You're a Real Fucking Page-turner (1/2)
you're a real fucking page-turner
j2 high school au
rated pg13 for language and sexual content
17,300 words
jared's days pretty much all run together, one big muddy mess of emotional turmoil and confusion and shitty friends and shittier classes. not to mention that his best friend is equal parts awesome and a complete jerk, his little sister is also kind of a jerk, and he thinks privately that someday his books are going to be the only thing to stand by him in the end. luckily, life has a way of turning things around on him.
thank you to micalaux for her excellent beta skills and encouragement early on. i draw strength from her awesome.
written as a gift for nightporters for spn_j2_xmas. happy holidays, dear -- hope you enjoy it!
Jared stoops on his way into the house to pick up an empty bowl by the stairs. A smudged silver spoon clacks against its porcelain edge and there’s a sugary film of milk hardened over the bottom. With the grating squeak of the back door he’s home; deposits the bowl in the kitchen sink and heads for the stairs.
His mother is at the dining room table, still in heels and overcoat, ripping at a stack of mail. He doesn’t pause on his way by.
“How was school, honey?”
“Fine, mom,” he says, already up the stairs and swinging around the anchoring banner post, heading down the hall to his room.
“Mom said you have to take me to the mall this weekend!” Megan shouts, skidding from her bedroom door into the hallway behind him.
“Shut up,” Jared says, and closes his bedroom door behind him.
The second his backpack is slung into its corner, Jared breathes a sigh of relief. He toes off his sneakers and stretches out over his comforter, burying his face in a pillow musty with dried sweat and sleep. There’s a half-glass of water on his nightstand that’s been there every day for a week, untouched. He rolls to stare at the ceiling.
It’s three o’clock. Eight more hours to kill until he passes out, wakes up, and does it again.
Could read a bit; that would take some time. Shifting his gaze, he lands on the bookcase across the room; snapped it together last summer as a replacement for the one his grandfather had kitty-cornered in his nursery and christened with Goodnight Moon, seventeen years ago. Jared remembers staring at that sturdy oak frame stuffed with books with some quiet sensation of pleasure. This one is black; forty bucks on sale at Wal-Mart, and after six months is only half-full. Jared feels nothing when he looks at it.
He still gets up and skims the spines, carefully considering, letting a fingertip bump along each one. A couple he pulls out and stares at a moment; The Call of the Wild, The Great Gatsby, Jonathan Livingston Seagull. These are replacements, too, but in a different way. They tug at the corner of his mouth, forcing a smile.
Jared snags The Call of the Wild and skims the end, looking for the bits where Buck comes nose to nose with his new kin. Drawn in, he flips to the beginning, notes the “Jay” scrawled in the lower corner of the cover, and starts fresh. He sits cross-legged in front of his bookcase and reads.
Jared scrambles out of bed cursing, bare feet hitting the cold floor as he hauls for the bathroom. Megan’s in there brushing her hair, but he takes her by both shoulders and forces her out.
“I was there first!” she shouts, lunging for him.
“Shut up,” Jared growls, slamming the door on her.
“Mom!”
Jared pisses, brushes his teeth, and spends two minutes shampooing his hair in the sink. He blowdries it with his fingers and notes when he’s done that it looks exactly the same as when he’d woken up. He goes back to his room, throws on a pair of dirty jeans and a clean tee-shirt, zips up a black sweatshirt and pulls the hood over his head. He pushes his feet into a pair of black Nikes, grabs his back pack, and heads for the stairs.
In the kitchen, his mom is making Megan’s lunch and his sister is glaring at him over a bowl of Frosted Flakes. Jared pulls a bowl from the cabinet and snags the box from the table.
“I wasn’t done, Jared!” Megan snaps. “Give it back!”
Jared rolls his eyes.
“JT, honey, your father and I are going to be at Chris and Sam’s wedding this weekend, so I need you to take Megan to the mall on Saturday to finish her costume for the recital next weekend.”
“Mom!” he argues immediately. “No way!”
“I wasn’t asking,” his mom says firmly. “I’ll leave forty dollars. That should cover it; Meg, you know what you need, right?”
Jared slams the fridge as he puts the milk back, kicks the cereal box back across the table at his sister, and says, “Whatever.”
“Have a good day at school, honey,” his mom calls over the yowling hinges of the door.
Sitting on the steps of the back porch, Jared eats his cereal, jaw tight, eyes focused on the street. The runner with the red jacket jogs by; the elderly lady with the elderly golden retriever walks by; the white pick-up with the yellow tow lights on the roof drives by. And, just as he’s tipping the bowl to his lips for the last of the cereal, the blue Subaru with the busted front bumper turns onto his street. Some little twinge gets him sitting up straighter; gets him wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and standing to stretch.
Straightening his jacket, Jared heaves his backpack onto his shoulder, places the bowl carefully in the grass, and walks out to the sidewalk to meet it.
“Hey,” Jensen says, just a silhouette with a faux hawk as Jared slides in and shoves his bag between his knees. “Wanna stop and get hash browns? I’m starving.”
“Sure,” Jared says, slamming the door.
“Brought you one this time.”
Jared follows Jensen’s nod to the cup holsters and sees two glasses of orange juice. Murmuring, nice, he takes the one that’s full and gulps at it while Jensen pulls away from the curb. Finally smiling, Jared settles into the shotgun seat, which is permanently kicked back to the exact length of spread of his legs. Hasn’t budged in almost three years.
The morning’s dark enough to need headlights; they’re coming up on November, with it’s short days and blue-black skies. It makes Jared want to turn over in bed, to hibernate, arms wrapped around a pillow for comfort. Instead, he just turns up Jensen’s Whiskeytown CD because the slow country violins and thoughtful finger-picking make him think of driving forever.
“Oh, hey,” Jensen says suddenly. He reaches one-handed toward the backseat. “I got you something else, it’s ah, I think in the front pocket of my bag.”
Jared takes up the search when the car’s nose starts veering for a guard rail; pushes Jensen out of the way and hauls up to lean between the two seats. Elbows Jensen in the head just to hear the curse, just to feel the punch to his hip. He hauls the dirty black canvas bag toward him, flips up the flap, and sees a book jammed down in the open front pocket.
And he wants to swear and smile and roll his eyes and kiss Jensen and not care about this book at all. But he tugs it out, staring at the cover while he readjusts in his seat and pulls his tee-shirt back down over his waist. White Fang.
“That’s the other one you liked, right,” Jensen says, and it’s not quite a question. “Nabbed it from my grandparents’ house this weekend.”
“Thanks,” Jared says.
He flips open the cover to see his name written there in the corner. Opens his mouth to say something else, but they’re pulling into a McDonald’s drive-thru and Jensen’s asking him what he wants.
“I’m good,” Jared says, flipping to the first page just to look at the words in the dark. He hears Jensen order four hash browns, and two of them get dropped hot and steaming and greasy into his lap. Jared can’t help the smile he tips to Jensen this time, and Jensen just grins with his eyes on the road, easing back out into traffic.
Soon as they get through the main doors and into the brightly lit halls of East Burncoat High, Jared finds himself staring openly at Jensen.
“Holy, fuck,” he swears. “I didn’t even notice.”
Jensen’s got an eyebrow arched at him until Jared reaches out and traces fingertips over the dark, moody blue laced into his tightly-cropped hair. Jensen immediately bats him away, rolling his eyes and ducking his face.
“Get outta here,” Jensen says, glaring at him. “Every time, man, it’s like you’ve never seen it. You touch it like it’s gonna turn back.”
Jared drops a hallway door on him and Jensen swears, but when Jared looks over his shoulder to give a shit-eating smile, Jensen’s ears are lit neon-red and the flush is halfway down his neck. Jared carefully says nothing, and keeps his smile secret.
By the time they reach their lockers and Jensen’s fumbling Jared’s combination every single time he’s a number away from clicking it open, Jared can’t stomp down the hum in his chest. Jensen’s putting himself into hysterics and Jared shoves at him in frustration; they fight and elbow and kick over Jared’s locker until the assistant principal hollers at them to keep it down.
Jensen’s already got an armful of books; says with a smirk, “Waitin’ on you, sweetheart.”
Jared narrows eyes at him sourly and keeps vigilant while opening his combination. Jensen doesn’t intervene; Jared swings to the last number, breathes out, and lifts the latch.
Jensen, lightening-fast, hauls up a palm and slams the locker shut in Jared’s face, laughing uncontrollably as he darts down the hall before Jared can turn on him. Jared half-heartedly shouts after him but he’s laughing; lies his forehead against his locker for a moment to catch his breath. When he reaches for the combination a final time, he sees how hard his fingers are trembling.
Fifty-minute classes press his mind further and further toward some empty shell of a thought that just loops repetitively, asking when it all ends. He blows through a stats exam; writes two responses on the first half of The Once and Future King; flips uncomfortably past grainy grayscale photos of Nagasaki in his history book; and sleeps through the second half of his journalism meeting. Chad Murray gives him a flat tire at his locker between classes, laughs, and tells him not to bitch out on the party at Kane’s next weekend. Sandy passes him a note that just says, you look good in those jeans.
They’re the same things he did yesterday, and the same things he’ll do tomorrow. Privately, Jared questions high school on a very deep, dark, cerebral level.
Lunch finds him on the empty field bleachers with a bag of Baked Lays in his lap and a bottle of Coke at his hip, reading White Fang while Jensen talks to Kyle, who is in Jensen’s studio art class and has feelings for both Jensen and manga. Everything is fine until Kyle touches Jensen’s hair, and Jensen laughs, and tilts his head, and turns it into a kiss.
Jared finishes the page; crunches on a chip; washes it down with soda. He draws in the most even breath he can manage.
It’s several minutes before Kyle’s heading back inside, rubbing arms against the chill and nodding to Jensen awkwardly, hopefully. Jensen watches him walk away, smirking and thumbing the corner of his lip, and then climbs back up the bleachers to sink down next to Jared. He pulls the book out of Jared’s hands and throws it off the bleachers; it lands neatly in the grass, not a page out of order, waiting for them as soon as they make the trek back inside.
“Not that I’m not happy for you making it with Kyle the Art Stud,” Jared says. “But if you’re gonna third-wheel me, can you tell me in advance so I can decide not to be here?”
“Quit being jealous,” Jensen grins, bumping his knee into Jared’s.
“You ever gonna tell your mom she ain’t getting grandbabies?”
Jensen laughs, shaking his head and looking out over the field. Then he’s silent for so long that the response, half a joke, becomes half an argument in the quiet: “Now, why would I go and do a dumb thing like that? Ruin all my fun.”
“It might not be bad,” Jared says, hesitating. “Just. Never knew you to be anything but honest.”
“It’ll be plenty bad, believe me. And I’m not being dishonest. I just. There’s no reason to be telling her. I ain’t gonna be bringing home Kyle the Art Stud any time soon. Hey - what’re you doing this weekend?”
“Nothing. Taking Megan shopping. My parents are in Houston for the weekend.”
“Awesome,” Jensen says. “We’re having a bonfire. Somewhere. Maybe Chad’s, you wanna talk to Chad? I’ll talk to Chad. No, you talk to Chad. He likes you better. I ratted him out on the whole plagiarism thing last year. Shit, I’m freezing. Let’s go inside, nerd. Get this fucking day over with.”
Jensen drops him off after school; says, “See ya tomorrow,” and waves in his rear view as he pulls away. Jared waves back and then crosses his yard; stoops to pick up the bowl in the grass and leaves it in the sink before going upstairs.
It’s three o’clock. Eight hours to kill.
Jared pulls his book out of his backpack and flops down on the bed; turns on his lamp to find the bulb’s burnt out. Feels the grit of his teeth and the narrowing of his eyes; the burn of lines forming on his forehead. He launches the book across the room and lies there, breathless with anger.
He pushes a palm over the front of his jeans; hisses, growls, and covers his face in his own pillow. Makes a fist in one hand and pulls his zipper down with the other. This’ll kill off five minutes.
It’s not uncommon for Jared to hate Jensen, because they fight something fierce.
Jared once spent an entire weekend blowing all his money on Pearl Jam tickets and sleeping in the mud when he could’ve been at Chad’s family’s beach house; he and Jensen didn’t talk for a week, because Jensen had failed to mention first that it was a three-day festival, and second that there were no working toilets.
Then there was the party at Kane’s last year, when Jensen had seen Jared eyeing Danneel Harris and slipped into a bathroom with her while Jared went to get another round. Jared caught him coming out of the bathroom with a smug smile on his face, asked him out to the backyard. Jensen got a punch in the face and Jared walked home alone. Jensen showed up at his house for two weeks before Jared finally relented and got in the car.
But the worst was two months ago. Jensen disappeared for three days without telling anyone. Jared called everyone they knew, left Jensen a spectrum of messages that went from harmlessly curious to that fine line of hysteria between fury and terror. Sixteen total. Jensen never responded. He showed up at their lockers on Tuesday morning, bleary-eyed and smiling gamely, telling Jared he had to hear about his killer weekend.
“Who the fuck do you think you are,” Jared had growled, and left him standing there in the hallway.
Jensen had welled up during the conversation it took to fix them after that.
At seventeen, there wasn’t a whole lot Jared took seriously, but his friendship with Jensen was one of them. Slapped together on a science project freshman year, something about those two Sundays kept Jensen coming back even after they’d presented an experiment on the chemical properties of yeast. They watched cartoons; snuck onto the Howe Park beach; passed a milestone or two together, and just stuck.
So Jensen had to know he couldn’t just up and vanish on Jared, that it wasn’t okay. That somehow Jensen had become his best stupid friend, and therefore had a fucking responsibility to Jared. And if he didn’t want that responsibility, Jared needed to know right fucking now. Jensen had nodded and accepted it, held it, hugged Jared and whispered, I’m sorry, man.
In that moment Jared had never felt more relief in his life; hadn’t realized he was giving Jensen the all-or-nothing speech until it was all out, and they both could feel the terrifying truth of it. Jensen recognizing the need for those truths to be established gave Jared a burning, unquenchable love for him. They’re really stuck together, now. They get to hold each other accountable, now.
For his part in their train wreck of a friendship, Jensen has always taken Jared’s anger in stride; he keeps honest, admits his wrongs, and apologizes. And he never misses the important things. He picks up tickets to Wilco whenever they’re in town; will just hand them to Jared and say, hope you’re not doing anything next weekend. He always lets Jared pick where they eat, though it’s gotten to where Jensen just knows what Jared wants, and drives them there.
He snags books he knows Jared lost when their basement flooded last fall, ruining their family room, his grandfather’s bookcase, and everything in it. Johnny Tremain, Life on the Mississippi, Naked Lunch, a Jim Morrison biography. The first time was A Separate Peace, and Jared hadn’t quite gotten it; Jensen had gone from confident to shoulder-hunched and awkward, shrugging, only because I just read it for class, it’s not a big deal, just, you always got your goddamn nose in a book, and they’re all gone now, so, I mean, if you want it.
Now, Jared’s heart pounds uncontrollably every time Jensen hands him a book. He’s single-handedly rebuilding something important for Jared, and Jared can’t help how that makes him feel.
On Saturday morning, Jared’s parents wake him up at nine to leave him money and give ground rules for the weekend. Jared doesn’t get out of bed; just murmurs yeah, okay, until they stop talking, and falls asleep again.
At eleven, Megan wakes him up and after torturing her with monkey bites and noogies and holding her upside down with her face over the toilet, he puts her down and hugs her and makes her pancakes. Jared argues for Batman Beyond until he legitimately gets angry; then relents and puts in A Little Princess. They watch a little girl tell stories of India, and Jared lets Megan put tiny braids in his hair while he finishes her cold, half-eaten breakfast.
“Is she right, Jared?” Megan asks. “Are all girls princesses?”
“Yeah, except you. You’re a total yeti-monster. I’m kidding, ow - ow! Stop pulling - I only got one sister, girl, of course she’s a princess. Center of my universe. Prettiest in the land.”
Jensen walks into the living room then, grinning wide when he sees the complete domination Megan has over her brother.
“What in the world do we have here?” he asks. “Morning, Meg-o.”
“Jared tried to drop me in the toilet,” Megan says, diligently braiding.
“What are you doing here?” Jared asks.
“No he didn’t,” Jensen says. “Did you really? You are a - you’re an awful brother, Jared Padalecki.”
“I wasn’t gonna drop her. Meg, seriously, alright, enough with the braiding.”
“Oh, now that you’re boyfriend’s here,” she says.
Jared’s shoulders go tight and the heat in his cheeks makes him absolutely hate himself. With every conscious part of him, he ducks out of her hold and waves off her prying hands. Instead, he hides his face in grabbing their plates and orange juice glasses.
“Yeah, hilarious, listen, do you want to go to the mall or not?” he threatens.
When he finally climbs to his feet and looks to the kitchen, Jensen’s just standing there, stupid blue hair, arms crossed over his chest with a shoulder propped against the door jamb. Jared makes the effort to look right at him, daring him to say anything. Jensen just smiles and makes way for Jared to enter the kitchen, moving to the couch to sit with Megan.
At the mall, Jensen runs into Curtis and disappears for half an hour. Jared lets Megan lead him from store to store; he puts down the money when told, and women smile over their cash registers at him.
“Such a sweet boy,” one woman says.
“He tried to drop me in a toilet this morning,” Megan says.
Jared smiles tightly at the new air of distrust from the cashier and drags his sister away. He hates to admit that the little shit is winning the war; he’ll probably never do that again.
Jensen wanders over to them while they’re in the food court where they’ve got white Mary Janes, a blue headband, a striped blue skirt, and two sleeves of french fries. Megan eats half of them and then focuses on taking her head band out of its cardboard wrapping.
Jared offers Jensen some fries but can’t look at him. A quick glance has given him plenty of detail: muzzy gaze, swollen red mouth, and a faint purple mark tucked right at the collar of his tee-shirt. Jared absolutely cannot care about that. He will care about it far less if he doesn’t stare at it and ruminate.
Instead, he’s quiet while Megan lets Jensen poke through her bags, try on her headband, and tickle her within an inch of her sanity. Jared cracks a smile - can’t help it - and asks, “Think we’re ready to go?”
“Sure, I’m done,” Jensen grins.
Jared feels his throat work, humor dropping as he hears some unintended innuendo; nods resolutely and gathers up Megan’s bags for her. Megan stares up at him, and for a moment looks between the two carefully. In the end, Jared doesn’t know if it was the movie or the pancakes or the immense lip service, but she pulls her headband off Jensen’s head, slides from her seat, and comes to stand next to Jared, leaning into his hip.
Surprised, Jared slides an arm around her, squeezing briefly and saying softly, “Come on, Princess. Let’s go home and make some Mac & Cheese.”
Jensen watches them for a moment, smile fading into something like contrition before he nods toward the exit and leads the way.
Jared makes sure Megan is safe at Colleen’s for a sleepover before walking to Chad’s for the bonfire. He doesn’t particularly want to go, moving slow, trailing fingers down diamond shapes in chain link fences and tearing maple leaves from the low branches above him. He’s got that Once and Future King paper due on Monday, and he’s tired, and he’s just annoyed, for some reason. There is a baseline hum beneath his thoughts that’s making his jaw shift with irritation.
Earlier, Jensen had said he couldn’t pick Jared up because he was letting his friend Hodge use the Subaru, but Jared’s just got this funny feeling Jensen and Curtis had a round two planned for today. Now he’s stuck walking, and walking is annoying.
By the time he’s cutting through Chad’s front yard and ducking through the weathered wooden gate in the back, Jared decides he’ll stay two hours, tops, and then head back home. No sense in hanging around doing nothing all night, same as every other weekend, when he’ll have the chance to do it again next Saturday at Kane’s party.
Fire’s high and warm when he gets there. Nobody moves; Chad greets him, presses a cold beer into his palm. Every time he cracks one, Jared thinks, We’re too young for this. But he does it anyway, because it feels good going down. He slaps a few shoulders, moving around the group to find a seat, and realizes Jensen’s already there. Jared drinks from his bottle; it takes everything he has not to react.
“Hey, Jay,” Jensen smiles easily.
Jared thinks he’s about to offer up the seat next to him, but Jared slides into the one next to Steve and stops the words in their tracks. He drinks again, and looks around casually, and he probably looks terribly bored, because he is.
He has no interest in knowing what Jensen smells like right now.
It gets better. Steve is a funny motherfucker, and he and Chad riff endlessly, barking insults at each other and wrestling so close to the fire that Jared jumps up and yanks Steve still with a fist in his hair, causing both of them to freeze and go predatory on Jared. He backs away carefully but ends up at the bottom of a dog pile, ribs squeezed under Steve’s broad chest, huffing painfully while Steve laughs stilted and broken, trying to breathe through the weight of Chad, Chris, and then finally Jensen, leaning over them on top like an afterthought.
They sit around drinking in easy quiet, talking shit about guys at school; running their fingers through the flames; carving letters into the air with glowing embers. They get bored and start burning plastic, and bottle caps, and then an oily rag from the back of Chris’ truck that turns the flames an impressive blue-green. The air smells filthy. Jared should’ve left already, but instead he’s grinning at Chris like this is the funniest thing he’s seen all week.
It gets silly again when Chris moves to sit back down and Chad yanks his pants around his ankles, to the dismay of everyone. Shouts, caterwauls, eye-covering. Chris bows, ass up, before yanking his pants back around his hips and collapsing back down. From there, it’s show us your ass! and punch him in the balls! and kiss him!
Jared freezes, laughter dying in his throat. Chris is grinning at Jensen and nodding to Jared and no one says anything. Jared looks around because he’s trying to look at anyone but Jensen; Steve is staring at them, an eyebrow raised, and Chad is looking at Jared, worried, silently sympathizing with him.
Jared couldn’t move right now if it were a direct order. Jensen, however, gets up like he’s been waiting for it, firelight catching the green burn his eyes as he moves, cocky grin dropping slightly as he comes to stand over Jared.
No, Jared mouths desperately, pushing himself back into the canvas of his chair.
And that makes a curl of a smile whisper back to Jensen’s mouth, because he nods, and says softly, “Oh, yes, sweetheart.” Then he runs fingers up the back of Jared’s neck and into his hair, holding him still with a steady grip, and dragging Jared’s mouth up to his.
Jensen’s lips feel like he’s been licking flames, searing into Jared, shocking him through with the heat. Their lips are dry, and catch, until Jensen licks at Jared’s lower lip in a silky gesture of affection; then it’s wet, and slides, and something tightens so hard and painful in Jared’s chest he thinks he might burst.
They kiss for the first time just like that: Jared pulled up awkwardly in the chair, straining painfully, right in front of their friends like a big fuckin’ joke.
And on top of that, all Jared can think of is what number kiss this is for Jensen today. Because it happens to be Jared’s first, ever.
Jared pulls away and turns his face, feeling Jensen sway into him, hovering breathless for a moment right at his ear. Jared squeezes his eyes closed and doesn’t move, and for a long terrified moment he thinks Jensen’s just going to stay here, mashed up against him and making Jared tremble with the warm breaths he’s brushing over Jared’s neck.
He finally moves, back to his seat with a theatrical smile and an eyebrow raised in challenge that says, Go ahead. Try and get me to bitch out on something else.
Chris is laughing, clapping Jared on the back. Looks at Jensen and says, “Way to pop his cherry, man.”
Jared pales. He shoves Chris’ hand off and grits out, “Shut up, Kane.”
At the same time, Jensen’s smile is falling off his face like weighted by a brick and he’s asking, “What?”
Chris stops laughing, looking at Jared in wonder, and he opens his mouth to say something - probably, he didn’t know? - but Jared drops his eyes to the dirt and presses his mouth in a thin line. This has just become the worst night of his life.
He tries to think of how to get out of here without looking like an asshole, but there really isn’t one. He sits tight a few minutes, letting the awkward moment pass and wanting to hug Chad for picking up a thread of conversation from an hour ago, but all he hears is the relentless screaming in his mind telling him to get, out.
In the back of his mind he also feels the pressure of Jensen’s eyes on him, his silence so conspicuous, and Jared can’t even breathe through his humiliation and anger.
Jared makes it half an hour, mind baying like a dying animal and fingers trembling and stomach lurching, before he says lamely, “I’m gonna take off, guys, I got a paper to write.”
No one argues with him; he gets cuffs at his head and shoulders, and Steve gives him a quick one-armed hug, murmuring, “Call me, man.”
And then Jensen rises to his feet and says, “I’ll drive you home.”
“I can walk,” Jared says quickly.
“I know you can walk, you idiot.”
Jared shrugs, and curls fingers up into his palms; makes for the street without saying anything and wants to run when he hears Jensen falling into step behind him. He’s pulling open the gate when he hears Steve bark at Chris: “Nice one, you fucking jackass.” He knows Jensen heard it too, but neither of them says anything.
He walks right by the Subaru even while Jensen’s rounding to the driver’s side.
“Jared!”
“I said I can walk,” Jared grits out, and doesn’t turn around. He hasn’t made eye contact with Jensen since that last begging request of no Jensen had blown through like a tornado.
“Then I’ll walk you home.”
“Stop, Jensen, just stop, okay. Just stay here, man, and party, I’m fine.”
“I don’t want to. Dude - you can’t even look at me. If I fucked up again I want to know about it before you go home and decide to never talk to me again.”
Jared grits his teeth and he’s so angry and tight and unfocused he wants to come apart. Jensen’s standing there, steady and firm, and Jared feels the furious light in his eyes and wants to hit Jensen for the first time since meeting him.
“Don’t even fucking start. What were you thinking, Jen? You decide it’s cool to just mack on me in front of everybody? Maybe that shit isn’t a big deal to you but it’s a big deal to me, okay? I don’t just fucking make out with every guy I meet!”
“So that’s what I do, then,” Jensen says, low and sharp. “That’s what you think of me?”
“Don’t be an idiot. I know you’re better than that. And that’s my whole fucking point, man, what are you doing? You don’t even care, and now you’re messing with me?”
Jared’s breathing hard, winded, and he’s amazed the truth hasn’t coming spilling out in his unchecked anger. Finally he chances a look to Jensen and sees some quiet hesitation there; something between hurt and confused, not enough to concern Jared but plenty to pique his interest.
“I don’t know,” Jensen says finally. “Never really thought about it.”
Jared sighs. “Well. Look, I didn’t mean to sound like I’m passing judgment - do whatever you want. Just - don’t be kissing me around the fucking bonfire under Chad’s parents’ bedroom window, alright. I’m going home.”
“They’re easier than you,” Jensen says, rushed, the words hitting against the back of Jared’s neck and making nerves skitter. “That’s why. Kyle’s not giving me shit about anything. You - you flip out on me like this all the fucking time, it makes me nuts. I never know what you want me to do, I get all fucking twisted up and scared and like, pissed.”
“I’m not arguing with you,” Jared says quietly. “I’m not asking anything. Just - seriously, Jensen. Whatever.”
“See, man! This is what I’m talking about! You’re acting like you don’t care and I know you care! I know you’re freaking out about whatever it is you fucking freak out about and I don’t know what you want me to do about it!”
Jared swallows, and there’s an answer, but he can’t say it. He can’t say, be it for me. Just pick me, over everyone. He can’t ask that of Jensen, because if Jensen can’t give it, Jared doesn’t know what he’ll do. So he steels his nerves and faces Jensen and says, “Just - don’t ever do that again. Don’t ever fucking try to kiss me again.”
“I didn’t know it was like, you know, your first one. I thought, I mean at least you and Sandy had.”
Jared clenches fists, wants to scream, wants to run home, just wants this conversation to end already. He tries to keep calm, and shrugs. “Wasn’t really like that.”
“And man, how did Chris know that shit before me!”
Another question Jared can’t answer; the only thing he could say truthfully is, Because you’re the only one who doesn’t see it. He says, “I don’t know,” and looks down the sidewalk, hoping Jensen will just get it, and leave him alone, and let him leave.
Jensen just stands there, nothing more to say, fidgeting, unmoving. He looks on edge, cut, unsatisfied and unhappy. His mouth works moodily, ruminating over their conversation, trying to think of something to say.
“Just go back in,” Jared says. “It’s not a big deal, okay. I’m just fucking tired, I don’t even really care. Not really. I’m just - being a dick.”
“You’re not,” Jensen says firmly. “Let’s just go watch Texas Chainsaw, or play Zelda or something. Let’s just get out of here. This whole fucking night is turning into, I don’t even know. I’m over it. I’m sorry, okay. Seriously.”
“I know. And dude I seriously am going to write that paper, so if you’re coming, it’s gonna be a whole lot of nothing.”
Jensen laughs. “When has that stopped me.”
The longer Jensen just sits there, staring at the bent spines making crooked sideways stairs in his bookcase, the bigger Jared’s heart beats. He buries himself in his paper, flipping to folded pages and skimming penciled underlines; writes a few optimistic thoughts on the hero’s journey; and then chews the cap of his pen while obsessing over Jensen, silent, interested, choosing to just be here. Not back at the bonfire; not needing to be entertained; content to just share Jared’s space.
He doesn’t say anything until Jared finishes his draft, shoving his work into the book and tucking it all into his backpack. Jensen’s stretched out on the floor flipping through a Wilco biography, looking up when Jared yawns.
“You done already?” he asks.
“Mostly. Good enough. I can’t think anymore. You wanna watch something? Or get something to eat? Shit, what time is it? Feel like that took forever.”
“It’s only like two, you whizzed through that, Brain Trust.”
Jared pulls his socks off and throws them into a corner before stretching out onto his bed and humming some pleased note. He’s warm, tired, comfortable, and the glow of Jensen’s attention laps sweetly against him. These are his favorite times. This is how he wants to feel, always. This, right here.
“You can hang out, but I might not be awake much longer,” Jared murmurs. “Just make sure the door’s locked.”
“It’s alright,” Jensen says quietly.
The silence and the stillness stretches; Jared sighs into it, shifts comfortably to one hip and closes his eyes. There he drifts, circling deeper and deeper towards sleep, full of trust and of something being repaired tonight, fast as it was broken. He’s happy. Jensen always does the right thing.
He’s just touched a breath against sleep when he hears Jensen pull himself up from the floor; cracks an eye when he sits down on the bed, back to Jared, staring at his hands tucked into his lap. Jared tries to say something, but it comes out a quiet, questioning hum that has Jensen cocking an ear toward him and smiling slightly. It drops away when he says, “I can’t, uh. I keep thinking about you never kissed anybody before, and I fucked it up. I feel like a complete asshole.”
“Dude,” Jared begs, turning his face away. “Please don’t. Just leave it alone, it’s fine. Stop worrying about it.”
“It’s just - that’s supposed to be important, you know? That’s a big one, and it’s supposed to mean something. Even if it sucked, and there was too much tongue, and neither of you knew what you were doing, and you never wanted to do it again when it was over. It’s supposed to be something you can tell people about. You can’t tell anybody about that. My friends made me kiss my best friend and then laughed at me for it. You can’t tell your kids that.”
“Seriously, Jensen. Drop it.”
Jared’s feeling it come back, a burning angry drop in his stomach and Jensen’s right; he was robbed of something tonight. He can forgive Jensen easy as breathing, but the moment can’t be undone. Jared feels like an idiot for caring.
Jensen shifts a hip, hitches a knee up onto the bed and moves to lean over Jared, planting a palm by his shoulder. Jared tenses so tight he feels like he’s on fire, a terrified heat inhaling strength and setting the rest of him trembling to escape. He looks up at Jensen and Jensen is so close, eyes dark and serious, glittering in how intensely they study him. The intimacy makes Jared’s skin crawl, makes his thighs flex, makes his fingers dig at the comforter. This is the second time tonight he’s felt so absolutely trapped.
“I want to do it better,” Jensen murmurs. “Please don’t say no.”
For a second, Jared is so in love it hurts. There have been other versions of it, but this kiss with Jensen is going to beat them all, because it’s going to be real. Here, warm, head ducked against his own brutal honesty.
The moment lengthens as Jared mentally faces the music; this won’t mean half as much to Jensen as it does to him, and that is enough to bring burning tears to the backs of his eyes. This is what Jensen does; he kisses people. And it can’t be that way. The only response Jared can think of is, Please, don’t. It can’t be you. It has to be someone else.
He can’t make himself say it. Can’t make himself move. There is a moment that’s been in his mind, and it is now a real thing, and he wants it so badly and irrevocably that he can’t turn away. For better or worse, his second first kiss is going to be Jensen Ackles.
Giving in to the uncontrollable urge, he finally lets his gaze fall to Jensen’s mouth; it’s something he’s wanted to look at for years, and has never allowed himself to. Has always averted his eyes; never watched him kiss anyone else, never watched him eat, never looked anywhere else but Jensen’s gaze when they talked, or laughed, or shared a glance over Chad’s head. Now, licked damp and slightly parted, Jensen’s mouth makes Jared’s heart pound ferociously. When he finds Jensen’s eyes again, Jensen smiles achingly bright, leaning closer, waiting for Jared’s permission.
Closing his eyes against every bit of screeching protest, he tilts his chin up and catches Jensen.
It is good. Jared’s terrified, trembling so hard he’s sure Jensen can feel it, but it’s the second time around and Jensen’s not asking much, seems content with slow brushes and touching, so Jared can do this.
He waits for Jensen to stop, and Jensen doesn’t stop. After the first kiss breaks, he kisses again, mouthing softly, coaxing Jared’s lips to move with his, tilts his head and pushes in to cover the territory Jared gives up. Jensen sighs against him when they part again, and it is this beautiful, satisfied, achingly right thing. And he doesn’t move, doesn’t give Jared an inch. And he kisses Jared again.
It feels, so good, Jared wants to scream and buck out of his body, wants to grab Jensen and press every inch of them together, wants suddenly and fiercely for this hot pulse in his groin to be going somewhere. He’s never been with someone like this before.
Jensen lets his lips drag painfully slow, drawing out these moments of connection, so fucking perfect that Jared hums his surprise out, this long slow kiss tripping over the sound, and Jensen kisses it out of his mouth with some force, and that’s when Jensen’s tongue licks at him, and electrifies every last nerve in Jared. He hitches a harsh breath against it and Jensen pauses against him, lingering, questioning, waiting for Jared to shove him away. Jared touches the edge of his tongue to Jensen’s, completely rigid except for the trembling hand he lifts to grip Jensen’s shoulder.
“Oh, fuck,” Jensen groans helplessly against Jared’s mouth, and kisses him so hard Jared arches up against it. His toes are curling, knees pulling up for leverage, and he fights to control his body even as his arms circle Jensen’s neck and his mouth opens, letting Jensen lick in, and suck at his bottom lip, and edge his teeth against it with delicious pressure.
Jensen falls against him, gives up on holding himself on one arm and drops himself roughly down over Jared’s chest. For a moment the rise and fall of Jensen’s ribs against his own brings more comfort than arousal, but then the two bleed into some rich intoxicating pulse that has Jared’s hands sliding low over Jensen’s back and pressing them together.
It suddenly occurs to Jared that this is not kissing. He and Jensen are making out, fierce, hot, and hungry on his bed. Jared’s heart pounds and he fucking aches with desire that is bone-deep and sick of being hidden away.
When they break away again he feels Jensen’s hand cupping his jaw; feels the other digging into his hair and then moving up to brush fingers against Jared’s hair line. He tilts up toward it absently, feels victory when Jensen chuckles breathlessly against him and brushes knuckles down the side of Jared’s face.
Jared opens his eyes, dazed, and stares at Jensen, who looks happy and hungry and sated all at once.
“Not sure I could tell the kids about that one, either,” Jared breathes, and grins when Jensen laughs openly, shaking his head.
“Might have to play it down a little,” Jensen agrees. “I didn’t mean for it to get all … well, that was good, though, right? Better?”
“Yeah, it was good. Better.”
“Good,” Jensen murmurs, smiling softly.
For a second Jared can feel that it’s going to happen again, that they’re pulling each other in, and Jensen’s going to lean in and kiss him, and he’s going to feel that aching brutal devastating throb of need pulse through him all over again. But Jensen blinks out of it, catching himself, and levers up off of Jared to create distance.
Jared forces out disappointment and ignores the way the loss of Jensen’s body heat makes him want to curl in on himself. It wasn’t going to last forever. There was going to be an end, and this is it. Jared knew what it was going to feel like, and now he has to deal with it.
“So, I’m gonna go, probably,” Jensen says. “You’re all … you don’t have to walk me out, you’re all tired and like, four seconds from being asleep. I’ll see you on Monday morning, though, okay?”
Jared nods, and says goodnight, and smiles when Jensen awkwardly waves before leaving his bedroom. He listens to Jensen’s footsteps all the way down the stairs, waiting for the back door to open and close. Then he puts trembling hands over his face and breathes. After a second he parts his lips, just to feel the drag of his rough palms against them.
On Monday morning, Jared wakes with a buzz of anticipation his alarm clock can’t drown out. He slaps it off and turns to his back to stare at the ceiling in the dark. He feels that twinge of morning arousal and lets it simmer, thinking on it, encouraging it, pulling his thighs tight, touching his chest beneath his tee-shirt. He closes his eyes, bites his lips, feels what he wants to feel.
It’s quick, once he starts; he’s fast-paced and blows through it: the weight of Jensen’s body pressing him down, those dragging, endless kisses and the suffocating throb in his groin that came with them; the way he wanted to rock against Jensen until he exploded, grinding against him until he spit Jared’s name like a breathless curse, wanting no one and nothing else.
He comes shoving brutally into his own fist, ass off the bed, breath held still and twisted in his chest, teeth gritted against a groan while his orgasm rips through him in a hot dizzying wave. He comes down thinking he wants Jensen so fucking much he’d die for it.
For the moment, he’s okay with it, because every time he thinks about Saturday night all he remembers this incredible feeling of maybe. It had been so magnetic, and Jensen’s face had been so soft, that there’s a sliver of Jared willing to believe there may be something real between them. For the moment, he’ll believe it, and hang on.
Jared grins when he shoves Megan out of the bathroom, fluffs up the hair she’d been carefully brushing and slams the door behind him.
“I love you too,” he yells over her screaming, and turns on the water.
Downstairs, aside from Megan’s requisite tattling, there is peace in the kitchen while Jared pours his cereal, and his mom is pleasantly surprised when he remembers to give her a kiss on the way out.
His grin is out of control when Jensen pulls up and he punches it down to a smirk, climbing in and gnawing on the inside of his cheek to keep himself together. When Jared’s settled, they’re not moving, so he looks to Jensen with the question already formed on his mouth.
Jensen flips on the interior light and says, “It’s red. Save you the surprise.”
Jared studies it, nodding his approval. He’s about to say it looks good when something catches his eye. He grabs Jensen’s face and pushes it to the side, craning to see, and he was right; a tiny silver stud tucked against his eyebrow.
“What the fuck is that,” Jared says, smile growing as he thumbs it lightly. “Dude, weren’t you making fun of these like, yesterday? I thought they were only for the wannabes.”
“Suck it, Padalecki,” Jensen says, and ducks out of Jared’s hold to swat at him. “Quit making shit up. And don’t touch it; that shit still hurts. You want to stop at Mickey D’s?”
“Nah, I’m good,” Jared says, grinning, but Jensen stops anyway.
Jared plows through his day, energized, handing in his essay, slam-dunking two exams, finishing his journalism piece on the cheerleader’s fashion show fund raiser, and skipping his history class to drive with Chad to the record shop down the street. They listen to geeky Genesis songs and sing “Invisible Touch” all the way back to campus for lunch.
“So what ended up happening on Saturday?” Chad asks.
Jared shrugs to cover the bolt of arousal at just the mention of that night. “Nothing. He apologized. No big.”
There’s a long stretch of silence before Chad says, “Dude, if you could see how red you are right now.”
“Shut up.”
“Listen, I know you don’t need to hear it from me, but you’re gonna fucking hear it from me. Be, careful, with that guy, Jay. I know you guys are close, but - ”
Jared grits his teeth, anger rushing up to hide his humiliation. “Chad, I really don’t have any fucking interest in talking about this, I can take care of my fucking self, alright. I’m not an idiot.”
“Hey! I didn’t say you were! Chill out, seriously. But man, I know you carry a fuckin’ torch for that guy, and Jensen, well. Jensen’s gonna be Jensen, dude.”
“Awesome,” Jared says tightly. “Thanks, Chad.”
Chad frowns, and as they walk up to the cafeteria Jared notes they’ve both turned sour. He’s so mad he could punch Chad, doesn’t even want to share the sidewalk right now. The truth being mused over in his own mind is one thing, but in the daylight, out loud, from a good friend, makes it so real that Jared’s stomach sloshes. He hates thinking of Jensen right now, loving and hating him in equal turns. He tries to block it all out, to think of food, and nothing else.
He gets in line for a roast beef sandwich and Chad breaks away without a word, spotting Chris and Steve and moving to sit with them. Jared tries not to notice, but every time he looks up the three of them are talking, and one of them is looking right at him. No way is he walking into that intervention; he already plans on heading downstairs to the senior open campus, soon as he gets his lunch.
Jared jumps when he hears it, low and dark in his ear: “Whatcha getting me?”
He turns and knuckle-punches at Jensen’s shoulder, calls him a dick and dodges a return shot aimed for his kidney. Nerves rattled, he feels his breathing go threadbare and wills himself to move past it while Jensen settles into line beside him.
“How’s it going,” Jensen asks.
“Fine, good, actually,” Jared says. “You?”
“Two substitutes and a canceled calculus test. Today is awesome.”
Jared grins so hard his face hurts, and he doesn’t look at Jensen, concentrating on throwing a tray together and paying for it. Soon as they’re set, Jensen’s heading for their friends and Jared hesitates, trying to think of any excuse that won’t come out as awkward or suspicious. In the end, Chad looks up and catches him, so he bites the bullet and follows Jensen to the table.
“Nice hair, douche,” Chris says once they’re seated. “Are we going for Bozo this week?”
“Ginger,” Steve grins. “Does it go all the way down? Did you really commit to the look this time, Jen?”
Jensen rolls his eyes, and it seems almost instinctive that he shoots a private, amused look to Jared. Jared does his best to return it, because he likes what it means - they don’t get it (and you do) - but feels tense because he’s pretty sure the rest of the guys caught it, and they never catch stuff like that, but right now they happen to be looking for it.
Jared busies himself with layering mustard all over his sandwich.
“Gross,” Jensen says, watching, and swipes at Jared’s pickle. “Can I have this? I’m taking this.”
And Jared gives an obligatory curse, but he wants to press a hand over Jensen’s mouth and beg him to shut up, shut the fuck up, because Jared is so unbearably aware of the fact that this right here is the Jared & Jensen show, with their friends all studying them carefully. Jensen is blissfully ignorant, shoving the entirety of Jared’s pickle in his mouth and grinning. Says with a full mouth, “You love it.”
And Jared is so humiliated he wants to die.
“You guys coming on Friday?” Chris asks.
Jared is horrified when he opens his mouth to answer, Obviously, idiot, and he catches Jensen’s gaze. He has to stop. Jensen’s looking at him with a question in his eyes; like he’s asking Jared if they’re going. Like he is asking if Jared wants to go. Like if Jared doesn’t want to go, they’ll do something else.
Spooked, Jared sticks him with a dubious, what is wrong with you? stare and Jensen blinks.
“Probably,” Jensen says, going back to his lunch.
“Thought you’d pretty much figure us to,” Jared adds, not afraid to raise his stare in a challenge to Chris.
“Didn’t you have to watch your sister this weekend?” Chad asks Jared. There’s a tone to his voice that makes Jared bristle.
Before he can answer, Jensen does it for him. Stuffing his face and then washing it down with a swig of Coke, he says, “That was last weekend.”
Chad stares openly at Jared, as if Jared’s done something irreconcilable.
“Mark’s gonna be there,” Chad says, talking to Jensen and looking at Jared.
“Yeah?” Jensen says, and the tone of his voice, the way he looks up with that interested light in his eyes, makes Jared freefall right back into a wordless, immobile rage. He eats in silence, wanting to murder Chad for the details he then tries to drill out of Jensen, who agrees, yeah I know him, yeah we’ve hung out a few times, yeah maybe I’ll see him there.
By the time they pick up their table to head back to class, Jared’s trembling with restraint. He bites his lip, willing himself to stay out of the conversation. Jensen wouldn’t. Not after last weekend. He absolutely wouldn’t. He has to trust that.
When Steve throws an arm around his shoulder Jared sags into it, unashamed. Steve scrubs up his hair into an affectionate mess, and lends his weight to pushing Jared toward his locker.
Just before Jared slips free, Steve ducks close to Jared and says, “He wouldn’t, man.”
Relief drowns logic and Jared throws arms around Steve and tells him he’s the best motherfucking friend a guy could ask for. He ignores the cooing and the ain’t that sweet he hears behind them; Steve laughs and slaps his back, holding on tight and then shoving him away.
Predictably, Jensen catches him; grins playfully as he asks, “What’s that make me?”
“Late for dinner,” Jared bitches, trying to paw himself out of the hold, already tipping back toward choppy feelings of discomfort.
“Quit staking your claim on Padalecki, you selfish shitbag,” Steve laughs, but there’s tinge to it that definitely speaks to Jensen because he lets go immediately, shoving a little and turning to his locker.
Jared shoots Steve a grateful look, and waves the guys off as they head down the hallway in a tight-knit pack. Turns to his locker and guards against an attack from Jensen with the wing of one elbow. It doesn’t come.
Serving a quick glance to the side, he sees Jensen knelt on the floor, concentrating on gathering his books from the bottom of his locker. Jensen smirks to himself, but it’s off, and he doesn’t look up when he asks, half a joke in his voice: “You aren’t replacing me, are you now, Jay?”
Hot, filthy love blooms in Jared’s chest so fast he can’t even control it. He hides his face, feeling how warm it is, how his neck suddenly feels hot-damp under the collar of his button-down.
“Been trying since the day I fucking met you,” he grins, kicking at Jensen until he falls over.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Jensen says.
His voice is quiet and almost slips underneath the radio and the whistle of the Subaru’s back window. Jared’s so in the zone, calm and distantly contemplating some obscure but awesome future, that he almost misses it.
“What’d I say,” he asks, distracted, eyes on the line of cars at a Starbucks drive-through.
“About telling my parents,” Jensen says.
Jared blinks, and turns to look at him. Jensen doesn’t look back; flips eyes to the rear-view and then the side mirror and then back to the road. They hit a red light and Jared waits, but Jensen still doesn’t look at him. He starts humming along the strained edges of a Johnny Cash song and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel; he squints out the windshield like he’s trying to read a bumper sticker.
“That’s, pretty big, Jen,” Jared says slowly.
“Hm? Yeah, well.”
“Well, that’s good. You know I’m like, here, if you need to talk about it. Or anything.”
“Thanks, man. Hey, you finish that book yet?”
“Yeah, it was great, Jack London is great, you’d like him. Always reminds me of that time we went camping last fall,” Jared says, and goes back to staring out the window as the light changes. He contemplates the horizon, trying to figure out Jensen, and trying to figure out why any of this matters.
[ part 2]
j2 high school au
rated pg13 for language and sexual content
17,300 words
jared's days pretty much all run together, one big muddy mess of emotional turmoil and confusion and shitty friends and shittier classes. not to mention that his best friend is equal parts awesome and a complete jerk, his little sister is also kind of a jerk, and he thinks privately that someday his books are going to be the only thing to stand by him in the end. luckily, life has a way of turning things around on him.
thank you to micalaux for her excellent beta skills and encouragement early on. i draw strength from her awesome.
written as a gift for nightporters for spn_j2_xmas. happy holidays, dear -- hope you enjoy it!
Jared stoops on his way into the house to pick up an empty bowl by the stairs. A smudged silver spoon clacks against its porcelain edge and there’s a sugary film of milk hardened over the bottom. With the grating squeak of the back door he’s home; deposits the bowl in the kitchen sink and heads for the stairs.
His mother is at the dining room table, still in heels and overcoat, ripping at a stack of mail. He doesn’t pause on his way by.
“How was school, honey?”
“Fine, mom,” he says, already up the stairs and swinging around the anchoring banner post, heading down the hall to his room.
“Mom said you have to take me to the mall this weekend!” Megan shouts, skidding from her bedroom door into the hallway behind him.
“Shut up,” Jared says, and closes his bedroom door behind him.
The second his backpack is slung into its corner, Jared breathes a sigh of relief. He toes off his sneakers and stretches out over his comforter, burying his face in a pillow musty with dried sweat and sleep. There’s a half-glass of water on his nightstand that’s been there every day for a week, untouched. He rolls to stare at the ceiling.
It’s three o’clock. Eight more hours to kill until he passes out, wakes up, and does it again.
Could read a bit; that would take some time. Shifting his gaze, he lands on the bookcase across the room; snapped it together last summer as a replacement for the one his grandfather had kitty-cornered in his nursery and christened with Goodnight Moon, seventeen years ago. Jared remembers staring at that sturdy oak frame stuffed with books with some quiet sensation of pleasure. This one is black; forty bucks on sale at Wal-Mart, and after six months is only half-full. Jared feels nothing when he looks at it.
He still gets up and skims the spines, carefully considering, letting a fingertip bump along each one. A couple he pulls out and stares at a moment; The Call of the Wild, The Great Gatsby, Jonathan Livingston Seagull. These are replacements, too, but in a different way. They tug at the corner of his mouth, forcing a smile.
Jared snags The Call of the Wild and skims the end, looking for the bits where Buck comes nose to nose with his new kin. Drawn in, he flips to the beginning, notes the “Jay” scrawled in the lower corner of the cover, and starts fresh. He sits cross-legged in front of his bookcase and reads.
Jared scrambles out of bed cursing, bare feet hitting the cold floor as he hauls for the bathroom. Megan’s in there brushing her hair, but he takes her by both shoulders and forces her out.
“I was there first!” she shouts, lunging for him.
“Shut up,” Jared growls, slamming the door on her.
“Mom!”
Jared pisses, brushes his teeth, and spends two minutes shampooing his hair in the sink. He blowdries it with his fingers and notes when he’s done that it looks exactly the same as when he’d woken up. He goes back to his room, throws on a pair of dirty jeans and a clean tee-shirt, zips up a black sweatshirt and pulls the hood over his head. He pushes his feet into a pair of black Nikes, grabs his back pack, and heads for the stairs.
In the kitchen, his mom is making Megan’s lunch and his sister is glaring at him over a bowl of Frosted Flakes. Jared pulls a bowl from the cabinet and snags the box from the table.
“I wasn’t done, Jared!” Megan snaps. “Give it back!”
Jared rolls his eyes.
“JT, honey, your father and I are going to be at Chris and Sam’s wedding this weekend, so I need you to take Megan to the mall on Saturday to finish her costume for the recital next weekend.”
“Mom!” he argues immediately. “No way!”
“I wasn’t asking,” his mom says firmly. “I’ll leave forty dollars. That should cover it; Meg, you know what you need, right?”
Jared slams the fridge as he puts the milk back, kicks the cereal box back across the table at his sister, and says, “Whatever.”
“Have a good day at school, honey,” his mom calls over the yowling hinges of the door.
Sitting on the steps of the back porch, Jared eats his cereal, jaw tight, eyes focused on the street. The runner with the red jacket jogs by; the elderly lady with the elderly golden retriever walks by; the white pick-up with the yellow tow lights on the roof drives by. And, just as he’s tipping the bowl to his lips for the last of the cereal, the blue Subaru with the busted front bumper turns onto his street. Some little twinge gets him sitting up straighter; gets him wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and standing to stretch.
Straightening his jacket, Jared heaves his backpack onto his shoulder, places the bowl carefully in the grass, and walks out to the sidewalk to meet it.
“Hey,” Jensen says, just a silhouette with a faux hawk as Jared slides in and shoves his bag between his knees. “Wanna stop and get hash browns? I’m starving.”
“Sure,” Jared says, slamming the door.
“Brought you one this time.”
Jared follows Jensen’s nod to the cup holsters and sees two glasses of orange juice. Murmuring, nice, he takes the one that’s full and gulps at it while Jensen pulls away from the curb. Finally smiling, Jared settles into the shotgun seat, which is permanently kicked back to the exact length of spread of his legs. Hasn’t budged in almost three years.
The morning’s dark enough to need headlights; they’re coming up on November, with it’s short days and blue-black skies. It makes Jared want to turn over in bed, to hibernate, arms wrapped around a pillow for comfort. Instead, he just turns up Jensen’s Whiskeytown CD because the slow country violins and thoughtful finger-picking make him think of driving forever.
“Oh, hey,” Jensen says suddenly. He reaches one-handed toward the backseat. “I got you something else, it’s ah, I think in the front pocket of my bag.”
Jared takes up the search when the car’s nose starts veering for a guard rail; pushes Jensen out of the way and hauls up to lean between the two seats. Elbows Jensen in the head just to hear the curse, just to feel the punch to his hip. He hauls the dirty black canvas bag toward him, flips up the flap, and sees a book jammed down in the open front pocket.
And he wants to swear and smile and roll his eyes and kiss Jensen and not care about this book at all. But he tugs it out, staring at the cover while he readjusts in his seat and pulls his tee-shirt back down over his waist. White Fang.
“That’s the other one you liked, right,” Jensen says, and it’s not quite a question. “Nabbed it from my grandparents’ house this weekend.”
“Thanks,” Jared says.
He flips open the cover to see his name written there in the corner. Opens his mouth to say something else, but they’re pulling into a McDonald’s drive-thru and Jensen’s asking him what he wants.
“I’m good,” Jared says, flipping to the first page just to look at the words in the dark. He hears Jensen order four hash browns, and two of them get dropped hot and steaming and greasy into his lap. Jared can’t help the smile he tips to Jensen this time, and Jensen just grins with his eyes on the road, easing back out into traffic.
Soon as they get through the main doors and into the brightly lit halls of East Burncoat High, Jared finds himself staring openly at Jensen.
“Holy, fuck,” he swears. “I didn’t even notice.”
Jensen’s got an eyebrow arched at him until Jared reaches out and traces fingertips over the dark, moody blue laced into his tightly-cropped hair. Jensen immediately bats him away, rolling his eyes and ducking his face.
“Get outta here,” Jensen says, glaring at him. “Every time, man, it’s like you’ve never seen it. You touch it like it’s gonna turn back.”
Jared drops a hallway door on him and Jensen swears, but when Jared looks over his shoulder to give a shit-eating smile, Jensen’s ears are lit neon-red and the flush is halfway down his neck. Jared carefully says nothing, and keeps his smile secret.
By the time they reach their lockers and Jensen’s fumbling Jared’s combination every single time he’s a number away from clicking it open, Jared can’t stomp down the hum in his chest. Jensen’s putting himself into hysterics and Jared shoves at him in frustration; they fight and elbow and kick over Jared’s locker until the assistant principal hollers at them to keep it down.
Jensen’s already got an armful of books; says with a smirk, “Waitin’ on you, sweetheart.”
Jared narrows eyes at him sourly and keeps vigilant while opening his combination. Jensen doesn’t intervene; Jared swings to the last number, breathes out, and lifts the latch.
Jensen, lightening-fast, hauls up a palm and slams the locker shut in Jared’s face, laughing uncontrollably as he darts down the hall before Jared can turn on him. Jared half-heartedly shouts after him but he’s laughing; lies his forehead against his locker for a moment to catch his breath. When he reaches for the combination a final time, he sees how hard his fingers are trembling.
Fifty-minute classes press his mind further and further toward some empty shell of a thought that just loops repetitively, asking when it all ends. He blows through a stats exam; writes two responses on the first half of The Once and Future King; flips uncomfortably past grainy grayscale photos of Nagasaki in his history book; and sleeps through the second half of his journalism meeting. Chad Murray gives him a flat tire at his locker between classes, laughs, and tells him not to bitch out on the party at Kane’s next weekend. Sandy passes him a note that just says, you look good in those jeans.
They’re the same things he did yesterday, and the same things he’ll do tomorrow. Privately, Jared questions high school on a very deep, dark, cerebral level.
Lunch finds him on the empty field bleachers with a bag of Baked Lays in his lap and a bottle of Coke at his hip, reading White Fang while Jensen talks to Kyle, who is in Jensen’s studio art class and has feelings for both Jensen and manga. Everything is fine until Kyle touches Jensen’s hair, and Jensen laughs, and tilts his head, and turns it into a kiss.
Jared finishes the page; crunches on a chip; washes it down with soda. He draws in the most even breath he can manage.
It’s several minutes before Kyle’s heading back inside, rubbing arms against the chill and nodding to Jensen awkwardly, hopefully. Jensen watches him walk away, smirking and thumbing the corner of his lip, and then climbs back up the bleachers to sink down next to Jared. He pulls the book out of Jared’s hands and throws it off the bleachers; it lands neatly in the grass, not a page out of order, waiting for them as soon as they make the trek back inside.
“Not that I’m not happy for you making it with Kyle the Art Stud,” Jared says. “But if you’re gonna third-wheel me, can you tell me in advance so I can decide not to be here?”
“Quit being jealous,” Jensen grins, bumping his knee into Jared’s.
“You ever gonna tell your mom she ain’t getting grandbabies?”
Jensen laughs, shaking his head and looking out over the field. Then he’s silent for so long that the response, half a joke, becomes half an argument in the quiet: “Now, why would I go and do a dumb thing like that? Ruin all my fun.”
“It might not be bad,” Jared says, hesitating. “Just. Never knew you to be anything but honest.”
“It’ll be plenty bad, believe me. And I’m not being dishonest. I just. There’s no reason to be telling her. I ain’t gonna be bringing home Kyle the Art Stud any time soon. Hey - what’re you doing this weekend?”
“Nothing. Taking Megan shopping. My parents are in Houston for the weekend.”
“Awesome,” Jensen says. “We’re having a bonfire. Somewhere. Maybe Chad’s, you wanna talk to Chad? I’ll talk to Chad. No, you talk to Chad. He likes you better. I ratted him out on the whole plagiarism thing last year. Shit, I’m freezing. Let’s go inside, nerd. Get this fucking day over with.”
Jensen drops him off after school; says, “See ya tomorrow,” and waves in his rear view as he pulls away. Jared waves back and then crosses his yard; stoops to pick up the bowl in the grass and leaves it in the sink before going upstairs.
It’s three o’clock. Eight hours to kill.
Jared pulls his book out of his backpack and flops down on the bed; turns on his lamp to find the bulb’s burnt out. Feels the grit of his teeth and the narrowing of his eyes; the burn of lines forming on his forehead. He launches the book across the room and lies there, breathless with anger.
He pushes a palm over the front of his jeans; hisses, growls, and covers his face in his own pillow. Makes a fist in one hand and pulls his zipper down with the other. This’ll kill off five minutes.
It’s not uncommon for Jared to hate Jensen, because they fight something fierce.
Jared once spent an entire weekend blowing all his money on Pearl Jam tickets and sleeping in the mud when he could’ve been at Chad’s family’s beach house; he and Jensen didn’t talk for a week, because Jensen had failed to mention first that it was a three-day festival, and second that there were no working toilets.
Then there was the party at Kane’s last year, when Jensen had seen Jared eyeing Danneel Harris and slipped into a bathroom with her while Jared went to get another round. Jared caught him coming out of the bathroom with a smug smile on his face, asked him out to the backyard. Jensen got a punch in the face and Jared walked home alone. Jensen showed up at his house for two weeks before Jared finally relented and got in the car.
But the worst was two months ago. Jensen disappeared for three days without telling anyone. Jared called everyone they knew, left Jensen a spectrum of messages that went from harmlessly curious to that fine line of hysteria between fury and terror. Sixteen total. Jensen never responded. He showed up at their lockers on Tuesday morning, bleary-eyed and smiling gamely, telling Jared he had to hear about his killer weekend.
“Who the fuck do you think you are,” Jared had growled, and left him standing there in the hallway.
Jensen had welled up during the conversation it took to fix them after that.
At seventeen, there wasn’t a whole lot Jared took seriously, but his friendship with Jensen was one of them. Slapped together on a science project freshman year, something about those two Sundays kept Jensen coming back even after they’d presented an experiment on the chemical properties of yeast. They watched cartoons; snuck onto the Howe Park beach; passed a milestone or two together, and just stuck.
So Jensen had to know he couldn’t just up and vanish on Jared, that it wasn’t okay. That somehow Jensen had become his best stupid friend, and therefore had a fucking responsibility to Jared. And if he didn’t want that responsibility, Jared needed to know right fucking now. Jensen had nodded and accepted it, held it, hugged Jared and whispered, I’m sorry, man.
In that moment Jared had never felt more relief in his life; hadn’t realized he was giving Jensen the all-or-nothing speech until it was all out, and they both could feel the terrifying truth of it. Jensen recognizing the need for those truths to be established gave Jared a burning, unquenchable love for him. They’re really stuck together, now. They get to hold each other accountable, now.
For his part in their train wreck of a friendship, Jensen has always taken Jared’s anger in stride; he keeps honest, admits his wrongs, and apologizes. And he never misses the important things. He picks up tickets to Wilco whenever they’re in town; will just hand them to Jared and say, hope you’re not doing anything next weekend. He always lets Jared pick where they eat, though it’s gotten to where Jensen just knows what Jared wants, and drives them there.
He snags books he knows Jared lost when their basement flooded last fall, ruining their family room, his grandfather’s bookcase, and everything in it. Johnny Tremain, Life on the Mississippi, Naked Lunch, a Jim Morrison biography. The first time was A Separate Peace, and Jared hadn’t quite gotten it; Jensen had gone from confident to shoulder-hunched and awkward, shrugging, only because I just read it for class, it’s not a big deal, just, you always got your goddamn nose in a book, and they’re all gone now, so, I mean, if you want it.
Now, Jared’s heart pounds uncontrollably every time Jensen hands him a book. He’s single-handedly rebuilding something important for Jared, and Jared can’t help how that makes him feel.
On Saturday morning, Jared’s parents wake him up at nine to leave him money and give ground rules for the weekend. Jared doesn’t get out of bed; just murmurs yeah, okay, until they stop talking, and falls asleep again.
At eleven, Megan wakes him up and after torturing her with monkey bites and noogies and holding her upside down with her face over the toilet, he puts her down and hugs her and makes her pancakes. Jared argues for Batman Beyond until he legitimately gets angry; then relents and puts in A Little Princess. They watch a little girl tell stories of India, and Jared lets Megan put tiny braids in his hair while he finishes her cold, half-eaten breakfast.
“Is she right, Jared?” Megan asks. “Are all girls princesses?”
“Yeah, except you. You’re a total yeti-monster. I’m kidding, ow - ow! Stop pulling - I only got one sister, girl, of course she’s a princess. Center of my universe. Prettiest in the land.”
Jensen walks into the living room then, grinning wide when he sees the complete domination Megan has over her brother.
“What in the world do we have here?” he asks. “Morning, Meg-o.”
“Jared tried to drop me in the toilet,” Megan says, diligently braiding.
“What are you doing here?” Jared asks.
“No he didn’t,” Jensen says. “Did you really? You are a - you’re an awful brother, Jared Padalecki.”
“I wasn’t gonna drop her. Meg, seriously, alright, enough with the braiding.”
“Oh, now that you’re boyfriend’s here,” she says.
Jared’s shoulders go tight and the heat in his cheeks makes him absolutely hate himself. With every conscious part of him, he ducks out of her hold and waves off her prying hands. Instead, he hides his face in grabbing their plates and orange juice glasses.
“Yeah, hilarious, listen, do you want to go to the mall or not?” he threatens.
When he finally climbs to his feet and looks to the kitchen, Jensen’s just standing there, stupid blue hair, arms crossed over his chest with a shoulder propped against the door jamb. Jared makes the effort to look right at him, daring him to say anything. Jensen just smiles and makes way for Jared to enter the kitchen, moving to the couch to sit with Megan.
At the mall, Jensen runs into Curtis and disappears for half an hour. Jared lets Megan lead him from store to store; he puts down the money when told, and women smile over their cash registers at him.
“Such a sweet boy,” one woman says.
“He tried to drop me in a toilet this morning,” Megan says.
Jared smiles tightly at the new air of distrust from the cashier and drags his sister away. He hates to admit that the little shit is winning the war; he’ll probably never do that again.
Jensen wanders over to them while they’re in the food court where they’ve got white Mary Janes, a blue headband, a striped blue skirt, and two sleeves of french fries. Megan eats half of them and then focuses on taking her head band out of its cardboard wrapping.
Jared offers Jensen some fries but can’t look at him. A quick glance has given him plenty of detail: muzzy gaze, swollen red mouth, and a faint purple mark tucked right at the collar of his tee-shirt. Jared absolutely cannot care about that. He will care about it far less if he doesn’t stare at it and ruminate.
Instead, he’s quiet while Megan lets Jensen poke through her bags, try on her headband, and tickle her within an inch of her sanity. Jared cracks a smile - can’t help it - and asks, “Think we’re ready to go?”
“Sure, I’m done,” Jensen grins.
Jared feels his throat work, humor dropping as he hears some unintended innuendo; nods resolutely and gathers up Megan’s bags for her. Megan stares up at him, and for a moment looks between the two carefully. In the end, Jared doesn’t know if it was the movie or the pancakes or the immense lip service, but she pulls her headband off Jensen’s head, slides from her seat, and comes to stand next to Jared, leaning into his hip.
Surprised, Jared slides an arm around her, squeezing briefly and saying softly, “Come on, Princess. Let’s go home and make some Mac & Cheese.”
Jensen watches them for a moment, smile fading into something like contrition before he nods toward the exit and leads the way.
Jared makes sure Megan is safe at Colleen’s for a sleepover before walking to Chad’s for the bonfire. He doesn’t particularly want to go, moving slow, trailing fingers down diamond shapes in chain link fences and tearing maple leaves from the low branches above him. He’s got that Once and Future King paper due on Monday, and he’s tired, and he’s just annoyed, for some reason. There is a baseline hum beneath his thoughts that’s making his jaw shift with irritation.
Earlier, Jensen had said he couldn’t pick Jared up because he was letting his friend Hodge use the Subaru, but Jared’s just got this funny feeling Jensen and Curtis had a round two planned for today. Now he’s stuck walking, and walking is annoying.
By the time he’s cutting through Chad’s front yard and ducking through the weathered wooden gate in the back, Jared decides he’ll stay two hours, tops, and then head back home. No sense in hanging around doing nothing all night, same as every other weekend, when he’ll have the chance to do it again next Saturday at Kane’s party.
Fire’s high and warm when he gets there. Nobody moves; Chad greets him, presses a cold beer into his palm. Every time he cracks one, Jared thinks, We’re too young for this. But he does it anyway, because it feels good going down. He slaps a few shoulders, moving around the group to find a seat, and realizes Jensen’s already there. Jared drinks from his bottle; it takes everything he has not to react.
“Hey, Jay,” Jensen smiles easily.
Jared thinks he’s about to offer up the seat next to him, but Jared slides into the one next to Steve and stops the words in their tracks. He drinks again, and looks around casually, and he probably looks terribly bored, because he is.
He has no interest in knowing what Jensen smells like right now.
It gets better. Steve is a funny motherfucker, and he and Chad riff endlessly, barking insults at each other and wrestling so close to the fire that Jared jumps up and yanks Steve still with a fist in his hair, causing both of them to freeze and go predatory on Jared. He backs away carefully but ends up at the bottom of a dog pile, ribs squeezed under Steve’s broad chest, huffing painfully while Steve laughs stilted and broken, trying to breathe through the weight of Chad, Chris, and then finally Jensen, leaning over them on top like an afterthought.
They sit around drinking in easy quiet, talking shit about guys at school; running their fingers through the flames; carving letters into the air with glowing embers. They get bored and start burning plastic, and bottle caps, and then an oily rag from the back of Chris’ truck that turns the flames an impressive blue-green. The air smells filthy. Jared should’ve left already, but instead he’s grinning at Chris like this is the funniest thing he’s seen all week.
It gets silly again when Chris moves to sit back down and Chad yanks his pants around his ankles, to the dismay of everyone. Shouts, caterwauls, eye-covering. Chris bows, ass up, before yanking his pants back around his hips and collapsing back down. From there, it’s show us your ass! and punch him in the balls! and kiss him!
Jared freezes, laughter dying in his throat. Chris is grinning at Jensen and nodding to Jared and no one says anything. Jared looks around because he’s trying to look at anyone but Jensen; Steve is staring at them, an eyebrow raised, and Chad is looking at Jared, worried, silently sympathizing with him.
Jared couldn’t move right now if it were a direct order. Jensen, however, gets up like he’s been waiting for it, firelight catching the green burn his eyes as he moves, cocky grin dropping slightly as he comes to stand over Jared.
No, Jared mouths desperately, pushing himself back into the canvas of his chair.
And that makes a curl of a smile whisper back to Jensen’s mouth, because he nods, and says softly, “Oh, yes, sweetheart.” Then he runs fingers up the back of Jared’s neck and into his hair, holding him still with a steady grip, and dragging Jared’s mouth up to his.
Jensen’s lips feel like he’s been licking flames, searing into Jared, shocking him through with the heat. Their lips are dry, and catch, until Jensen licks at Jared’s lower lip in a silky gesture of affection; then it’s wet, and slides, and something tightens so hard and painful in Jared’s chest he thinks he might burst.
They kiss for the first time just like that: Jared pulled up awkwardly in the chair, straining painfully, right in front of their friends like a big fuckin’ joke.
And on top of that, all Jared can think of is what number kiss this is for Jensen today. Because it happens to be Jared’s first, ever.
Jared pulls away and turns his face, feeling Jensen sway into him, hovering breathless for a moment right at his ear. Jared squeezes his eyes closed and doesn’t move, and for a long terrified moment he thinks Jensen’s just going to stay here, mashed up against him and making Jared tremble with the warm breaths he’s brushing over Jared’s neck.
He finally moves, back to his seat with a theatrical smile and an eyebrow raised in challenge that says, Go ahead. Try and get me to bitch out on something else.
Chris is laughing, clapping Jared on the back. Looks at Jensen and says, “Way to pop his cherry, man.”
Jared pales. He shoves Chris’ hand off and grits out, “Shut up, Kane.”
At the same time, Jensen’s smile is falling off his face like weighted by a brick and he’s asking, “What?”
Chris stops laughing, looking at Jared in wonder, and he opens his mouth to say something - probably, he didn’t know? - but Jared drops his eyes to the dirt and presses his mouth in a thin line. This has just become the worst night of his life.
He tries to think of how to get out of here without looking like an asshole, but there really isn’t one. He sits tight a few minutes, letting the awkward moment pass and wanting to hug Chad for picking up a thread of conversation from an hour ago, but all he hears is the relentless screaming in his mind telling him to get, out.
In the back of his mind he also feels the pressure of Jensen’s eyes on him, his silence so conspicuous, and Jared can’t even breathe through his humiliation and anger.
Jared makes it half an hour, mind baying like a dying animal and fingers trembling and stomach lurching, before he says lamely, “I’m gonna take off, guys, I got a paper to write.”
No one argues with him; he gets cuffs at his head and shoulders, and Steve gives him a quick one-armed hug, murmuring, “Call me, man.”
And then Jensen rises to his feet and says, “I’ll drive you home.”
“I can walk,” Jared says quickly.
“I know you can walk, you idiot.”
Jared shrugs, and curls fingers up into his palms; makes for the street without saying anything and wants to run when he hears Jensen falling into step behind him. He’s pulling open the gate when he hears Steve bark at Chris: “Nice one, you fucking jackass.” He knows Jensen heard it too, but neither of them says anything.
He walks right by the Subaru even while Jensen’s rounding to the driver’s side.
“Jared!”
“I said I can walk,” Jared grits out, and doesn’t turn around. He hasn’t made eye contact with Jensen since that last begging request of no Jensen had blown through like a tornado.
“Then I’ll walk you home.”
“Stop, Jensen, just stop, okay. Just stay here, man, and party, I’m fine.”
“I don’t want to. Dude - you can’t even look at me. If I fucked up again I want to know about it before you go home and decide to never talk to me again.”
Jared grits his teeth and he’s so angry and tight and unfocused he wants to come apart. Jensen’s standing there, steady and firm, and Jared feels the furious light in his eyes and wants to hit Jensen for the first time since meeting him.
“Don’t even fucking start. What were you thinking, Jen? You decide it’s cool to just mack on me in front of everybody? Maybe that shit isn’t a big deal to you but it’s a big deal to me, okay? I don’t just fucking make out with every guy I meet!”
“So that’s what I do, then,” Jensen says, low and sharp. “That’s what you think of me?”
“Don’t be an idiot. I know you’re better than that. And that’s my whole fucking point, man, what are you doing? You don’t even care, and now you’re messing with me?”
Jared’s breathing hard, winded, and he’s amazed the truth hasn’t coming spilling out in his unchecked anger. Finally he chances a look to Jensen and sees some quiet hesitation there; something between hurt and confused, not enough to concern Jared but plenty to pique his interest.
“I don’t know,” Jensen says finally. “Never really thought about it.”
Jared sighs. “Well. Look, I didn’t mean to sound like I’m passing judgment - do whatever you want. Just - don’t be kissing me around the fucking bonfire under Chad’s parents’ bedroom window, alright. I’m going home.”
“They’re easier than you,” Jensen says, rushed, the words hitting against the back of Jared’s neck and making nerves skitter. “That’s why. Kyle’s not giving me shit about anything. You - you flip out on me like this all the fucking time, it makes me nuts. I never know what you want me to do, I get all fucking twisted up and scared and like, pissed.”
“I’m not arguing with you,” Jared says quietly. “I’m not asking anything. Just - seriously, Jensen. Whatever.”
“See, man! This is what I’m talking about! You’re acting like you don’t care and I know you care! I know you’re freaking out about whatever it is you fucking freak out about and I don’t know what you want me to do about it!”
Jared swallows, and there’s an answer, but he can’t say it. He can’t say, be it for me. Just pick me, over everyone. He can’t ask that of Jensen, because if Jensen can’t give it, Jared doesn’t know what he’ll do. So he steels his nerves and faces Jensen and says, “Just - don’t ever do that again. Don’t ever fucking try to kiss me again.”
“I didn’t know it was like, you know, your first one. I thought, I mean at least you and Sandy had.”
Jared clenches fists, wants to scream, wants to run home, just wants this conversation to end already. He tries to keep calm, and shrugs. “Wasn’t really like that.”
“And man, how did Chris know that shit before me!”
Another question Jared can’t answer; the only thing he could say truthfully is, Because you’re the only one who doesn’t see it. He says, “I don’t know,” and looks down the sidewalk, hoping Jensen will just get it, and leave him alone, and let him leave.
Jensen just stands there, nothing more to say, fidgeting, unmoving. He looks on edge, cut, unsatisfied and unhappy. His mouth works moodily, ruminating over their conversation, trying to think of something to say.
“Just go back in,” Jared says. “It’s not a big deal, okay. I’m just fucking tired, I don’t even really care. Not really. I’m just - being a dick.”
“You’re not,” Jensen says firmly. “Let’s just go watch Texas Chainsaw, or play Zelda or something. Let’s just get out of here. This whole fucking night is turning into, I don’t even know. I’m over it. I’m sorry, okay. Seriously.”
“I know. And dude I seriously am going to write that paper, so if you’re coming, it’s gonna be a whole lot of nothing.”
Jensen laughs. “When has that stopped me.”
The longer Jensen just sits there, staring at the bent spines making crooked sideways stairs in his bookcase, the bigger Jared’s heart beats. He buries himself in his paper, flipping to folded pages and skimming penciled underlines; writes a few optimistic thoughts on the hero’s journey; and then chews the cap of his pen while obsessing over Jensen, silent, interested, choosing to just be here. Not back at the bonfire; not needing to be entertained; content to just share Jared’s space.
He doesn’t say anything until Jared finishes his draft, shoving his work into the book and tucking it all into his backpack. Jensen’s stretched out on the floor flipping through a Wilco biography, looking up when Jared yawns.
“You done already?” he asks.
“Mostly. Good enough. I can’t think anymore. You wanna watch something? Or get something to eat? Shit, what time is it? Feel like that took forever.”
“It’s only like two, you whizzed through that, Brain Trust.”
Jared pulls his socks off and throws them into a corner before stretching out onto his bed and humming some pleased note. He’s warm, tired, comfortable, and the glow of Jensen’s attention laps sweetly against him. These are his favorite times. This is how he wants to feel, always. This, right here.
“You can hang out, but I might not be awake much longer,” Jared murmurs. “Just make sure the door’s locked.”
“It’s alright,” Jensen says quietly.
The silence and the stillness stretches; Jared sighs into it, shifts comfortably to one hip and closes his eyes. There he drifts, circling deeper and deeper towards sleep, full of trust and of something being repaired tonight, fast as it was broken. He’s happy. Jensen always does the right thing.
He’s just touched a breath against sleep when he hears Jensen pull himself up from the floor; cracks an eye when he sits down on the bed, back to Jared, staring at his hands tucked into his lap. Jared tries to say something, but it comes out a quiet, questioning hum that has Jensen cocking an ear toward him and smiling slightly. It drops away when he says, “I can’t, uh. I keep thinking about you never kissed anybody before, and I fucked it up. I feel like a complete asshole.”
“Dude,” Jared begs, turning his face away. “Please don’t. Just leave it alone, it’s fine. Stop worrying about it.”
“It’s just - that’s supposed to be important, you know? That’s a big one, and it’s supposed to mean something. Even if it sucked, and there was too much tongue, and neither of you knew what you were doing, and you never wanted to do it again when it was over. It’s supposed to be something you can tell people about. You can’t tell anybody about that. My friends made me kiss my best friend and then laughed at me for it. You can’t tell your kids that.”
“Seriously, Jensen. Drop it.”
Jared’s feeling it come back, a burning angry drop in his stomach and Jensen’s right; he was robbed of something tonight. He can forgive Jensen easy as breathing, but the moment can’t be undone. Jared feels like an idiot for caring.
Jensen shifts a hip, hitches a knee up onto the bed and moves to lean over Jared, planting a palm by his shoulder. Jared tenses so tight he feels like he’s on fire, a terrified heat inhaling strength and setting the rest of him trembling to escape. He looks up at Jensen and Jensen is so close, eyes dark and serious, glittering in how intensely they study him. The intimacy makes Jared’s skin crawl, makes his thighs flex, makes his fingers dig at the comforter. This is the second time tonight he’s felt so absolutely trapped.
“I want to do it better,” Jensen murmurs. “Please don’t say no.”
For a second, Jared is so in love it hurts. There have been other versions of it, but this kiss with Jensen is going to beat them all, because it’s going to be real. Here, warm, head ducked against his own brutal honesty.
The moment lengthens as Jared mentally faces the music; this won’t mean half as much to Jensen as it does to him, and that is enough to bring burning tears to the backs of his eyes. This is what Jensen does; he kisses people. And it can’t be that way. The only response Jared can think of is, Please, don’t. It can’t be you. It has to be someone else.
He can’t make himself say it. Can’t make himself move. There is a moment that’s been in his mind, and it is now a real thing, and he wants it so badly and irrevocably that he can’t turn away. For better or worse, his second first kiss is going to be Jensen Ackles.
Giving in to the uncontrollable urge, he finally lets his gaze fall to Jensen’s mouth; it’s something he’s wanted to look at for years, and has never allowed himself to. Has always averted his eyes; never watched him kiss anyone else, never watched him eat, never looked anywhere else but Jensen’s gaze when they talked, or laughed, or shared a glance over Chad’s head. Now, licked damp and slightly parted, Jensen’s mouth makes Jared’s heart pound ferociously. When he finds Jensen’s eyes again, Jensen smiles achingly bright, leaning closer, waiting for Jared’s permission.
Closing his eyes against every bit of screeching protest, he tilts his chin up and catches Jensen.
It is good. Jared’s terrified, trembling so hard he’s sure Jensen can feel it, but it’s the second time around and Jensen’s not asking much, seems content with slow brushes and touching, so Jared can do this.
He waits for Jensen to stop, and Jensen doesn’t stop. After the first kiss breaks, he kisses again, mouthing softly, coaxing Jared’s lips to move with his, tilts his head and pushes in to cover the territory Jared gives up. Jensen sighs against him when they part again, and it is this beautiful, satisfied, achingly right thing. And he doesn’t move, doesn’t give Jared an inch. And he kisses Jared again.
It feels, so good, Jared wants to scream and buck out of his body, wants to grab Jensen and press every inch of them together, wants suddenly and fiercely for this hot pulse in his groin to be going somewhere. He’s never been with someone like this before.
Jensen lets his lips drag painfully slow, drawing out these moments of connection, so fucking perfect that Jared hums his surprise out, this long slow kiss tripping over the sound, and Jensen kisses it out of his mouth with some force, and that’s when Jensen’s tongue licks at him, and electrifies every last nerve in Jared. He hitches a harsh breath against it and Jensen pauses against him, lingering, questioning, waiting for Jared to shove him away. Jared touches the edge of his tongue to Jensen’s, completely rigid except for the trembling hand he lifts to grip Jensen’s shoulder.
“Oh, fuck,” Jensen groans helplessly against Jared’s mouth, and kisses him so hard Jared arches up against it. His toes are curling, knees pulling up for leverage, and he fights to control his body even as his arms circle Jensen’s neck and his mouth opens, letting Jensen lick in, and suck at his bottom lip, and edge his teeth against it with delicious pressure.
Jensen falls against him, gives up on holding himself on one arm and drops himself roughly down over Jared’s chest. For a moment the rise and fall of Jensen’s ribs against his own brings more comfort than arousal, but then the two bleed into some rich intoxicating pulse that has Jared’s hands sliding low over Jensen’s back and pressing them together.
It suddenly occurs to Jared that this is not kissing. He and Jensen are making out, fierce, hot, and hungry on his bed. Jared’s heart pounds and he fucking aches with desire that is bone-deep and sick of being hidden away.
When they break away again he feels Jensen’s hand cupping his jaw; feels the other digging into his hair and then moving up to brush fingers against Jared’s hair line. He tilts up toward it absently, feels victory when Jensen chuckles breathlessly against him and brushes knuckles down the side of Jared’s face.
Jared opens his eyes, dazed, and stares at Jensen, who looks happy and hungry and sated all at once.
“Not sure I could tell the kids about that one, either,” Jared breathes, and grins when Jensen laughs openly, shaking his head.
“Might have to play it down a little,” Jensen agrees. “I didn’t mean for it to get all … well, that was good, though, right? Better?”
“Yeah, it was good. Better.”
“Good,” Jensen murmurs, smiling softly.
For a second Jared can feel that it’s going to happen again, that they’re pulling each other in, and Jensen’s going to lean in and kiss him, and he’s going to feel that aching brutal devastating throb of need pulse through him all over again. But Jensen blinks out of it, catching himself, and levers up off of Jared to create distance.
Jared forces out disappointment and ignores the way the loss of Jensen’s body heat makes him want to curl in on himself. It wasn’t going to last forever. There was going to be an end, and this is it. Jared knew what it was going to feel like, and now he has to deal with it.
“So, I’m gonna go, probably,” Jensen says. “You’re all … you don’t have to walk me out, you’re all tired and like, four seconds from being asleep. I’ll see you on Monday morning, though, okay?”
Jared nods, and says goodnight, and smiles when Jensen awkwardly waves before leaving his bedroom. He listens to Jensen’s footsteps all the way down the stairs, waiting for the back door to open and close. Then he puts trembling hands over his face and breathes. After a second he parts his lips, just to feel the drag of his rough palms against them.
On Monday morning, Jared wakes with a buzz of anticipation his alarm clock can’t drown out. He slaps it off and turns to his back to stare at the ceiling in the dark. He feels that twinge of morning arousal and lets it simmer, thinking on it, encouraging it, pulling his thighs tight, touching his chest beneath his tee-shirt. He closes his eyes, bites his lips, feels what he wants to feel.
It’s quick, once he starts; he’s fast-paced and blows through it: the weight of Jensen’s body pressing him down, those dragging, endless kisses and the suffocating throb in his groin that came with them; the way he wanted to rock against Jensen until he exploded, grinding against him until he spit Jared’s name like a breathless curse, wanting no one and nothing else.
He comes shoving brutally into his own fist, ass off the bed, breath held still and twisted in his chest, teeth gritted against a groan while his orgasm rips through him in a hot dizzying wave. He comes down thinking he wants Jensen so fucking much he’d die for it.
For the moment, he’s okay with it, because every time he thinks about Saturday night all he remembers this incredible feeling of maybe. It had been so magnetic, and Jensen’s face had been so soft, that there’s a sliver of Jared willing to believe there may be something real between them. For the moment, he’ll believe it, and hang on.
Jared grins when he shoves Megan out of the bathroom, fluffs up the hair she’d been carefully brushing and slams the door behind him.
“I love you too,” he yells over her screaming, and turns on the water.
Downstairs, aside from Megan’s requisite tattling, there is peace in the kitchen while Jared pours his cereal, and his mom is pleasantly surprised when he remembers to give her a kiss on the way out.
His grin is out of control when Jensen pulls up and he punches it down to a smirk, climbing in and gnawing on the inside of his cheek to keep himself together. When Jared’s settled, they’re not moving, so he looks to Jensen with the question already formed on his mouth.
Jensen flips on the interior light and says, “It’s red. Save you the surprise.”
Jared studies it, nodding his approval. He’s about to say it looks good when something catches his eye. He grabs Jensen’s face and pushes it to the side, craning to see, and he was right; a tiny silver stud tucked against his eyebrow.
“What the fuck is that,” Jared says, smile growing as he thumbs it lightly. “Dude, weren’t you making fun of these like, yesterday? I thought they were only for the wannabes.”
“Suck it, Padalecki,” Jensen says, and ducks out of Jared’s hold to swat at him. “Quit making shit up. And don’t touch it; that shit still hurts. You want to stop at Mickey D’s?”
“Nah, I’m good,” Jared says, grinning, but Jensen stops anyway.
Jared plows through his day, energized, handing in his essay, slam-dunking two exams, finishing his journalism piece on the cheerleader’s fashion show fund raiser, and skipping his history class to drive with Chad to the record shop down the street. They listen to geeky Genesis songs and sing “Invisible Touch” all the way back to campus for lunch.
“So what ended up happening on Saturday?” Chad asks.
Jared shrugs to cover the bolt of arousal at just the mention of that night. “Nothing. He apologized. No big.”
There’s a long stretch of silence before Chad says, “Dude, if you could see how red you are right now.”
“Shut up.”
“Listen, I know you don’t need to hear it from me, but you’re gonna fucking hear it from me. Be, careful, with that guy, Jay. I know you guys are close, but - ”
Jared grits his teeth, anger rushing up to hide his humiliation. “Chad, I really don’t have any fucking interest in talking about this, I can take care of my fucking self, alright. I’m not an idiot.”
“Hey! I didn’t say you were! Chill out, seriously. But man, I know you carry a fuckin’ torch for that guy, and Jensen, well. Jensen’s gonna be Jensen, dude.”
“Awesome,” Jared says tightly. “Thanks, Chad.”
Chad frowns, and as they walk up to the cafeteria Jared notes they’ve both turned sour. He’s so mad he could punch Chad, doesn’t even want to share the sidewalk right now. The truth being mused over in his own mind is one thing, but in the daylight, out loud, from a good friend, makes it so real that Jared’s stomach sloshes. He hates thinking of Jensen right now, loving and hating him in equal turns. He tries to block it all out, to think of food, and nothing else.
He gets in line for a roast beef sandwich and Chad breaks away without a word, spotting Chris and Steve and moving to sit with them. Jared tries not to notice, but every time he looks up the three of them are talking, and one of them is looking right at him. No way is he walking into that intervention; he already plans on heading downstairs to the senior open campus, soon as he gets his lunch.
Jared jumps when he hears it, low and dark in his ear: “Whatcha getting me?”
He turns and knuckle-punches at Jensen’s shoulder, calls him a dick and dodges a return shot aimed for his kidney. Nerves rattled, he feels his breathing go threadbare and wills himself to move past it while Jensen settles into line beside him.
“How’s it going,” Jensen asks.
“Fine, good, actually,” Jared says. “You?”
“Two substitutes and a canceled calculus test. Today is awesome.”
Jared grins so hard his face hurts, and he doesn’t look at Jensen, concentrating on throwing a tray together and paying for it. Soon as they’re set, Jensen’s heading for their friends and Jared hesitates, trying to think of any excuse that won’t come out as awkward or suspicious. In the end, Chad looks up and catches him, so he bites the bullet and follows Jensen to the table.
“Nice hair, douche,” Chris says once they’re seated. “Are we going for Bozo this week?”
“Ginger,” Steve grins. “Does it go all the way down? Did you really commit to the look this time, Jen?”
Jensen rolls his eyes, and it seems almost instinctive that he shoots a private, amused look to Jared. Jared does his best to return it, because he likes what it means - they don’t get it (and you do) - but feels tense because he’s pretty sure the rest of the guys caught it, and they never catch stuff like that, but right now they happen to be looking for it.
Jared busies himself with layering mustard all over his sandwich.
“Gross,” Jensen says, watching, and swipes at Jared’s pickle. “Can I have this? I’m taking this.”
And Jared gives an obligatory curse, but he wants to press a hand over Jensen’s mouth and beg him to shut up, shut the fuck up, because Jared is so unbearably aware of the fact that this right here is the Jared & Jensen show, with their friends all studying them carefully. Jensen is blissfully ignorant, shoving the entirety of Jared’s pickle in his mouth and grinning. Says with a full mouth, “You love it.”
And Jared is so humiliated he wants to die.
“You guys coming on Friday?” Chris asks.
Jared is horrified when he opens his mouth to answer, Obviously, idiot, and he catches Jensen’s gaze. He has to stop. Jensen’s looking at him with a question in his eyes; like he’s asking Jared if they’re going. Like he is asking if Jared wants to go. Like if Jared doesn’t want to go, they’ll do something else.
Spooked, Jared sticks him with a dubious, what is wrong with you? stare and Jensen blinks.
“Probably,” Jensen says, going back to his lunch.
“Thought you’d pretty much figure us to,” Jared adds, not afraid to raise his stare in a challenge to Chris.
“Didn’t you have to watch your sister this weekend?” Chad asks Jared. There’s a tone to his voice that makes Jared bristle.
Before he can answer, Jensen does it for him. Stuffing his face and then washing it down with a swig of Coke, he says, “That was last weekend.”
Chad stares openly at Jared, as if Jared’s done something irreconcilable.
“Mark’s gonna be there,” Chad says, talking to Jensen and looking at Jared.
“Yeah?” Jensen says, and the tone of his voice, the way he looks up with that interested light in his eyes, makes Jared freefall right back into a wordless, immobile rage. He eats in silence, wanting to murder Chad for the details he then tries to drill out of Jensen, who agrees, yeah I know him, yeah we’ve hung out a few times, yeah maybe I’ll see him there.
By the time they pick up their table to head back to class, Jared’s trembling with restraint. He bites his lip, willing himself to stay out of the conversation. Jensen wouldn’t. Not after last weekend. He absolutely wouldn’t. He has to trust that.
When Steve throws an arm around his shoulder Jared sags into it, unashamed. Steve scrubs up his hair into an affectionate mess, and lends his weight to pushing Jared toward his locker.
Just before Jared slips free, Steve ducks close to Jared and says, “He wouldn’t, man.”
Relief drowns logic and Jared throws arms around Steve and tells him he’s the best motherfucking friend a guy could ask for. He ignores the cooing and the ain’t that sweet he hears behind them; Steve laughs and slaps his back, holding on tight and then shoving him away.
Predictably, Jensen catches him; grins playfully as he asks, “What’s that make me?”
“Late for dinner,” Jared bitches, trying to paw himself out of the hold, already tipping back toward choppy feelings of discomfort.
“Quit staking your claim on Padalecki, you selfish shitbag,” Steve laughs, but there’s tinge to it that definitely speaks to Jensen because he lets go immediately, shoving a little and turning to his locker.
Jared shoots Steve a grateful look, and waves the guys off as they head down the hallway in a tight-knit pack. Turns to his locker and guards against an attack from Jensen with the wing of one elbow. It doesn’t come.
Serving a quick glance to the side, he sees Jensen knelt on the floor, concentrating on gathering his books from the bottom of his locker. Jensen smirks to himself, but it’s off, and he doesn’t look up when he asks, half a joke in his voice: “You aren’t replacing me, are you now, Jay?”
Hot, filthy love blooms in Jared’s chest so fast he can’t even control it. He hides his face, feeling how warm it is, how his neck suddenly feels hot-damp under the collar of his button-down.
“Been trying since the day I fucking met you,” he grins, kicking at Jensen until he falls over.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Jensen says.
His voice is quiet and almost slips underneath the radio and the whistle of the Subaru’s back window. Jared’s so in the zone, calm and distantly contemplating some obscure but awesome future, that he almost misses it.
“What’d I say,” he asks, distracted, eyes on the line of cars at a Starbucks drive-through.
“About telling my parents,” Jensen says.
Jared blinks, and turns to look at him. Jensen doesn’t look back; flips eyes to the rear-view and then the side mirror and then back to the road. They hit a red light and Jared waits, but Jensen still doesn’t look at him. He starts humming along the strained edges of a Johnny Cash song and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel; he squints out the windshield like he’s trying to read a bumper sticker.
“That’s, pretty big, Jen,” Jared says slowly.
“Hm? Yeah, well.”
“Well, that’s good. You know I’m like, here, if you need to talk about it. Or anything.”
“Thanks, man. Hey, you finish that book yet?”
“Yeah, it was great, Jack London is great, you’d like him. Always reminds me of that time we went camping last fall,” Jared says, and goes back to staring out the window as the light changes. He contemplates the horizon, trying to figure out Jensen, and trying to figure out why any of this matters.
[ part 2]