.0103 - Breathe Me, Every Time You Close Your Eyes
Jensen/Jared
1,450 words
Title from Placebo
Teaser: Six years and counting. Six years in secret, lies and pretense, six years of a relationship masked with a friendship and a co-star bond...
Jared turns onto his stomach with a sleepy sigh and reaches towards the other side of the bed, automatically, instinctively, reaching for warmth and soft skin, only to meet a ball of fur, thick and rather coarse. He props himself up onto his elbows and frowns confusedly, gazing into the darkness full of shadows that encloses the bedroom. Sadie beside him lifts her head off Jensen’s crumpled pillow and tilts it to the side, one ear twitching curiously.
“You’re not Jensen,” Jared tells her.
Sadie yawns, long and loud, and puts her head back on her paws, refusing to even move.
Jared sits up and lowers his feet to the ground, rubbing on his eyes to try and wish the sleep and tiredness away. He pats Sadie’s back and stands up, walking out of the room.
杰
It’s cold, freezing cold as most days of December are, especially up here, and strong wind chases the fallen leaves through the backyard, bending the tops of the tall trees, whipping around the wooden pillars of the back porch.
Jensen’s standing there in nothing but his plaid pajama pants and a worn AC/DC T-shirt, so much tighter than it used to be, like he doesn’t care about any of that. Jensen, who is otherwise constantly cold and making complaints on the Canadian weather.
The timbers under Jared’s feet complain a little when he steps across the threshold, creaking softly, and Jensen doesn’t turn to look at him, he just shifts slightly, but Jared knows he’s smiling.
“Can’t sleep?” Jared asks, moving closer. His shoulder brushes Jensen’s and he can feel how cold his skin is, even through the fabric of his shirt. It hits him, too, then, the night air, everywhere at once and prickling like needles. “Or just trying to catch cold?”
Jensen shakes his head, his eyes trained somewhere towards the horizon, the obsidian dark sky patterned with stars and thin ribbons of white clouds. “It’s going to snow,” he says.
Jared nods, hesitantly. “Yeah. Probably... But not tonight.” It’s been a strange winter, autumn, actually, still; unusually warm and dry, and a single snowflake hasn’t fallen yet. It’s very odd and un-Canadian.
“It will be,” Jensen repeats, and it doesn’t sound a bit like a wishful thinking, instead like a damn firm statement.
“How do you know that?”
Jensen cocks his head to the side a little, just enough to catch Jared’s eyes. “Can’t you feel it?”
“I can feel my toes freezing off… Is that what you mean?”
Jensen shoves him playfully, “The air, Jare. It’s full of snow.” He takes a deep breath, his eyes narrowing. “It’ll snow.”
“I… can’t smell anything. And they said there’ll be no snow for the next two weeks. At least.”
“They’re wrong,” Jensen shakes his head again. He closes his eyes, his head tipped slightly towards the pale moon, the shadows of his eyelashes dipping into his cheeks, his skin porcelain white and soft. He’s absolutely gorgeous, and he seems startlingly far. Jared kind of wants to poke him, just to be sure he’s still there, and real.
He is like that, sometimes, this strange combination of darkness and light, something silent, unspoken, so familiarly unknown. He knows and does things Jared still doesn’t understand. He flips through magazines from the end, never reads the summary of a book, instead chooses it by its cover, by the weight of it in his hand, by the first few sentences he reads on a random page. He drinks peach tea before he goes to sleep, and tastes so sweet and irresistible after. Falls asleep on his side of the bed, close to toppling off the edge, but somehow always travels to Jared during the night, so Jared always wakes up with Jensen plastered to his back. And he loves it. Jensen loves grapefruits, because they aren’t sweet, but bitter and acid sour. He likes tragic movies, because they are tragic and without a happy ending. When he brushes his teeth, he paces… Jared could write a book about him, all the big things he loves, all the tiny details he hates, about everything in between. And he would never finish it. It could be another Yongle Dadian, and it still wouldn’t be enough. He still doesn’t know him, and it should be scary, unsettling maybe, but instead, Jared likes it. It’s like reading the same book over and over again and each time finding something new, something deeper and revolutionary. Like eating an ice cream, different flavoring every time.
“Close your eyes,” Jensen says.
Jared refuses, because he doesn’t want to. Because he’d rather watch Jensen being his uncommon loony self than the back of his eyelids, seeing nothing.
Apparently, Jensen can see all that, or just knows Jared way too well. He cracks open one eye and arches his eyebrow meaningfully. “C’mon, close them.”
Jared lets out a deep, long breath full of suffering, just to let Jensen know how much he’s against that notion alone. Or about standing out there at some unholy hour in the morning, and freezing. He closes his eyes.
“Now… take a breath.”
Jared does, a little annoyed. At first, he doesn’t smell anything, just cold. But then… yeah, there’s something alright. He can smell the wind, quiet now, all the fragrances it carries; the decaying leaves, the earth, the frozen grass, the wooden planks of the porch, Jensen’s citrus shampoo, his soap… and something more. It’s cold, but not freezing, something pleasantly chilly and light, a taste of childhood and memories, both bitter and sweet. He startles when something wet and cool lands on his nose, turning into a drop of water a few seconds later. He opens his eyes again to find Jensen standing in front of him, grinning, with snowflakes like small, cut pieces of paper scattered in his hair. Like a snow whisperer.
“There,” he says with a smile that Jared really wants to underline with a highlighter and keep on his lips forever.
A few seconds later, Jensen sneezes.
杰
Jensen’s fingers are cold on Jared’s heated skin, trembling a little, and it’s both displeasing and arousing. Even his knees that frame Jared’s hips are chilly, bony, too.
Jared kissed him goodnight, for the second time, almost an hour ago, softly, innocently, but Jensen’s lips somewhat lingered on his, full and smooth, and sliding over Jared’s like liquid, insistent, and he couldn’t pull away. Jensen bit Jared’s lower lip, just a gentle nip and a tug, and his tongue, almost scorching hot in comparison to his mouth, flicked out, seeking Jared’s, and that was it. And it had been long, felt even longer.
The shooting had been demanding, and the constant, omnipresent cold that was seeping into bones, forcing the body to instinctively huddle onto itself to keep warm, and shaking when it didn’t quite work, was tiring, wearing them down. Jared couldn’t actually even remember for how many days they’ve been just meeting in the bed, falling asleep the moment they’d hit the mattress, and waking up only to the sound of Jared’s alarm clock.
Sliding his hands up Jensen’s torso, Jared tugged Jensen’s T-shirt over his head, throwing it somewhere to the floor, not caring where it landed once it was gone. Then he trailed his touch lower again, down Jensen’s side, feeling the goose bumps under his finger pads, sliding his fingers along the curve of Jensen’s ass. He pushed him down onto the bed, following him there.
Jared loves sex, always has, but he loves it even more now, with Jensen, every single step of that journey. He loves the bow of Jensen's legs, the strength in his thighs and how they close around him, so tight and pleading, keeping him there and urging him on. He loves staying in him then, for a little while, too, sated and unmoving, just feeling him, the rapid drum of his heart he can sense absolutely everywhere, and that is eventually slowing down until it’s just a quiet, soothing thump thump under his skin.
Running his fingers through Jensen’s hair, short and sweaty, Jared can feel the drowsiness settling in, dragging him under, finally. Again.
“You’re crazy, do you know that?”
Jensen smiles tiredly, his eyelids fluttering closed. “Love you, too.”
杰
Six years and counting. Six years in secret, lies and pretense, six years of a relationship masked with a friendship and a co-star bond. Written in their wrinkles and memories, and boxes full of photos that no one but them has ever seen. In the small, black tattoos on their ankles, the first letter of their names in a Chinese alphabet. Another secret, another code... Each lie and disguise so damn worth it.
1,450 words
Title from Placebo
Teaser: Six years and counting. Six years in secret, lies and pretense, six years of a relationship masked with a friendship and a co-star bond...
Jared turns onto his stomach with a sleepy sigh and reaches towards the other side of the bed, automatically, instinctively, reaching for warmth and soft skin, only to meet a ball of fur, thick and rather coarse. He props himself up onto his elbows and frowns confusedly, gazing into the darkness full of shadows that encloses the bedroom. Sadie beside him lifts her head off Jensen’s crumpled pillow and tilts it to the side, one ear twitching curiously.
“You’re not Jensen,” Jared tells her.
Sadie yawns, long and loud, and puts her head back on her paws, refusing to even move.
Jared sits up and lowers his feet to the ground, rubbing on his eyes to try and wish the sleep and tiredness away. He pats Sadie’s back and stands up, walking out of the room.
杰
It’s cold, freezing cold as most days of December are, especially up here, and strong wind chases the fallen leaves through the backyard, bending the tops of the tall trees, whipping around the wooden pillars of the back porch.
Jensen’s standing there in nothing but his plaid pajama pants and a worn AC/DC T-shirt, so much tighter than it used to be, like he doesn’t care about any of that. Jensen, who is otherwise constantly cold and making complaints on the Canadian weather.
The timbers under Jared’s feet complain a little when he steps across the threshold, creaking softly, and Jensen doesn’t turn to look at him, he just shifts slightly, but Jared knows he’s smiling.
“Can’t sleep?” Jared asks, moving closer. His shoulder brushes Jensen’s and he can feel how cold his skin is, even through the fabric of his shirt. It hits him, too, then, the night air, everywhere at once and prickling like needles. “Or just trying to catch cold?”
Jensen shakes his head, his eyes trained somewhere towards the horizon, the obsidian dark sky patterned with stars and thin ribbons of white clouds. “It’s going to snow,” he says.
Jared nods, hesitantly. “Yeah. Probably... But not tonight.” It’s been a strange winter, autumn, actually, still; unusually warm and dry, and a single snowflake hasn’t fallen yet. It’s very odd and un-Canadian.
“It will be,” Jensen repeats, and it doesn’t sound a bit like a wishful thinking, instead like a damn firm statement.
“How do you know that?”
Jensen cocks his head to the side a little, just enough to catch Jared’s eyes. “Can’t you feel it?”
“I can feel my toes freezing off… Is that what you mean?”
Jensen shoves him playfully, “The air, Jare. It’s full of snow.” He takes a deep breath, his eyes narrowing. “It’ll snow.”
“I… can’t smell anything. And they said there’ll be no snow for the next two weeks. At least.”
“They’re wrong,” Jensen shakes his head again. He closes his eyes, his head tipped slightly towards the pale moon, the shadows of his eyelashes dipping into his cheeks, his skin porcelain white and soft. He’s absolutely gorgeous, and he seems startlingly far. Jared kind of wants to poke him, just to be sure he’s still there, and real.
He is like that, sometimes, this strange combination of darkness and light, something silent, unspoken, so familiarly unknown. He knows and does things Jared still doesn’t understand. He flips through magazines from the end, never reads the summary of a book, instead chooses it by its cover, by the weight of it in his hand, by the first few sentences he reads on a random page. He drinks peach tea before he goes to sleep, and tastes so sweet and irresistible after. Falls asleep on his side of the bed, close to toppling off the edge, but somehow always travels to Jared during the night, so Jared always wakes up with Jensen plastered to his back. And he loves it. Jensen loves grapefruits, because they aren’t sweet, but bitter and acid sour. He likes tragic movies, because they are tragic and without a happy ending. When he brushes his teeth, he paces… Jared could write a book about him, all the big things he loves, all the tiny details he hates, about everything in between. And he would never finish it. It could be another Yongle Dadian, and it still wouldn’t be enough. He still doesn’t know him, and it should be scary, unsettling maybe, but instead, Jared likes it. It’s like reading the same book over and over again and each time finding something new, something deeper and revolutionary. Like eating an ice cream, different flavoring every time.
“Close your eyes,” Jensen says.
Jared refuses, because he doesn’t want to. Because he’d rather watch Jensen being his uncommon loony self than the back of his eyelids, seeing nothing.
Apparently, Jensen can see all that, or just knows Jared way too well. He cracks open one eye and arches his eyebrow meaningfully. “C’mon, close them.”
Jared lets out a deep, long breath full of suffering, just to let Jensen know how much he’s against that notion alone. Or about standing out there at some unholy hour in the morning, and freezing. He closes his eyes.
“Now… take a breath.”
Jared does, a little annoyed. At first, he doesn’t smell anything, just cold. But then… yeah, there’s something alright. He can smell the wind, quiet now, all the fragrances it carries; the decaying leaves, the earth, the frozen grass, the wooden planks of the porch, Jensen’s citrus shampoo, his soap… and something more. It’s cold, but not freezing, something pleasantly chilly and light, a taste of childhood and memories, both bitter and sweet. He startles when something wet and cool lands on his nose, turning into a drop of water a few seconds later. He opens his eyes again to find Jensen standing in front of him, grinning, with snowflakes like small, cut pieces of paper scattered in his hair. Like a snow whisperer.
“There,” he says with a smile that Jared really wants to underline with a highlighter and keep on his lips forever.
A few seconds later, Jensen sneezes.
杰
Jensen’s fingers are cold on Jared’s heated skin, trembling a little, and it’s both displeasing and arousing. Even his knees that frame Jared’s hips are chilly, bony, too.
Jared kissed him goodnight, for the second time, almost an hour ago, softly, innocently, but Jensen’s lips somewhat lingered on his, full and smooth, and sliding over Jared’s like liquid, insistent, and he couldn’t pull away. Jensen bit Jared’s lower lip, just a gentle nip and a tug, and his tongue, almost scorching hot in comparison to his mouth, flicked out, seeking Jared’s, and that was it. And it had been long, felt even longer.
The shooting had been demanding, and the constant, omnipresent cold that was seeping into bones, forcing the body to instinctively huddle onto itself to keep warm, and shaking when it didn’t quite work, was tiring, wearing them down. Jared couldn’t actually even remember for how many days they’ve been just meeting in the bed, falling asleep the moment they’d hit the mattress, and waking up only to the sound of Jared’s alarm clock.
Sliding his hands up Jensen’s torso, Jared tugged Jensen’s T-shirt over his head, throwing it somewhere to the floor, not caring where it landed once it was gone. Then he trailed his touch lower again, down Jensen’s side, feeling the goose bumps under his finger pads, sliding his fingers along the curve of Jensen’s ass. He pushed him down onto the bed, following him there.
Jared loves sex, always has, but he loves it even more now, with Jensen, every single step of that journey. He loves the bow of Jensen's legs, the strength in his thighs and how they close around him, so tight and pleading, keeping him there and urging him on. He loves staying in him then, for a little while, too, sated and unmoving, just feeling him, the rapid drum of his heart he can sense absolutely everywhere, and that is eventually slowing down until it’s just a quiet, soothing thump thump under his skin.
Running his fingers through Jensen’s hair, short and sweaty, Jared can feel the drowsiness settling in, dragging him under, finally. Again.
“You’re crazy, do you know that?”
Jensen smiles tiredly, his eyelids fluttering closed. “Love you, too.”
杰
Six years and counting. Six years in secret, lies and pretense, six years of a relationship masked with a friendship and a co-star bond. Written in their wrinkles and memories, and boxes full of photos that no one but them has ever seen. In the small, black tattoos on their ankles, the first letter of their names in a Chinese alphabet. Another secret, another code... Each lie and disguise so damn worth it.