.0108 - Give a Little Time to Me, We'll Play Hide and Seek
Jensen/Jared (Jensen/Danneel, Jared/Genevieve)
3,121 words
Warning: Infidelity/open marriage [weird plot and strange style of writing]
Title from Ed Sheeran
Teaser: Critics' Choice Movie Awards / "I can’t keep on waiting for it to happen. Every time we make love… I’m expecting you to cry out his name. Each night you spend up there, I'm imagining you with him. Call me crazy, but… The waiting, the imagining is worse than knowing it’s happening.”
A/N: I... have no excuse. Just CCMA 2014 and this moment. You know how some fics just happen? This thing happened, too.
The ride back to the hotel passes in silence, loud silence now when all the screaming and clapping, the constant ‘Look here’ ‘Look there’ ‘Don’t move’ is gone, replaced by the quiet rumble of the limousine engine.
Jensen’s hand is warm in hers, calloused in places, a solid proof of his presence even as he’s staring out into the night, even as his mind wanders, not too far, but away from her.
Even Jared sitting across from her is quiet, unnaturally so, both his suit jacket and the vest beneath unbuttoned, tie undone, hanging loosely around his neck. A gentleman gone, more of Sam Winchester sitting there. He looks tired, sad, alone without Genevieve, lonely beside them. She keeps catching his eyes land on Jensen’s averted face, the elegant line of his neck, his lips, on their joined hands. She understands, knows too well how he feels, what, and how long he’s felt it. She watches him, studies him as he watches her husband, a man they’ve known for nearly the same amount of time, wanted equally so. She knows, has always known, regarded them both throughout the years, trying to make it all work, create families and be happy with their choices, succeeding, too, but not completely. Some things just cannot be ignored, can’t be hidden behind wedding rings and public appearances, behind proud daddies’ smiles and all the vows and promises they’ve made. These things are persistent, inaudible, but the more obvious. They make her want to scream.
They part in front of the door of Jared’s hotel room, white wood with golden number of 303, wish each other a good night, and she tries to pretend that she doesn’t notice that their hug lasts a beat or two too long. Or how wrongly intimate it looks.
A few minutes later, she sends a short text message to Jared’s wife. “Okay.” it says, nothing more, and it in no way captures what she really feels, how sick it makes her, how liberated at the same time.
She kicks off her shoes and browses her baggage for something more comfortable, jeans and a t-shirt, flip flops, struggles to keep the tears at bay. She’s not supposed to cry, she doesn’t have any reason for that. Does she?
She lifts her eyes to look at him, standing at the window with his hands in the pockets of his suit pants, a lollipop dangling from his mouth. It makes him look like a little boy, a kid in his dad’s clothes, unnaturally serious, so goddamn gorgeous. She feels guilty for what she wants to say, to even suggest, he has no idea. Still… “Jensen, I need… to talk to you.”
Jensen startles, snapping out of his thoughts and back into her reality, and turns around, thrown by the tone of her voice. He pulls the lollipop out of his mouth, frowns. “Okay?” His voice is nervous, hesitant. So small. He expects the worst, she wonders what that is.
Danneel heaves a sigh and sits down at the edge of the king-sized bed, folding her hands in her lap. “Look, I’ve been… thinking and truth is, I can’t do this anymore.”
“Ca-can’t do wh-what? What are you… talking about?”
“I’m talking… I’m talking about you and Jared.”
“Me and Jared?” he echoes, sounding breathy, shocked. “There’s no ‘me and Jared’.”
“Please.”
“I… I honestly don’t know.”
“All the whispering? The… the constant touching? You really aren’t aware of those? I mean, all the looks tonight alone...” She stands up, now almost in level with his eyes. “I thought it stopped.”
“It did!” Jensen insists, his tone low, pleading. “You know it did.” The lollipop hangs between his fingers, like a half burnt out cigarette, a habit he’s picked as a substitution for the poisoning smoke. For JJ.
She sighs, stepping closer. “But it didn’t really.” She puts her hand on Jensen’s chest, to where his heart’s beating, a little bit faster, skittish, beneath the ironed, soft perfection of his shirt. “Did it, Jen?”
He draws the full flesh of his bottom lip between his teeth, looks away. Admitting guilt louder than if he yelled.
“Yeah, I thought so.”
His gaze sweeps back to her quickly, insistent. “Nothing happened. I swear, nothing but--” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looks down at the pattern on the carpet beneath him. “What you saw that day.”
The night before their wedding; Jensen’s bachelor party. The closest of his friends, guitars and whiskey, melancholy. And Jared. The last kiss of an unmarried man, free yet; less of guilt, more regrets. She wasn’t supposed to see that, them, but at the same time, she was almost convinced he wanted her to see it. The kiss was slow, tender, unhurried. Until then she thought it was only sex, loneliness that dragged from early seasons, and want. But he made her see that it was more, far more than what she was prepared for… Pulling from the kiss, Jensen stepped back and out of Jared’s arms, reluctant. When he reached out to brush a strand of hair out of Jared’s face, Jared leaned down to kiss the inner side of Jensen’s wrist, whispering into his skin something she couldn’t hear. And perhaps it was for the best.
She knows he loves her; he never gave her any reasons to doubt that. But she keeps on wondering if it’s enough. When she knows that he loves him more.
“I know. I believe you.”
“So--” Jensen’s voice cracks, completely disappears for a few long seconds. “So what do you want me to do?”
She turns away from him, for a moment, staring out the window at the night skyline of Santa Monica. Rushed. Colorful. So distant and oblivious to the war playing out inside of her mind. “Talk to him.” She meets his gaze again, wanting to see the shock on his face, the acidic feel the one particular word leaves on his skin. “Fuck him, if you want.”
Jensen opens his mouth, but no word comes out, not a sound. He blinks, perplexed. “Wha-at?!” Somehow he makes it sound like both a question and an exclamation. “Danneel, you… You can’t be serious, I love you!”
“I don’t doubt it,” she assures him. “But I can’t keep on waiting for it to happen. Every time we make love… I’m expecting you to cry out his name. Each night you spend up there, I'm imagining you with him. Call me crazy, but… The waiting, the imagining is worse than knowing it’s happening.”
“But what if… What if you’re preparing for something that’s not gonna happen?” Jensen inquires softly, almost hopeful.
“Can you really swear it won’t?” She hates the weakness in her voice, the pleading tone in there. Please, say it. Swear.
“It’s been four years. He’s got a family, and so do I. You and JJ mean the world to me.”
She touches his face lightly, splays her fingers over his unshaven cheek. He leans into her touch, automatically, involuntary, closing his eyes, however briefly. “I know that. But all of that… Jared is still a part of it. Whether you want it or not.” She pulls away from him, wraps her arms around herself. “So I’m thinking… Be with him, when you’re not with me. You’ve got my permission.”
“No.” It’s short, solid. He’s looking at her as if he thought she’s just lost her mind. She thinks, maybe he’s right. She doesn’t want to share him, he’s hers, officially, but he’s not, not really, and she feels like she’s losing a piece of him each day she keeps him away from Jared. And that one day, there’ll be nothing left for her.
“Would it be easier if you knew that Genevieve agreed, too?”
“You talked to Genevieve about… Jared. U-us?”
“Of course I did.” Many times.
A few seconds later, there’s a knock on the door, hesitant, soft. Jensen jumps anyway.
She follows the sound with her eyes, staring at the white, polished wood two rooms away, realizing that this is it. “That’s probably him.”
“What?! W-who?”
“Jared, of course.”
“Excuse me?!”
Danneel turns to look back at Jensen; the incredulous expression in his eyes somewhat simultaneously startling and cute. He looks both angry and hurt, betrayed. She sighs, then pulls up onto her tiptoes to press her lips against his, warm, soft, so unfairly, temptingly full. “Bye.”
She walks over to open the door for Jared, finds him standing at the doorstep, still in suit and wearing the same shade of white in his face as Jensen.
“Talk,” she tells him. “Or… whatever. I’m going out.” To get drunk, probably.
She passes Jared on her way out, hears Jensen’s voice calling after her into the hallway, the urgent, “Danneel, wait!” She ignores it.
Half an hour later, they’re still standing at the opposite ends of the hotel living room, not looking at each other and not knowing what to say, or do.
For years, they’ve been walking around each other, afraid of touches, lingering looks, of stepping too close, and it was hard. The rhythm of their show, the emotive flow of it alone, emotions that tend to spread, to spill and mix, turn everything inside out often getting the better of them. And now, when he’s got the permission to step forward and go on until he’s close enough to touch, to kiss, to get him naked and make love to him as he had wanted for too damn long, Jared’s not sure he’s even allowed to do that.
Jensen is still leaning against the window sill where he’s more or less slumped the moment the door closed behind his wife, eyes wide, shocked, his breathing low, but fast. He’s still wearing his suit, parts of it anyway, as the bowtie is gone, just like the jacket, buttons undone. The tails of his shirt are pulled out of his pants, falling over his hands in the pockets, the polished shoes kicked off by the door. Somehow he looks more like Dean, which might be the anger, the tight set of his jaw. Just the reasons behind his rage are different than the Winchester’s, easier. And yet not.
“I… don’t believe this is happening,” he states, addressing no one in particular, certainly not Jared, because he’s not looking at him, hasn’t looked at him once.
“You look… gorgeous,” Jared says, knowing well enough that this is not the right thing to say, definitely not what Jensen wants to hear. Saying it anyway. “Wanted to tell you the whole night.”
“I need a drink,” Jensen decides, nodding to himself as he walks over to the minibar. “You want something, too?”
“Yeah. Yeah, why not.”
Jensen pours them both some incredibly expensively looking scotch, some brand Jared’s not sure he even heard of, and when he hands him the glass, their fingers brush. It’s like a current of electricity, a bolt of want-ache that sizzles down Jared’s spine, both shocking and familiar. Genevieve wasn’t wrong, neither was Danneel. It’s there, just like it’s always been. Like an undertow.
Jensen jerks his hand back, immediately, takes a few steps away from Jared, so transparent. He empties his drink in one swift go, then winces as the liquid burns its way down his throat. “So, uhm… they expect us to fuck now or what?”
Jared takes a sip from his glass, then sets it down on the vanity table near the door. He dares two steps in Jensen’s direction, then a few more when Jensen shows no indication of stopping him or running away. Putting his hand on Jensen’s arm, he wraps his fingers around the hard bone of his elbow, tugging him closer. “And would it really be that unimaginable?”
“Oh, don’t start. Not you, too.”
“All I’m saying is… we’ve got permission to be together. They both think that that’s exactly what’s happening right now. I want you, that never changed. You want me, I know that. So… why not?”
Jensen jerks his arm free, furious, angry with everyone, now with Jared, too. When he slams his empty glass onto the coffee table, Jared is surprised it doesn’t break. “Maybe just because that’s what they think! Because they know! You don’t think that’s a ‘little bit’ sick?!”
“A little, yeah. I guess.”
“Wait… You’re okay with this? How come you’re so calm about it?”
Jared shrugs. “I guess I… had the time to kind of… adjust to that idea?”
“Time?” Jensen repeats, catching on the last word Jared would want him to. “How much time… exactly?”
“A… few months? This topic isn’t exactly news in our household.”
“Oh, great! Well, that makes it all good then. Right?”
“I didn’t say that. Look, why… Why are you so angry? I thought you… I don’t know, maybe...” He trails off, not really knowing how to go on, disappointment clouding his better judgment. It’s stupid, childish, maybe, but Jensen’s open aversion against that notion hurts, even though he should have known. Knows him well enough to know he wouldn’t agree with this, not right away at least. “Never mind.”
Jensen chuckles, but it’s bitter, resigned. He shakes his head, runs a hand over his face, then drops down on the closest chair heavily, straddling it. Resting his chin on the backrest of it, he looks up at Jared, tired, still astounded. “This is wrong, Jare.”
“So that’s a no then.”
“No. I mean, yes… That’s a no.” He sounds sad, though, regretful.
“Okay... I, uhm… I think I’ll go then. Good night.” It’s not supposed to hurt, not that damn much.
He reaches for the doorknob, fingers curling around the polished brass, when Jensen’s hand, cold, damp, lands on his wrist. “Jared, wait. Please, I…” He stops again, looking absolutely hopeless, helpless. Torn.
It’s the disappointment, mostly, probably. Frustration, Jensen’s belief that this is incredibly wrong, no matter what he truly feels, the fact his ‘No’ crushes even the tiniest particle of Jared’s hope. Whatever it is, something snaps.
Before he’s even aware that he’s moving, Jared grabs Jensen by the shoulders and spins them around, pressing him against the closed door, pinning him there with his own body. Jensen gasps, startled, breathless for a wholly different reason. Jared’s strength used to be a turn on, the few stupid, unimportant pounds and inches he’s got above him making a huge difference when he wanted to. Holding him there, he nudges a knee in between Jensen’s thighs, drawing a gasp out of them both, feels the rasp of the fabric of their pants. He leans down and presses his lips to the soft, delicate skin of Jensen’s earlobe, bites, elicits a shiver that rockets through every bone of the body beneath his. “Would this make it easier for you? If I… made you? You know I can.” Every freckled sensitive spot, each secret erogenous zone, he’s mapped them all.
Jensen’s eyes are huge, a mossy shade of green, burning, not scared, his lips dark pink, worried, almost bitten through. He swallows thickly, his heart thundering, pulsing in the tensed artery in his throat, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “I can’t. I… can’t.” He steps aside, moving out of Jared’s hold, and he lets him. “I spent years holding back,” he says lowly, trailing his fingers mindlessly over the sleek wood of the doorframe. “I cannot just… reverse that way of thinking. I can’t just throw all my promises out the window because they suddenly say I can.”
“And if the suddenly wasn’t so… sudden. Would there be a maybe? Maybe?” Are we just a matter of time?
Jensen scratches at his eyebrow, spreads out his arms, clueless. “Maybe?”
“Jen… I know that this is weird. That this isn’t all right, but maybe it can be good? Maybe we can make it work. Somehow.” He touches his hand to Jensen’s face; fingers curling beneath his chin, making him look up, guiding him closer. “I miss you.” He presses his mouth to Jensen’s, covering his lips, hot and trembling, with his own, nudging them gently apart.
Jensen sighs, that kind of a hitching sound, involuntary and betraying, and he reaches for Jared, undoubtedly wanting to push him away, but ends up gripping the sleeve of Jared’s shirt instead, holding him in place. He parts his lips, allowing Jared’s tongue in, curious, hungry, lets Jared press him back against the door; the gesture of surrender melting all of Jared’s pathetic attempts at holding back. Jensen tastes of overprized whiskey and a cheap peppermint chewing gum, of all the wrongness in this, the innocence of their relationship of before. Before. And it’s amazing to just feel him again, that close, but it’s not enough, one kiss never was.
Jared sets his hands on Jensen’s hips, gripping tight, almost hard enough to bruise, and Jensen moans, pressing himself further into him, the hand coming to rest at the back of Jared’s neck suddenly warm, almost too much. Jared’s palm wanders, on its own somehow, between their bodies and over the taut muscles of Jensen’s stomach lower. When his fingers curl around the single button on Jensen’s pants, a hand comes up to cover his, stopping him.
Jensen breaks the kiss with a light bite to Jared’s lower lip and pulls away, his head thudding against the wood behind him. “No-not here. Not… like this.” He’s breathless, flushed, there are tiny drops of sweat glistening on his temples, his throat. He’s absolutely gorgeous.
Jared nods, silently agreeing, accepting all of Jensen’s unspoken rules and boundaries. Hopes that it means some other place, some other time. That the maybe is more of a yes and less the previous firm no. He follows Jensen’s suit, leans his back against the door, leveling his shoulder with Jensen’s. He studies his profile in the dim light from above them, the perfect line of his jaw, the curve of his upper lip. “So what do we do with the time we have left?” he asks, lifting his hand to press his fingertip against the sharp, hard swell of Jensen’s collarbone bared in the gap of his neckline, then up and over his Adam’s apple.
Jensen turns his head to look at him, eyes warm, no longer hostile or angry, just dark, pupils blown. “How ‘bout a walk? A night walk through Santa Monica.” He nods to himself, evidently amused by that idea alone. “I like the sound of it.”
“Yeah… Man, I’d kill for a burger.”
Jensen chuckles, smiles. “What else is new?” There’s a moment, a minute too long when he’s just staring at Jared, regarding him, expression unreadable, words none. Then, “You looked amazing tonight, by the way.”
The End
Sequel: Give Me Love Like Her, 'Cause Lately I've Been Waking Up Alone
3,121 words
Warning: Infidelity/open marriage [weird plot and strange style of writing]
Title from Ed Sheeran
Teaser: Critics' Choice Movie Awards / "I can’t keep on waiting for it to happen. Every time we make love… I’m expecting you to cry out his name. Each night you spend up there, I'm imagining you with him. Call me crazy, but… The waiting, the imagining is worse than knowing it’s happening.”
A/N: I... have no excuse. Just CCMA 2014 and this moment. You know how some fics just happen? This thing happened, too.
The ride back to the hotel passes in silence, loud silence now when all the screaming and clapping, the constant ‘Look here’ ‘Look there’ ‘Don’t move’ is gone, replaced by the quiet rumble of the limousine engine.
Jensen’s hand is warm in hers, calloused in places, a solid proof of his presence even as he’s staring out into the night, even as his mind wanders, not too far, but away from her.
Even Jared sitting across from her is quiet, unnaturally so, both his suit jacket and the vest beneath unbuttoned, tie undone, hanging loosely around his neck. A gentleman gone, more of Sam Winchester sitting there. He looks tired, sad, alone without Genevieve, lonely beside them. She keeps catching his eyes land on Jensen’s averted face, the elegant line of his neck, his lips, on their joined hands. She understands, knows too well how he feels, what, and how long he’s felt it. She watches him, studies him as he watches her husband, a man they’ve known for nearly the same amount of time, wanted equally so. She knows, has always known, regarded them both throughout the years, trying to make it all work, create families and be happy with their choices, succeeding, too, but not completely. Some things just cannot be ignored, can’t be hidden behind wedding rings and public appearances, behind proud daddies’ smiles and all the vows and promises they’ve made. These things are persistent, inaudible, but the more obvious. They make her want to scream.
They part in front of the door of Jared’s hotel room, white wood with golden number of 303, wish each other a good night, and she tries to pretend that she doesn’t notice that their hug lasts a beat or two too long. Or how wrongly intimate it looks.
A few minutes later, she sends a short text message to Jared’s wife. “Okay.” it says, nothing more, and it in no way captures what she really feels, how sick it makes her, how liberated at the same time.
She kicks off her shoes and browses her baggage for something more comfortable, jeans and a t-shirt, flip flops, struggles to keep the tears at bay. She’s not supposed to cry, she doesn’t have any reason for that. Does she?
She lifts her eyes to look at him, standing at the window with his hands in the pockets of his suit pants, a lollipop dangling from his mouth. It makes him look like a little boy, a kid in his dad’s clothes, unnaturally serious, so goddamn gorgeous. She feels guilty for what she wants to say, to even suggest, he has no idea. Still… “Jensen, I need… to talk to you.”
Jensen startles, snapping out of his thoughts and back into her reality, and turns around, thrown by the tone of her voice. He pulls the lollipop out of his mouth, frowns. “Okay?” His voice is nervous, hesitant. So small. He expects the worst, she wonders what that is.
Danneel heaves a sigh and sits down at the edge of the king-sized bed, folding her hands in her lap. “Look, I’ve been… thinking and truth is, I can’t do this anymore.”
“Ca-can’t do wh-what? What are you… talking about?”
“I’m talking… I’m talking about you and Jared.”
“Me and Jared?” he echoes, sounding breathy, shocked. “There’s no ‘me and Jared’.”
“Please.”
“I… I honestly don’t know.”
“All the whispering? The… the constant touching? You really aren’t aware of those? I mean, all the looks tonight alone...” She stands up, now almost in level with his eyes. “I thought it stopped.”
“It did!” Jensen insists, his tone low, pleading. “You know it did.” The lollipop hangs between his fingers, like a half burnt out cigarette, a habit he’s picked as a substitution for the poisoning smoke. For JJ.
She sighs, stepping closer. “But it didn’t really.” She puts her hand on Jensen’s chest, to where his heart’s beating, a little bit faster, skittish, beneath the ironed, soft perfection of his shirt. “Did it, Jen?”
He draws the full flesh of his bottom lip between his teeth, looks away. Admitting guilt louder than if he yelled.
“Yeah, I thought so.”
His gaze sweeps back to her quickly, insistent. “Nothing happened. I swear, nothing but--” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looks down at the pattern on the carpet beneath him. “What you saw that day.”
The night before their wedding; Jensen’s bachelor party. The closest of his friends, guitars and whiskey, melancholy. And Jared. The last kiss of an unmarried man, free yet; less of guilt, more regrets. She wasn’t supposed to see that, them, but at the same time, she was almost convinced he wanted her to see it. The kiss was slow, tender, unhurried. Until then she thought it was only sex, loneliness that dragged from early seasons, and want. But he made her see that it was more, far more than what she was prepared for… Pulling from the kiss, Jensen stepped back and out of Jared’s arms, reluctant. When he reached out to brush a strand of hair out of Jared’s face, Jared leaned down to kiss the inner side of Jensen’s wrist, whispering into his skin something she couldn’t hear. And perhaps it was for the best.
She knows he loves her; he never gave her any reasons to doubt that. But she keeps on wondering if it’s enough. When she knows that he loves him more.
“I know. I believe you.”
“So--” Jensen’s voice cracks, completely disappears for a few long seconds. “So what do you want me to do?”
She turns away from him, for a moment, staring out the window at the night skyline of Santa Monica. Rushed. Colorful. So distant and oblivious to the war playing out inside of her mind. “Talk to him.” She meets his gaze again, wanting to see the shock on his face, the acidic feel the one particular word leaves on his skin. “Fuck him, if you want.”
Jensen opens his mouth, but no word comes out, not a sound. He blinks, perplexed. “Wha-at?!” Somehow he makes it sound like both a question and an exclamation. “Danneel, you… You can’t be serious, I love you!”
“I don’t doubt it,” she assures him. “But I can’t keep on waiting for it to happen. Every time we make love… I’m expecting you to cry out his name. Each night you spend up there, I'm imagining you with him. Call me crazy, but… The waiting, the imagining is worse than knowing it’s happening.”
“But what if… What if you’re preparing for something that’s not gonna happen?” Jensen inquires softly, almost hopeful.
“Can you really swear it won’t?” She hates the weakness in her voice, the pleading tone in there. Please, say it. Swear.
“It’s been four years. He’s got a family, and so do I. You and JJ mean the world to me.”
She touches his face lightly, splays her fingers over his unshaven cheek. He leans into her touch, automatically, involuntary, closing his eyes, however briefly. “I know that. But all of that… Jared is still a part of it. Whether you want it or not.” She pulls away from him, wraps her arms around herself. “So I’m thinking… Be with him, when you’re not with me. You’ve got my permission.”
“No.” It’s short, solid. He’s looking at her as if he thought she’s just lost her mind. She thinks, maybe he’s right. She doesn’t want to share him, he’s hers, officially, but he’s not, not really, and she feels like she’s losing a piece of him each day she keeps him away from Jared. And that one day, there’ll be nothing left for her.
“Would it be easier if you knew that Genevieve agreed, too?”
“You talked to Genevieve about… Jared. U-us?”
“Of course I did.” Many times.
A few seconds later, there’s a knock on the door, hesitant, soft. Jensen jumps anyway.
She follows the sound with her eyes, staring at the white, polished wood two rooms away, realizing that this is it. “That’s probably him.”
“What?! W-who?”
“Jared, of course.”
“Excuse me?!”
Danneel turns to look back at Jensen; the incredulous expression in his eyes somewhat simultaneously startling and cute. He looks both angry and hurt, betrayed. She sighs, then pulls up onto her tiptoes to press her lips against his, warm, soft, so unfairly, temptingly full. “Bye.”
She walks over to open the door for Jared, finds him standing at the doorstep, still in suit and wearing the same shade of white in his face as Jensen.
“Talk,” she tells him. “Or… whatever. I’m going out.” To get drunk, probably.
She passes Jared on her way out, hears Jensen’s voice calling after her into the hallway, the urgent, “Danneel, wait!” She ignores it.
Half an hour later, they’re still standing at the opposite ends of the hotel living room, not looking at each other and not knowing what to say, or do.
For years, they’ve been walking around each other, afraid of touches, lingering looks, of stepping too close, and it was hard. The rhythm of their show, the emotive flow of it alone, emotions that tend to spread, to spill and mix, turn everything inside out often getting the better of them. And now, when he’s got the permission to step forward and go on until he’s close enough to touch, to kiss, to get him naked and make love to him as he had wanted for too damn long, Jared’s not sure he’s even allowed to do that.
Jensen is still leaning against the window sill where he’s more or less slumped the moment the door closed behind his wife, eyes wide, shocked, his breathing low, but fast. He’s still wearing his suit, parts of it anyway, as the bowtie is gone, just like the jacket, buttons undone. The tails of his shirt are pulled out of his pants, falling over his hands in the pockets, the polished shoes kicked off by the door. Somehow he looks more like Dean, which might be the anger, the tight set of his jaw. Just the reasons behind his rage are different than the Winchester’s, easier. And yet not.
“I… don’t believe this is happening,” he states, addressing no one in particular, certainly not Jared, because he’s not looking at him, hasn’t looked at him once.
“You look… gorgeous,” Jared says, knowing well enough that this is not the right thing to say, definitely not what Jensen wants to hear. Saying it anyway. “Wanted to tell you the whole night.”
“I need a drink,” Jensen decides, nodding to himself as he walks over to the minibar. “You want something, too?”
“Yeah. Yeah, why not.”
Jensen pours them both some incredibly expensively looking scotch, some brand Jared’s not sure he even heard of, and when he hands him the glass, their fingers brush. It’s like a current of electricity, a bolt of want-ache that sizzles down Jared’s spine, both shocking and familiar. Genevieve wasn’t wrong, neither was Danneel. It’s there, just like it’s always been. Like an undertow.
Jensen jerks his hand back, immediately, takes a few steps away from Jared, so transparent. He empties his drink in one swift go, then winces as the liquid burns its way down his throat. “So, uhm… they expect us to fuck now or what?”
Jared takes a sip from his glass, then sets it down on the vanity table near the door. He dares two steps in Jensen’s direction, then a few more when Jensen shows no indication of stopping him or running away. Putting his hand on Jensen’s arm, he wraps his fingers around the hard bone of his elbow, tugging him closer. “And would it really be that unimaginable?”
“Oh, don’t start. Not you, too.”
“All I’m saying is… we’ve got permission to be together. They both think that that’s exactly what’s happening right now. I want you, that never changed. You want me, I know that. So… why not?”
Jensen jerks his arm free, furious, angry with everyone, now with Jared, too. When he slams his empty glass onto the coffee table, Jared is surprised it doesn’t break. “Maybe just because that’s what they think! Because they know! You don’t think that’s a ‘little bit’ sick?!”
“A little, yeah. I guess.”
“Wait… You’re okay with this? How come you’re so calm about it?”
Jared shrugs. “I guess I… had the time to kind of… adjust to that idea?”
“Time?” Jensen repeats, catching on the last word Jared would want him to. “How much time… exactly?”
“A… few months? This topic isn’t exactly news in our household.”
“Oh, great! Well, that makes it all good then. Right?”
“I didn’t say that. Look, why… Why are you so angry? I thought you… I don’t know, maybe...” He trails off, not really knowing how to go on, disappointment clouding his better judgment. It’s stupid, childish, maybe, but Jensen’s open aversion against that notion hurts, even though he should have known. Knows him well enough to know he wouldn’t agree with this, not right away at least. “Never mind.”
Jensen chuckles, but it’s bitter, resigned. He shakes his head, runs a hand over his face, then drops down on the closest chair heavily, straddling it. Resting his chin on the backrest of it, he looks up at Jared, tired, still astounded. “This is wrong, Jare.”
“So that’s a no then.”
“No. I mean, yes… That’s a no.” He sounds sad, though, regretful.
“Okay... I, uhm… I think I’ll go then. Good night.” It’s not supposed to hurt, not that damn much.
He reaches for the doorknob, fingers curling around the polished brass, when Jensen’s hand, cold, damp, lands on his wrist. “Jared, wait. Please, I…” He stops again, looking absolutely hopeless, helpless. Torn.
It’s the disappointment, mostly, probably. Frustration, Jensen’s belief that this is incredibly wrong, no matter what he truly feels, the fact his ‘No’ crushes even the tiniest particle of Jared’s hope. Whatever it is, something snaps.
Before he’s even aware that he’s moving, Jared grabs Jensen by the shoulders and spins them around, pressing him against the closed door, pinning him there with his own body. Jensen gasps, startled, breathless for a wholly different reason. Jared’s strength used to be a turn on, the few stupid, unimportant pounds and inches he’s got above him making a huge difference when he wanted to. Holding him there, he nudges a knee in between Jensen’s thighs, drawing a gasp out of them both, feels the rasp of the fabric of their pants. He leans down and presses his lips to the soft, delicate skin of Jensen’s earlobe, bites, elicits a shiver that rockets through every bone of the body beneath his. “Would this make it easier for you? If I… made you? You know I can.” Every freckled sensitive spot, each secret erogenous zone, he’s mapped them all.
Jensen’s eyes are huge, a mossy shade of green, burning, not scared, his lips dark pink, worried, almost bitten through. He swallows thickly, his heart thundering, pulsing in the tensed artery in his throat, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “I can’t. I… can’t.” He steps aside, moving out of Jared’s hold, and he lets him. “I spent years holding back,” he says lowly, trailing his fingers mindlessly over the sleek wood of the doorframe. “I cannot just… reverse that way of thinking. I can’t just throw all my promises out the window because they suddenly say I can.”
“And if the suddenly wasn’t so… sudden. Would there be a maybe? Maybe?” Are we just a matter of time?
Jensen scratches at his eyebrow, spreads out his arms, clueless. “Maybe?”
“Jen… I know that this is weird. That this isn’t all right, but maybe it can be good? Maybe we can make it work. Somehow.” He touches his hand to Jensen’s face; fingers curling beneath his chin, making him look up, guiding him closer. “I miss you.” He presses his mouth to Jensen’s, covering his lips, hot and trembling, with his own, nudging them gently apart.
Jensen sighs, that kind of a hitching sound, involuntary and betraying, and he reaches for Jared, undoubtedly wanting to push him away, but ends up gripping the sleeve of Jared’s shirt instead, holding him in place. He parts his lips, allowing Jared’s tongue in, curious, hungry, lets Jared press him back against the door; the gesture of surrender melting all of Jared’s pathetic attempts at holding back. Jensen tastes of overprized whiskey and a cheap peppermint chewing gum, of all the wrongness in this, the innocence of their relationship of before. Before. And it’s amazing to just feel him again, that close, but it’s not enough, one kiss never was.
Jared sets his hands on Jensen’s hips, gripping tight, almost hard enough to bruise, and Jensen moans, pressing himself further into him, the hand coming to rest at the back of Jared’s neck suddenly warm, almost too much. Jared’s palm wanders, on its own somehow, between their bodies and over the taut muscles of Jensen’s stomach lower. When his fingers curl around the single button on Jensen’s pants, a hand comes up to cover his, stopping him.
Jensen breaks the kiss with a light bite to Jared’s lower lip and pulls away, his head thudding against the wood behind him. “No-not here. Not… like this.” He’s breathless, flushed, there are tiny drops of sweat glistening on his temples, his throat. He’s absolutely gorgeous.
Jared nods, silently agreeing, accepting all of Jensen’s unspoken rules and boundaries. Hopes that it means some other place, some other time. That the maybe is more of a yes and less the previous firm no. He follows Jensen’s suit, leans his back against the door, leveling his shoulder with Jensen’s. He studies his profile in the dim light from above them, the perfect line of his jaw, the curve of his upper lip. “So what do we do with the time we have left?” he asks, lifting his hand to press his fingertip against the sharp, hard swell of Jensen’s collarbone bared in the gap of his neckline, then up and over his Adam’s apple.
Jensen turns his head to look at him, eyes warm, no longer hostile or angry, just dark, pupils blown. “How ‘bout a walk? A night walk through Santa Monica.” He nods to himself, evidently amused by that idea alone. “I like the sound of it.”
“Yeah… Man, I’d kill for a burger.”
Jensen chuckles, smiles. “What else is new?” There’s a moment, a minute too long when he’s just staring at Jared, regarding him, expression unreadable, words none. Then, “You looked amazing tonight, by the way.”
The End
Sequel: Give Me Love Like Her, 'Cause Lately I've Been Waking Up Alone