swing. Jensen elbows his way through the crowd towards his bedroom, but by the time he gets there he’s had two shots poured down his throat and an invite into the next round of pong.
Jensen throws his bag down and toes off his shoes without turning on the light, and then heads back to the kitchen for another drink. It’s been a while since he got good and shit-wrecked drunk; after a semester like this, he’s probably earned it.
By one o’clock, he’s proven three times over that he’s a Beirut master, and he’s had more to drink in the last two hours than he’s had in the entirety of the semester and half the summer combined. He shakes his head when one of his roommates shoves another beer at him; he’s had plenty, feeling good and loose, dizzy and sloshed, like he’s ready to go pass out fully clothed in the cool darkness of his empty bedroom.
On his way through the living room, Jensen spots a familiar face he can’t put a name to. Looking closer, he sees that the lean, broad-shouldered blonde with the goatee is talking to his roommate, Steve. It dawns on Jensen suddenly; that’s the kicker from the Vic U football team. Number 37. He remembers the field goal.
Jensen frowns. What’s that guy doing here? Jensen didn’t know that Steve hung out with football jocks. Steve’s in a band that plays in places called Joe’s Dive; what the fuck could they possibly have in common?
It’s then, on that very thought, that Jensen notices the guy sitting on the couch next to them, watching the conversation with dulled interest. It’s Jared. Jared is in his suite, at his roommate’s party, completely unaware that Jensen lives here.
Perfect.
Jensen saunters over, a solid film of awareness drifting to the surface of his mind and blocking out the drunk idiot in him that wants to slide into Jared’s lap and grind against his stomach until they both come.
Jared is piping up to support Steve’s interest in doing Ryan Adams covers when Jensen says, “Hey, Jared.”
All three of them swing looks over to Jensen and for a moment he experiences the weight of their combined stares as vertigo. Could be the Jack Daniels.
“Hey,” Jared says, eyes widening slightly. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Weird.”
And Jensen takes a minute to study Jared, always so put together: tonight in dark denim and a sensible sweater; hair combed back and out of his face, soft in the bleary overhead lighting; and black Asics that apparently count as his “good” shoes. His green and white athletic jacket is thrown over the back of the couch with the kicker’s.
“You go anywhere without that thing?” Jensen nods to the jacket, rolling his eyes.
“You guys know each other?” Steve asks, grinning between them. “Jen’s been a good buddy of mine for a long time, lives here. Jen, this is my friend Chad, met him the other night at a gig hitting on Alyson. Cute, right? No shot in hell, right? Anyway, he’s on the football team, plays with Jared here.”
Jensen holds out a hand to Chad. “I know who you are, dude, I saw that kick at the end of the last game, right before Thanksgiving. Fifty-two yards. It was awesome.”
“Thanks, man. Good to finally meet you,” Chad says. “Jared here’s told me a lot about you.”
To his credit, Jensen doesn’t flinch. “Yeah, same here. Good to put a guy to all the stories, you know?”
Chad’s grinning at him, and Steve’s got a hand on each of their shoulders. He feels Jared, focused and intense, staring right through his lie. Better be a stare of gratitude, for getting us through this awkward fuckin’ moment, Jensen thinks.
Jensen talks with Chad a moment longer before he and Steve go off on their own tangent again, leaving Jensen as much the outcast as Jared had been. Involved now, he moves to sit beside Jared on the couch and wait for something to happen.
He’d settle for the fog behind his eyes clearing, any time now. What was once a wonderful and happy drunk has become a burden and a worry, an animal not quite sure Jensen can control, now that it’s not going right to sleep.
“Funny, running into you again,” Jensen quips.
“Hilarious, Jen,” Jared says.
“Reserved for next of kin only. And don’t think you count, just ‘cause you moon over me to your friends.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Jared says, fiercely defensive, suddenly angry. “I don’t do that. Shut up.”
Jensen backs off, startled. Jared catches himself, immediately deflating. His face colors helplessly, and Jensen doesn’t know what to think anymore.
“How’s class been?”
“Fine.”
“Give me a break, Jared. I’m trying.”
Jared shrugs, staring beyond the room and into the kitchen, where Steve and Chad have disappeared for another round.
“I tried,” Jared says. “And this is what I got back, so.”
Jensen swallows. Says: “This isn’t what you got back.”
“Oh, no?”
“No.”
“Then, please - ”
The movement of Jensen rising to his feet stops the thought in Jared’s head. He swings a leg across Jared’s to stand over him, leans in, and knots fingers in the back of Jared’s hair to haul him up into a kiss. Jared responds like he’s been waiting for it, mouth opening, fingers wrenching tight in the sleeves of Jensen’s Clash tee-shirt. Jensen is breathless the entire time, chest pounding with it. He hums soft sounds into Jared’s mouth that get bitten at.
Jared drags hands down Jensen’s sides in such a depraved way that Jensen’s back arches beneath the touch. He curves his hands around the backs of Jensen’s thighs and Jensen follows the pull, getting a knee on either side of Jared’s hips and pressing in.
Jensen’s fingers go directly to Jared’s hair because it’s something to grip, something to hold onto and mess up. He uses it to tug Jared’s head back until Jared’s throat constricts with a quiet sound of wanting. He pants a loud breath against Jensen’s lips and murmurs, “You fucking cunt.”
It takes a moment for Jensen’s mind to register the seriousness in Jared’s voice, but it’s enough time for Jared to shove him away and get up from the couch, stalking toward the kitchen.
Jensen lies there, splayed out, figuring he’s supposed to be feeling this. The rejection is potent, burns at him like an acid, gets right under his skin and stings painfully at the back of his mind.
Even the name-calling hurts. Jensen hasn’t been hurt by being called something shitty since the seventh grade when a girl called him an dick because she thought he’d touched her ass.
Worst of all, Jensen thinks: I made Jared feel like this.
He pulls himself up off the couch, clumsily landing on a foot and a knee before he’s headed for the kitchen. He finds Jared there, saying his goodbyes to Steve, telling Chad he’ll see him tomorrow. Jensen stands there in the doorway, anxious, not sure what to say that won’t piss Jared off any further.
When Jared turns and sees Jensen in the door, his eyes harden, and Jensen feels the words tumble out helplessly: “Let me walk you home. Okay?”
And Jared stares at him for a long, calculating moment, but Jensen doesn’t fold. Must have been something in Jensen’s tone, or something lingering in his expression, but Jared softens after a few seconds and shrugs, picture of casual.
“Whatever,” he says.
Jensen rolls his eyes, but tugs on his Chucks and follows Jared out anyway. He knows a gift when he gets one.
It’s almost three and the December air is still as they walk. Beside him, Jared is tense, refusing to break the silence. He keeps eyes on the tree line, hands shoved in his pockets, hair still tangled and askew where Jensen had been pulling at it. Jensen tries not to stare, feeling a mixture of heat and shame lapping at his stomach.
“Glad to be done with football?” Jensen asks. Lame, he thinks.
“Training to run track, now. In the spring. Athletic scholarships, they expect you to be athletes all the time, or something. Crazy, right?”
Jensen ignores the shitty tone. Says: “Hey, that’s. If that’s what you’re good at. That’s awesome.”
“Sure,” Jared says, and lapses into silence again.
“So listen,” Jensen sighs, rubbing a frustrated hand over his eyes. “I’m kind of drunk right now, but. I should tell you I’m not good at things. I mean, I don’t even know you. I do not know one thing about you outside of hating chemistry and playing football.”
“What more is there to know?”
“Well, a lot, I’m sure. Plenty. And, I’m interested. I just. Whatever.”
Jared chances a look at this, and they make tenuous eye contact before Jared quickly looks down to his own feet.
“Just decided to leave me out to dry, right?” Jared supplies. “Cause you’ve got the hipster judgment thing going on? Cause I’m a football player and I’m dumb at chemistry, right. And it doesn’t matter that it felt - doesn’t matter what it felt like.”
“It matters,” Jensen says, more harshly than he intends.
Jared’s quiet again, and they come to a stop outside one of the team dorms on the East side of campus. The moon is blocked out by bare tree branches that set trembling shadows over Jared’s face. He looks at Jensen carefully, shoves a handful long, messy hair off his forehead.
“I hate coffee,” he says.
Jensen frowns, opening his mouth to argue the point. But then he gets it, and feels like such an asshole that he can feel his face fall.
“Jared. Let me come up. Please? I want to come up.”
And Jared thinks about it; Jensen sees it cross his face, sees his eyes darken at the thought, sees the way the line of his shoulders tightens with anticipation. Jensen chews his lip, doesn’t care that he’s begging.
“No,” Jared finally says. “Bad idea. Awful idea.”
The swoop of aching in Jensen’s chest leaves no room for words. He nods, shrugging, a reluctant agreement. He takes a step backwards.
“I’m sorry,” Jared says.
“It’s fine. I get it.”
“Call me tomorrow.”
Jensen grins. “Nine am, and we’re going for coffee.”
Jensen’s awake at 7, watching the sky, listening to his racing thoughts. If he spends one more minute with this thing unresolved between them, he’ll never make it to the end of the semester.
He throws on the jeans he wore last night, a tee-shirt from the clean pile on his floor, and the Vic U hat he got his first year here, from his dad, during Family Weekend. The air is freezing and drags the warmth out of Jensen’s lungs as the building closes itself behind him.
He calls Jared as he walks, not expecting the groggy slur of a greeting.
“I was going to leave you a voicemail.”
“What time is it?”
“Have you ever been to my store?”
“What? Jensen.”
“The record shop, had you ever even seen it? Before we met.”
Jared sighs, sounds like he’s stretching. “Alyson had to draw me a map. Where the hell are you, dude, it’s loud.”
“And you knew I lived with Steve. Jesus Christ, Jared. You really did all of this.”
“Jen, man, you’re gonna have to call back later, all right? I’m not, I just went to bed like three hours ago, what are you even doing awake, is that wind? You should be passed out cold right now.”
“Listen. You should know that I don’t date.”
“What? Okay.”
“I don’t even really like to talk.”
“That’s a fucking lie, because you love to listen to yourself, but all right, I’ll go with it.”
“Jared, I’m trying to say. Oh for - come down and let me in, will you?”
“What? You’re - what the hell are you doing here? Fuck’s sake. I’ll be right down.”
Jared comes down in gray lounge pants and a white tee-shirt, with bare feet and bleary eyes. His hair is a mess, hanging over his forehead in tangles that he uselessly tries to shove back. Jensen feels a desire rip through him that’s only surfaced briefly before now. He feels like he’s looking at a completely different person.
Jared hesitates, staring at Jensen like Jensen’s gone crazy, about to ask, Seriously, what -
And Jensen steps into his space, feels his stomach cave on a caught breath when Jensen catches that warm, soft, mouth. Jensen gives it lightly, leaves time for Jared change his mind. Jared holds himself back, arms held away, back curved to keep distance between them, but he doesn’t change his mind. He lets Jensen linger, lets their dragging lips take all of his breath until he’s panting into Jensen’s mouth.
Jensen shudders, hands tight at his sides, testing how real this is. The temple resting against his, the dark hair brushing his eyelashes, and the way his hat is crooked from nosing Jared’s face.
“It was a game,” Jensen says, not pulling away. Eyes closed, feeling the pulse in Jared’s neck. “Fun. Wanting. Every time I said something shitty to you, I felt it go right through me.”
“Well ain’t that sweet,” Jared laughs, mouth on his neck.
“Cut it out, I’m going somewhere with this.”
Jared hums, lips unevenly brushing at trembling skin. Jensen has to take a breath and re-organize his thoughts.
“So, yeah,” Jensen continues hesitantly. “A game, until, you know, it wasn’t. I didn’t know what I was doing until it was done. Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Jared, when I didn’t see you in class that day, I thought I was gonna lose it.”
“I had to move.”
“Hated me that much, huh,” Jensen sighs, chin tilting up to encourage Jared’s touches.
“You were the reason I was failing organic.”
“Pretty sure I was the one helping you pass.”
“I couldn’t focus on anything, was too busy listening to you yawn, or sigh; flip your fuckin’ notebook page; move your feet; anything. Nothing in that class was ever gonna make any sense.”
Jensen feels a flood of warmth rushing up to his skin, heating his ears, his neck, his chest. He feels so stupid, and he feels so, so wanted. He takes Jared by the side of the head and kisses hard, eyes crushed closed, letting his weight fall against Jared.
Jared catches him with strong arms around his waist, drags him close and opens wide, kissing Jensen so hard that his thighs tighten and his knees buckles. Jensen doesn’t breathe, doesn’t think. He feels light, frantic, and overwhelmed. He never ever wants this to stop.
“Can I come in now,” he gasps when Jared pulls away to kiss his face.
“No,” Jared says. “I don’t want you to come in. I never want to see you again. You’re a cunt. Go home.”
“You need practice,” Jensen grins, shoving him off and dodging inside before Jared has a chance to delay this any longer.
He feels the length of Jared press against his back, arms looping around his waist, legs bracketing his while they walk. He smiles so hard his face hurts, and he’s glad Jared can’t see.
“I do,” Jared agrees, chin falling to rest in the heated curve of Jensen’s neck. “Good thing I know an awesome tutor who just happens to be a total dick.”
Jensen laughs, and loves that Jared can feel it.
[timestamp 1: let my voice lead you.]
[timestamp 2: his breathing is music.]