RPS Fic : Seek 2/2
//Part One//
First thing he notices is that Jared's lips are softer than he'd expected. It's not much of a kiss. Jared's a little too drunk for that and Jensen's a little too shell-shocked. Mostly just a firm, very deliberate press of lips, a little flicker of Jared's tongue when he goes to wet his own lips.
Then Jared pulls back.
Jensen goes: "Um."
Jared stares at him, long fingers plucking nervously at his lower lip, stays silent.
"Huh," says Jensen.
Jared's mouth, apparently, is suddenly under lock and key.
Jensen goes back to: "Um." He licks his lips before he can think better of it, and it just--it trips him out; best buddies means you can know what he smells like, looks like, sounds like, maybe even feels like, but taste is a timeless and firmly established barrier between friends. It's too weird. Jensen cracks, "Was it good for you?"
Jared's jaw twitches, but he smiles. "Jensen--"
Jensen rubs his hands over his face, tries not to make it obvious when he puts a little distance between them. "Just--Jay, what the hell was that?"
Jared goes stone still for a second, but then a smile zips across his face, a blush painted on. "I know, I know. It's crazy. I'm drunk, man, that's all."
Jensen eyes him suspiciously. "No, dude. No way. You just, you did a thing just then."
"What thing?"
"This like--freezing thing. What's going on with you?"
"Nothing, I swear to God!" Jared's settling, bones clicking into a looser position, poised and openly communicating ease and embarrassment. "I'm sorry, man, I'm being such a pussy about the show being over, even after, what, four months? It's just weird."
"So what, you decided to--" he waves towards his mouth, unable to say the words.
"I don't know, okay? Obviously, I missed you, and obviously that got expressed in an inappropriate way, but it's just--chalk it up to another one of my misadventures with alcohol, yeah? Remember that time I let that chick do a body shot off my ass? Let's stick this one in that file."
Jared's bringing his A game, just this perfect combination of tone and body language and it's the least Jensen can do to play his part, to not step on his line.
Jensen nods acceptingly, shaking off the jangle of his nerves. He pulls out a grin, then holds up the vodka bottle. "Never again."
Jared laughs, then makes him rewind back to watch the part of the movie they'd missed.
****
Jensen watches him pretty carefully over the next week. On the surface, nothing's changed. They play the Wii and the PS3, making judgment calls. Both systems have been out long enough now to build up a pretty solid stable of games, and Jensen's a fan of the phenomenal graphics on the PS3, the intricate gameplay.
Jared loudly rebuts his conclusions, getting real enthusiastic in his defense of the Wii's accessibility and the unadulterated fun of it.
They have the same good-natured argument three times, and it gets louder, more impassioned and more ridiculous each time.
Jared drags Jensen along on a tour of every restaurant in a 100 mile radius, scouts the best burrito places, settles on La Taquiza. He drips salsa down his chin every time they go there, too busy moaning into his California burrito to bother using a napkin.
On Thursday, they hit the Grove and Jared heads straight for Bath & Body Works; lies blatantly to the salesgirl that he's buying the lotion for his sister while flirting easily.
Nothing's different, except for the fact that Jensen can't stop watching, can't stop looking for the cracks.
****
On Friday, after Jared makes a mess of his kitchen making pancakes--seriously, Bisquick all up in everywhere--he announces: "Hey, so I'm finally getting out of your hair."
Jensen drizzles honey over his second stack. "What, you found a place?"
"No way, couldn't live in LA."
Jensen looks up quizzically. "Why the fuck not?"
Jared shrugs, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder as he piles dirty mixing bowls into the dishwasher.
"So where are you going?"
Jared stands, scratching at his eyebrow. "I'm going to Spain, man."
"What're you talking about, Spain."
Jared chuckles. "I know, it's kind of crazy, but I just--think I'm gonna take an honest to goodness vacation."
Jensen studies him, trying to figure out how serious he is. "Spain."
"Yup. Barcelona, Madrid, Malaga. I don't know. Could be fun. Still got enough Texas in me to remember a little bit of Spanish."
Jensen nods, chewing as he mulls it over. Spain. There are worse places to take a vacation. He likes paella. Penelope Cruz is from Madrid, which speaks well for Spanish girls. He can say hola, and por favor and cuantos cuestan. "Maybe I'll come with."
Jared grins. "Yeah? Don't you have to start promoting your movie soon?"
"Dude, that doesn't start up for another week and a half. How long you planning on staying there?"
Jared stays silent, searching Jen's cupboards. "You got any powdered sugar?"
"Jared." Jensen clears his throat hard. "Jared. How long you gonna be there?"
Jared sighs, turns around. "In Spain? Probably not that long. But I'm not coming home after that."
"Dude, I fucking knew it." Jensen stands, pointing a finger at Jared. "I knew you were flipping out secretly about this. Look, just because you--you know, it doesn't mean you have to leave the fucking country--"
"Wow, that's a lot of rant from a little guy like you."
Jensen's jaw clicks. "Fuck you."
Jared's mouth screws up and then he forces a laugh, visibly calms himself down. "Jensen, look, it's not about you, okay? I've been working this actor thing since I was a kid, I'm just--I need a break. That's all. There's shit I've never done, things I haven't seen and I just--I feel like if I don't take my chance now, I'll get locked up in another series, or working movie after movie and I just--I can't right now."
"That's called running away from your responsibilities, Jared."
Jared smiles softly. "No, dude. I'm just trying to figure out which ones I want to shoulder."
****
Jensen doesn't pretend to understand, and that seems to go over fine with Jared. He leaves Jared at the international terminal and doesn't get out to hug him goodbye.
He's not quite sure why he's so pissed off, but he is. Jared's making a stupid choice, the kid's been on the brink of making it big for two years now and where he should be is in Los Angeles, reading scripts and signing contracts and thinking about his goddamn future.
Leaving angry is a calculated decision, one designed to show Jared that he's making a huge mistake, but Jensen regrets it as soon as he pulls onto the freeway. Jared's got this look in his eye, this wanderlust that's not him, not the Jared Jensen knows. Jared looked honestly wounded, and Jensen can't stop wondering if it went deep enough to end the friendship.
He worries.
****
Jensen gets his first postcard from Jared two weeks into the promotional blitz for the movie. It's a Polaroid picture stapled to some typical tourist-y postcard of the Sagrada Familia.
Jared obviously took the Polaroid himself, but he's got the armspan of a giant, so he nabbed his grinning face, the setting sun, the cobblestone plaza, the dancing circle encompassing him. He looks--well, Jensen's not sure. It's hard to pin down.
It reads:
He probably shouldn't be grinning like an idiot, but it's a relief, after all that worry, to be reminded that Jared, fucking Jared, doesn't hold a grudge, won't force an apology. Maybe it's too easy, sure, but Jared lets Jensen be the best version of himself and it's nice. More than nice.
****
Entertainment Weekly's putting out some special movie preview issue and the cast gets pulled together for a short photo shoot. He's smashed between Jessica Biel and Gael Garcia Bernal, and he's still just that guy from the CW, with that show.
He's more than okay with that. Means he's not being tailed by cameras when he goes to the gym, when he shops for groceries, when he checks his mail.
Jessica sucks her cheeks in while simultaneously flashing a lazy smile; it's a truly impressive achievement. The lights burn hot; it's a high concept shoot, Goldfrapp blaring over the speakers, a wind machine, a tub of gel in his hair.
He glances over his shoulder. Gael's not having it. Jensen suppresses a sympathetic chuckle.
"Jesus," Jessica mutters out the corner of her mouth, "could this get any more ridiculous?"
Jensen startles, makes sure to keep his voice dry and neutral. "You're working it like a pro."
She snorts. "Years of practice with the goddamn WB's image campaigns. Secret is to show up drunk."
Jensen catches his eyes widening, and he presses his lips together, glowering into the lens. "Before my time."
She catches a glimpse of his squared jaw, shadowed eyes. "Lucky you. Still. Picked it up somewhere."
"Guess so."
She picks up on the sharpened tone of his voice, elegantly raises an eyebrow. "Relax. It's just like we're kids, playing pretend, right?"
It's not supposed to sound important, but it does. Something about it eats at him, but it gets easy to ignore. There's too much to do.
****
The next Polaroid shows Jared with helmet on, in front of a hang glider, two thumbs up. Jensen squints at it, trying to figure out what the hell's going on. Jared's on top of a cliff, it's pretty clear, but the land below's been spread with a thick layer of snow.
****
He's getting better at handling interviews. He's been on a few talk shows at this point; there're stars way bigger than him in the movie, but he's the only one with an agent who's willing to pimp him out to infinity and beyond.
The movie's in pretty fast turnaround, The Weinstein Company only recently picked up the rights for distribution but they're making a pretty big push, angling for a premiere in March, even trying to talk the director into submitting it for Cannes.
Added up, all of that means Jensen's being booked on every daytime talk show known to man, along with most of the major late nights. It's kind of insane, but the more practice he gets with it, the more naturally it flows.
He ends up looking for anecdotes at any given point in his life. It's--it's not ideal. There're a few times he catches himself--hanging with Chris or on the phone with his brother-- checking out, participating in his own fucking life like an impartial observer, packaging these moments into sound bites.
He wonders if this was the secret behind Jared's ridiculous smoothness in front of a camera and microphone. He hopes not. It'd be easier to think that Jared's just a natural storyteller. He can't be sure.
He doesn't so much miss Jared being by his side for these things. He'd done his fair share of solo interviews. What does happen, though, is this:
Jensen goes through a twenty minute phone call with the people over at USA Today. He gushes about the director, mostly honestly, then gushes about his castmates, less honestly. It's just a working relationship, really, a lot more professional and perfunctory, especially on one movie shoots like this. But there's a public hunger for camaraderie that playful stories about their time on set somehow fulfills, so Jensen talks.
At the end, he realizes that this is the first interview in years where he hasn't been asked about Jared, not even in a roundabout manner, and he lets out a long, slow breath.
****
Polaroid Number 3: Jared's dressed in a gondolier's shirt a size too small for him. It's pretty clear he's singing at the top of his lungs. His mangled version of opera, Jensen assumes. Jensen feels sorry for anyone in the immediate vicinity when the snap was shot. Jared's a very enthusiastic, very shitty singer.
****
February's a short month in a normal year, but this one...it whizzes by. The movie's getting some solid buzz. Jensen was tempted as hell to ask for a screening of the latest cut, but there's a part of him that wants to wait for it, to watch it in a theatre with an audience. He's kind of hoping that maybe Jared might be back by the premiere.
The movie preview issue finally comes out and they land the cover. It's insane, really, to see his image grimacing back at himself on newsstand after newsstand. Jensen's not sure he likes it. Well, he is sure, but he keeps it to himself.
He went to Sundance for the first time, weeks ago. He still can't get it out of his mind. It's this side of Hollywood that he's spent most of his career running parallel to, and to be with people who define their roles in cinema as artists rather than businessmen blows his mind. Wong Kar Wai screens a movie, there's a South Korean monster movie that does the all too rare job of turning the horror genre resonant and rooted in humanity, and Jared's movie.
Jared's right, it was short; couldn't have been much longer than an hour. Jared's not in much of it, disappears after the second act, actually, but when he is--
Must've filmed on location. It's the plains, this long stretch of American heartland, splitting the world into two halves of sky and earth. There's a mythic quality to it, and there's a scene where Jared's character settles over and on top of the girl, drifts down on her--it's like Uranus settling over Gaia, dualism and constancy. Everything's blue and green and gold, this haze of pure color and Jensen holds his breath through long parts of it.
It's not a loud movie. Ambient noise: wind, the rustling of grass, and this loon, its alto call breaking and snapping into a high wail.
Click to viewIt's kind of pretentious, sure, but Jensen admittedly eats that kind of film up with a spoon, so. Jared doesn't speak, much, and when he does, Jensen finds himself leaning forward, ears pricking towards the screen.
****
Jared's holding up a copy of EW in the next Polaroid, imitating Jensen's cover photo scowl. A girl, blonde and pretty, giggles at him.
****
Jensen doesn't send Jared as many emails as he wants to. There's a lot he wants to say, but most of it's undigested; between all the photo calls, red carpet appearances and power lunches, the only time he has is right before he falls asleep and he uses those twenty minutes to reread his stack of Jared's postcards, figure out how to hold onto a friend who's living a completely different life.
After the latest one, though--he fires off an email, short and sweet, warning Jared about stalker fans. He's had more experience with that kind of crazy than Jared, and the kid's too trusting. Too eager to please. It's not the smartest.
When he doesn't hear back, he starts to obsess. He's signed on to do a movie with Fernando Meirelles that starts lensing in a week and a half, celebrated his birthday three weeks ago, and is being badgered to hurry up and pick a suit from the rack that's been sent over for his big movie premiere.
Meanwhile, all he can do is wonder aloud whether or not Jared's been gutted and left to die in a ditch in fucking Greece.
Thank god he's got an assistant. She gets paid a shitload of money and Jensen feels like that gives him enough license to bitch to her whenever he feels like it.
She doesn't agree. "Jesus Christ, Jensen, he's a big boy. He's like seven feet tall, I think he can hold his own."
He's standing in the middle of his living room, tugging on the jacket of a Ralph Lauren. "See, Amanda, that's where you're wrong. His size is misleading, the guy's like a cream puff."
"You don't say. I'd love to lick that cream right outta--"
"Oh god, stop there."
She laughs, comes forward to smooth down Jen's lapels. "I like this cut. But maybe in the gray?"
"You think?" Jensen takes a look in the mirror, turning sideways. "The black's classic though."
She shrugs. "If you're gonna wear the black, wear a flashier tie, or a colored shirt. You look like Michael Douglas' grandfather."
His grin's sardonic. "Thanks." He shrugs the jacket off, undoing his black tie and reaching for the green one. "I just haven't heard from him and I shoulda gotten another postcard by now."
"Why, cuz he missed your birthday?"
Jensen doesn't reply, busies himself with tying a Double Windsor, but he fumes inwardly, 'Damn straight'.
"Okay, look, I bet you he's safe and sound, without a scratch on him. If he's dead, I'll buy you a cheeseburger. If he's not, you'll set me up on a date with one Jared Padalecki."
Ben strides in just then, phone snapping shut as he powers his way through the door. He does the phone closing thing every time he walks into a room and Jensen has a theory that it's more of a heralding of his presence than a signal that he just got done with a conversation. "Don't tell me you're switching teams for Padalecki of all people, kid hasn't gotten work in months. Off the map, not even a blip on the radar."
Jensen turns to his agent, opening his mouth in Jared's defense, but Ben cuts him off.
"Niiice suit. Ralph Lauren? Classic. Very American. Clean cut. I like it."
"That movie. Jared did that Peter Berg thing at Sundance."
"Oh. We're back on that?" Ben nods, conceding. "Alright, so there's that. But that thing's gonna be in what, a few hundred theaters? Big deal."
"It was good." He turns to Amanda. "It was good, right?"
She nods. "It was good. A little slow. Gorgeous, though."
"Berg's a better cinematographer than a director, everyone knows that." Ben swivels on his heel, executes this elaborate twist before falling back onto the couch. "You got a date for this carpet walk?"
"I'm gonna ask my mom, I think."
"Cute," judges Amanda.
"No." Ben sits up, waving both hands. "No, no. Taking your mom? You might as well pose for the cover of The Advocate."
Amanda's eyes flash, and she tucks her thick blonde hair behind her ears. "Is there something wrong with the gay community? Is their support an asset you'd like to throw away?"
Ben smiles, but his tone's blunt and hard-nosed. "Only complaint I've got with the gay community is that they stole a pretty little thing like you out of my hands. But let's face it, our boy Jensen here's gonna be a movie star."
"There's tons of famous out actors. Neil Patrick Harris, T.R. Knight, Rupert Everett, Ian McKellan," Amanda says.
"TV, TV, supporting, old."
"You're a jackass."
Jensen clears his throat, steps in. "Look, this is a stupid conversation. I'll ask Danneel or something."
Ben nods, satisfied. "Hey, I'm not saying you can't ask your mom, too. I can get you whatever seats you need. Just let me know now."
Jensen hesitates, shrugs on the gray jacket. "I guess--four, then."
Amanda counts on her fingers, "You, Dannee, your mom, and what, your dad?"
Jensen coughs, clears his throat. "Right. Five. Five tickets."
****
The movie premieres on Friday with no word from Jared. It's okay, though.
Jensen walks out of the theater on fucking cloud nine hundred, euphoric at how the movie turned out, how solidly his part played. Euphoric, and relieved as hell. Danneel looks at him, proud and supportive, echoing a look he's seen before and he kisses her spontaneously. It's probably a mistake, but--
He's been living like a monk for almost the past year, mostly because of circumstance--meaning he just hasn't had the time or opportunity to breathe and enjoy himself. He takes Dannee home that night, sinks in, breathes deep.
****
Monday morning, he gets a special delivery.
There's a huge packaging tube, seriously monstrous, and he blinks at the return address on the sticker. He's pretty sure he doesn't know anyone that lives in Turkey.
Does know someone who might've passed through there though, and Jensen couldn't stop the smile that spreads across his face even if he wanted to.
He tugs the contents of the tube out and frowns in confusion at what's apparently a carpet. He rolls it out and a host of things reveal themselves inside it.
There's a gondolier's shirt, a box of Spanish hot chocolate, a miniature hang-glider emblazoned with an image of the French Alps and a couple DVD'S of European porn. Jensen laughs, glances over the back copy on the pornos.
There's a letter, and another Polaroid: Jared half-wrapped up in a carpet, hair mussed, laughing his ass off, Alice grinning as she stands behind him. There's another guy in the picture, sharply-dressed, darker-skinned. He's got a nice smile.
****
The movie does solid business. It's not Fight Club, but Jensen never expected it to be. Still, critical reception is incredibly warm, raving about the direction, the performances, and if the whole was a little less than the sum of its parts, it just means there's another height for Jensen to strive for.
Ben's glued to Jensen's side. The guy's a 3rd-tier agent at best, and Jen's his hottest commodity so he has to endure a lot of double talk, a lot of constant picking at his upcoming slate, his image, his appearances. Jensen tunes him out but that steady of a stream of pollution means things start to get a little muddy in Jen's head.
Amanda's the one who has the task of bludgeoning his ego down to a manageable size. Jensen thinks maybe she relishes it more than she should.
They're driving down the 5, right past the monster billboard for the movie and Amanda says, "You look like a serial killer on that thing."
Jensen looks up from the script he's reading, sipping at a cup of hot chocolate. "That's kind of the point."
"I'm serious. You look like the kind of guy who would, like, eat hair and hump dead bodies."
"Jesus." Jensen splutters, wipes the back of his mouth with his hand. "Thanks. You're a doll."
"No problem." She flashes a winning smile at him, then holds down the horn at a car that cut them off, screaming, "MOTHERFUCKER."
"If there's anyone in this car with rage issues, it's you."
She giggles. "Better believe it. That's why you gotta treat me nice."
Jensen thinks Jared would either like or hate Amanda. He can't quite decide. They're like the same person and that's always kind of a toss-up between the two extremes.
"Daydreaming?"
Jensen sits up, flips his script back a few pages. "No."
Amanda thinks he can't see her smug little smile, but he can. Peripheral vision's a bitch.
****
****
Jensen tells Meirelles that he needs a week or so off, to fly out to the UK for some overseas promotional work. Considering his movie's been in international release for more than a month now, he's not so sure how much the production company is buying it.
Still, he insists.
There's a lot to see in London, but Jensen's a man on a mission and he heads straight for the hotel and waits. He'd sent Jared an email a couple of weeks ago, but he hadn't gotten a reply, not yet, and he's scared as hell that maybe Jared wouldn't show, or would pop up early and Jensen wouldn't be in the country, the hotel, the room he'd specified.
There's a knock on his door, five minutes after he settles in.
He searches the room determinedly, grabs a water bottle from the complimentary gift basket and downs half of it in one gulp. His personal trainer taught him these relaxation techniques, a diaphragm-control thing and he closes his eyes, focuses on expanding and contracting.
Knocking starts up again. Jared's voice drifts through the door, sounding amused and anxious. "Jensen? I can hear you breathing in there, man. Pull up your pants and answer the fucking door."
In the back of his mind, for the past six months, Jensen had catalogued a list of things that might ease the restlessness that had tapped at the tips of his fingers, his toes. He thought that even just hearing Jared's voice, again...he's lived years of his life with Jared's drawl ringing constantly in his ears and the sudden silence of the past six months had felt hollow; wrong.
"Jensen? You really not in there? Fuck." Rustling. "Uh, I'm sorry sir, or ma'am, I'm sure I'm scaring you, but uh, if you could just tell me you're not Jensen Ackles, I'll be on my way."
Voice is rougher, but it's still Jared, rattling against his eardrums.
It's not enough. He pulls the door open, finally, feeling like an idiot, but Jared turns, smiles this smile and every brain cell Jensen owns narrows down its scope to a simple order: smile back. Probably should have reserved some for his mouth, because he blurts, "Dude, look at your hair."
Jared laughs and Jensen drinks the sight of him in. He's tanned a dark brown, looks taller than Jen remembered. Eyes rove over every inch of the guy, cataloguing changes, nuances in body language, everything.
Not enough. He pulls the bastard into a hug, shaggy ass hair aside, and Jared feels solid in his hands, a little leaner than he's used to Jared being, but warm and firm.
Jared grips him back as hard, hugs him for a long while, and Jensen's breathing him in, that familiar smell, but it's not--it's not fucking enough.
Jen kisses Jared, standing here in front of him, finally--still from the core for the first time in a long while--and he's close, so fucking close he can taste it.
****
It's a real kiss. Tongue, lips. Silent, mostly because Jen's concentrating too hard to waste time on moaning, or stupid shit like that.
Jared pulls away looking a little dazed, a lot pleased. He grins slow. "Sup."
Jensen rolls his eyes. "You done trekking, pilgrim?"
Jared nods.
"What now? You want to talk to your agent?"
"No, definitely not." He grins expansive, hopeful. He's stooping, a little, lips swollen from the kiss, but still--he seems, feels, big. "There's just--there's a lot of things. Everything. School, again, maybe."
Jensen smiles back, "Cool."
Jared kisses him again, walks him back towards the bed. In between nips at Jensen's lower lip, he asks, "What about you?"
Jensen groans, sitting hard on the bed and rolling Jared onto his back. Apprehension curls in his stomach and he mutters, "Gonna be on location in Brazil for a month."
Jared grins, shrugging, unfazed. "I'll wait. My turn anyway."
Jensen leans over Jared on one elbow. "Or." He studies Jared carefully. "You could be a better man and come with."
Jared laughs, nods. "Or we could do that."
Jensen's face hurts he's smiling so hard and he leans down, licks at Jared's neck.
"Ben's gonna flip."
"Fuck Ben," tosses off Jensen casually. "We make our own rules."
Jared laughs. "Rebellious. I like it." He nods. "Alright. On the condition that you wear a thong to the beach at least once."
Jensen snorts.
"C'mon, Jen. You gotta do as the locals do. I'm very worldly. I know this shit."
"You're a pain in the ass."
"Yeah well, a pain in the ass that gets you hard."
Jensen laughs, and grinds down into Jared's thigh. Immediate future's looking bright as hell and just beyond that--well, that's looking good, too.
THE END
Author's Notes: Wow. Um. This was shamelessly self-indulgent; a product of my own case of wanderlust and a reflection on the places I've been lucky enough to travel to in my life. I know it gets waaaay like, melodramatic and cheesy, but. Do with it what you will. Thank you for reading!>