.0026 - Falling Like Snow
Jensen/Jared
1,726 words
Teaser: "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me that you don't feel it."
“Why, oh, why did I take this part?” Jensen laments with a disbelieving, uncomprehending shake of his head, as he takes another slow, careful step forward over the snowbound path leading to the front door.
His voice is barely audible through the thick woolen scarf he’s got wrapped tightly around his neck and pulled up over the tip of his nose, but Jared doesn’t need to hear a single word to know what Jensen’s saying.
He’s been repeating the same for about two weeks now, every single day, maybe every single hour, but Jared can’t really say that he blames him. Jensen’s been exhausted lately, still picking up his strength after having the flu, which he’d promptly decided to ignore and try to cure himself, and the shooting schedule is demanding and wearing too. A tiny bit more than usual, for every element of the machine that is Supernatural, and the closer they’re getting to Christmas, the more they all need a break.
“’Cause you love it.” Jared reminds, following the trace in the cold whiteness that Jensen’s left, replacing each of Jensen’s footprints with his own. “And y’know it.”
“I hate it,” Jensen remonstrates obstinately.
And completely to no avail, because Jared knows the truth. Because they both do. Jared secretly suspects that Jensen just needs to protest, no matter the subject, and have the last word tonight.
“Now... but come tomorrow, you’ll be full-on Dean Winchester again, and you’re gonna be awesome. And you’re gonna love it.”
“Kinda smart there, aren’t you?” Jensen asks bitterly as he glances at Jared over his shoulder and raises his eyebrow, which nearly completely disappears underneath the rim of his black hat.
Jared shrugs and smiles, “I just know you.”
“Yeah,” Jensen nods with a displeased scowl, before he turns round again. “Sometimes I think that way too--” Before Jensen can finish, he reels; the frozen snow slippery and uncertain under his feet, and Jared reaches out, his arm shooting forth by its own will, but it’s too late and Jensen’s too far to be reached. One second later, he topples down to the ground, right into the biggest pile of snow with a surprised Hmpf!, and Jared winces in sympathy, because that must have hurt.
“Fuckin’ winter! God damn this stupid country!” Jensen grunts as he kicks the snow with the heel of his boot, starting a long chain of vile words his mom would definitely not commend him for.
Jared laughs, he can’t really help it, because no matter how grumpy Jensen gets, he always, well, usually, somehow manages to be cute. Like now, when he’s bundled up like an Eskimo, half buried in the snowy duvet and swearing so much he’d put a sailor to shame.
It is freezing, Jared has to admit that much, 28°C minus is damn freaking cold, and not only for Texans born and bred, but it’s not like they have to walk miles in this inhuman weather, only the few meters from Cliff’s heated up car.
“Tsk, tsk.” Jared shakes his head in reprimand as he balances haphazardly on his feet, struggling to get to where Jensen’s landed. “’s not that bad.”
“It is,” Jensen nods seriously, looking up at him sorrowfully, and as though Jared’s supposed to be his salvation. “It really is... I hit my funny bone. Again. Three times a day really isn’t funny anymore. My ass hurts. My girl’s dumped me ‘cause I didn’t have time for her. We can’t travel anywhere ‘cause of the stupid weather... and I forgot to call my mom.” Jensen sighs, then drops his head right to the snow. “And I’m so fuckin’ tired.” He lets his eyes drift shut, looking content and resolved enough to fall asleep right on the freezing ground, right there in the open.
“Get up... You’re crazy, man,” Jared states, wondering whether Jensen’s only tired, or maybe even drunk. It’s always hard to tell, because both states have, in Jensen’s case, very similar symptoms.
“Nah,” Jensen objects earnestly, sounding completely drunk now. “I’m an angel.”
To prove his words, he spreads his arms and legs, moving them up and down like in the child-like game, crumpling and completely damaging the previously untouched layer of snow.
“Not yet, Michael, but gettin’ there... Now up, ‘cause I’m sure that even angels can freeze to death.”
“So I will. I’m gonna stay here and freeze... and then, when the spring comes and the snow melts away, I’ll be a part of your front lawn.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Jared says as he tugs the keys back into the pocket of his jacket and closes the last few steps dividing him from Jensen to help get him up on his feet again.
“Hmm.”
“A terrible one,” Jared specifies as he reaches out, offering Jensen his hand. “C’mon.”
Jensen opens his eyes slowly, lazily, like that simple action is stealing all the reserves of energy he’s got left, and lifts his arm, wrapping his fingers, damn cold and wet, around Jared’s. He even manages to sit up and Jared risks one more step forward. And that is exactly where his well aimed help goes totally wrong. He should have known better than to step right where Jensen had been standing before. Should have known it before he put his foot right in the imprint that Jensen’s boot had left there.
Jensen doesn’t even have any chance to react, to roll away or yelp in horror, before he’s driven back in the snow and suffocated by 6’4” of an unannounced, unforeseen Padalecki avalanche. All he manages to say, or rather breathe out, is Guh! as the air gets completely knocked out of his lungs.
Sighing, Jared props himself up on his hands, placed at each side of Jensen’s head, and looks down at the squashed man beneath him, grinning innocently, “Er... Sorry?”
“Sorry my ass,” Jensen hisses breathlessly. “Freakin’ Dumbo... I think you broke somethin’.”
“What?”
“Fifth and sixth vertebra, the pen in my back pocket, and no doubt the wannabe protection pendant on my keyring.”
“Awww, so sorry. Want me to kiss it better?”
“I’ll manage, thanks.”
“’kay.”
“Hey,” Jensen says after a moment of silence when neither of them moves; Jensen simply because he can’t, and Jared plainly because he doesn’t want to. Can’t really either. Having Jensen close is always slightly hazardous; having Jensen this close is downright dangerous, and Jared’s suddenly way too aware of Jensen’s firm, warm body under him. Of every, single inch where they touch, and Jensen’s hot, strawberry-scented breath ghosting over his face. There’s a heat pooling in his stomach, want and emptiness mingling, balancing just at the edge of aching. “You’re plannin’ to move any time soon?”
“Nah, I’m good right here,” Jared assures him with a devilish twinkle in his eyes as he shifts a little, rolling his hips against Jensen’s in a hardly innocent or random movement; testing, teasing.
Jensen’s mouth opens on a surprised sound, not quite a gasp, and he reaches for Jared, gathering a handful of his jacket, but looking uncertain whether he actually means to push him away, or pull him closer.
Staring into those green eyes, which intently follow every movement he makes, Jared leans in; deciding it’s now or never, knowing that Jensen can’t run away even if he wanted. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he whispers, inching closer to feel the faintest taste of Jensen’s lips, but not near enough to touch. “Tell me that you don’t feel it.”
Jensen’s eyelashes quiver; as they always do when someone steps just that close into his personal space, penetrating the bubble of safety around him, and he pulls his head back, gazing up at Jared confusedly. He’s silent, long enough to raise a wave of panic inside of Jared and make him doubt all the signs he’d been sure of, convinced that they were pointing in the right direction, just where he wanted them. But maybe they’d been pointing in that one direction only because he desperately wanted them to.
“Well, I’m feelin’ somethin’, alright,” Jensen waspishly delivers then, and Jared barely resists the urgent and violent desire to slap him for that smart ass comment. He always strikes, spitting poison like a cobra when he’s backed into a corner, to hide how scared and uncertain he really is on the inside, instead of just admitting the truth. In lieu of the punch, he grabs Jensen’s hands, seizing his wrists, and pins them above his head, keeping them there, never mind the freezing, pinching snow that makes their skin burn.
“Is that right?” he asks as he moves again, a slow, deliberate and well aimed thrust against Jensen that gains him another startled, pained moan and an unexpected, responding roll of Jensen’s hips. Jared’s name falling from Jensen’s lips sounds like a curse and a prayer all at once.
“I think--” Jensen breathes out, sounding unsure, almost shy as he tilts his chin up, meeting Jared’s eyes directly. “I-I think that I--.”
Jared doesn’t let him finish, because Jensen can be really slow sometimes. Impatient and cold, he presses his lips on Jensen’s, to touch, to feel, to taste the remaining flavor of the lollipop Jensen had been rolling around in his mouth on the way back from set, unwittingly driving Jared totally insane. His lips are chilly, but soft and so full. It’s a brief touch, and Jared means to draw back, but then Jensen’s teeth sink into his lower lip and bite onto the flesh, tugging gently and keeping him in place. Jared lets go of Jensen’s hands and cups his cheeks instead, angling his head just right and nudging Jensen’s lips apart with his own. When Jensen finally succumbs and Jared’s tongue slips inside, Jared trembles in response, because in the cool air around them, it’s like being suddenly kissed by fire, wet and silky flames. Jensen moans quietly, giving back just as much he’s being given, and entangles his hand in Jared’s dishevelled hair. His fingers chill like icicles, but Jared couldn’t care less.
1,726 words
Teaser: "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me that you don't feel it."
“Why, oh, why did I take this part?” Jensen laments with a disbelieving, uncomprehending shake of his head, as he takes another slow, careful step forward over the snowbound path leading to the front door.
His voice is barely audible through the thick woolen scarf he’s got wrapped tightly around his neck and pulled up over the tip of his nose, but Jared doesn’t need to hear a single word to know what Jensen’s saying.
He’s been repeating the same for about two weeks now, every single day, maybe every single hour, but Jared can’t really say that he blames him. Jensen’s been exhausted lately, still picking up his strength after having the flu, which he’d promptly decided to ignore and try to cure himself, and the shooting schedule is demanding and wearing too. A tiny bit more than usual, for every element of the machine that is Supernatural, and the closer they’re getting to Christmas, the more they all need a break.
“’Cause you love it.” Jared reminds, following the trace in the cold whiteness that Jensen’s left, replacing each of Jensen’s footprints with his own. “And y’know it.”
“I hate it,” Jensen remonstrates obstinately.
And completely to no avail, because Jared knows the truth. Because they both do. Jared secretly suspects that Jensen just needs to protest, no matter the subject, and have the last word tonight.
“Now... but come tomorrow, you’ll be full-on Dean Winchester again, and you’re gonna be awesome. And you’re gonna love it.”
“Kinda smart there, aren’t you?” Jensen asks bitterly as he glances at Jared over his shoulder and raises his eyebrow, which nearly completely disappears underneath the rim of his black hat.
Jared shrugs and smiles, “I just know you.”
“Yeah,” Jensen nods with a displeased scowl, before he turns round again. “Sometimes I think that way too--” Before Jensen can finish, he reels; the frozen snow slippery and uncertain under his feet, and Jared reaches out, his arm shooting forth by its own will, but it’s too late and Jensen’s too far to be reached. One second later, he topples down to the ground, right into the biggest pile of snow with a surprised Hmpf!, and Jared winces in sympathy, because that must have hurt.
“Fuckin’ winter! God damn this stupid country!” Jensen grunts as he kicks the snow with the heel of his boot, starting a long chain of vile words his mom would definitely not commend him for.
Jared laughs, he can’t really help it, because no matter how grumpy Jensen gets, he always, well, usually, somehow manages to be cute. Like now, when he’s bundled up like an Eskimo, half buried in the snowy duvet and swearing so much he’d put a sailor to shame.
It is freezing, Jared has to admit that much, 28°C minus is damn freaking cold, and not only for Texans born and bred, but it’s not like they have to walk miles in this inhuman weather, only the few meters from Cliff’s heated up car.
“Tsk, tsk.” Jared shakes his head in reprimand as he balances haphazardly on his feet, struggling to get to where Jensen’s landed. “’s not that bad.”
“It is,” Jensen nods seriously, looking up at him sorrowfully, and as though Jared’s supposed to be his salvation. “It really is... I hit my funny bone. Again. Three times a day really isn’t funny anymore. My ass hurts. My girl’s dumped me ‘cause I didn’t have time for her. We can’t travel anywhere ‘cause of the stupid weather... and I forgot to call my mom.” Jensen sighs, then drops his head right to the snow. “And I’m so fuckin’ tired.” He lets his eyes drift shut, looking content and resolved enough to fall asleep right on the freezing ground, right there in the open.
“Get up... You’re crazy, man,” Jared states, wondering whether Jensen’s only tired, or maybe even drunk. It’s always hard to tell, because both states have, in Jensen’s case, very similar symptoms.
“Nah,” Jensen objects earnestly, sounding completely drunk now. “I’m an angel.”
To prove his words, he spreads his arms and legs, moving them up and down like in the child-like game, crumpling and completely damaging the previously untouched layer of snow.
“Not yet, Michael, but gettin’ there... Now up, ‘cause I’m sure that even angels can freeze to death.”
“So I will. I’m gonna stay here and freeze... and then, when the spring comes and the snow melts away, I’ll be a part of your front lawn.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Jared says as he tugs the keys back into the pocket of his jacket and closes the last few steps dividing him from Jensen to help get him up on his feet again.
“Hmm.”
“A terrible one,” Jared specifies as he reaches out, offering Jensen his hand. “C’mon.”
Jensen opens his eyes slowly, lazily, like that simple action is stealing all the reserves of energy he’s got left, and lifts his arm, wrapping his fingers, damn cold and wet, around Jared’s. He even manages to sit up and Jared risks one more step forward. And that is exactly where his well aimed help goes totally wrong. He should have known better than to step right where Jensen had been standing before. Should have known it before he put his foot right in the imprint that Jensen’s boot had left there.
Jensen doesn’t even have any chance to react, to roll away or yelp in horror, before he’s driven back in the snow and suffocated by 6’4” of an unannounced, unforeseen Padalecki avalanche. All he manages to say, or rather breathe out, is Guh! as the air gets completely knocked out of his lungs.
Sighing, Jared props himself up on his hands, placed at each side of Jensen’s head, and looks down at the squashed man beneath him, grinning innocently, “Er... Sorry?”
“Sorry my ass,” Jensen hisses breathlessly. “Freakin’ Dumbo... I think you broke somethin’.”
“What?”
“Fifth and sixth vertebra, the pen in my back pocket, and no doubt the wannabe protection pendant on my keyring.”
“Awww, so sorry. Want me to kiss it better?”
“I’ll manage, thanks.”
“’kay.”
“Hey,” Jensen says after a moment of silence when neither of them moves; Jensen simply because he can’t, and Jared plainly because he doesn’t want to. Can’t really either. Having Jensen close is always slightly hazardous; having Jensen this close is downright dangerous, and Jared’s suddenly way too aware of Jensen’s firm, warm body under him. Of every, single inch where they touch, and Jensen’s hot, strawberry-scented breath ghosting over his face. There’s a heat pooling in his stomach, want and emptiness mingling, balancing just at the edge of aching. “You’re plannin’ to move any time soon?”
“Nah, I’m good right here,” Jared assures him with a devilish twinkle in his eyes as he shifts a little, rolling his hips against Jensen’s in a hardly innocent or random movement; testing, teasing.
Jensen’s mouth opens on a surprised sound, not quite a gasp, and he reaches for Jared, gathering a handful of his jacket, but looking uncertain whether he actually means to push him away, or pull him closer.
Staring into those green eyes, which intently follow every movement he makes, Jared leans in; deciding it’s now or never, knowing that Jensen can’t run away even if he wanted. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he whispers, inching closer to feel the faintest taste of Jensen’s lips, but not near enough to touch. “Tell me that you don’t feel it.”
Jensen’s eyelashes quiver; as they always do when someone steps just that close into his personal space, penetrating the bubble of safety around him, and he pulls his head back, gazing up at Jared confusedly. He’s silent, long enough to raise a wave of panic inside of Jared and make him doubt all the signs he’d been sure of, convinced that they were pointing in the right direction, just where he wanted them. But maybe they’d been pointing in that one direction only because he desperately wanted them to.
“Well, I’m feelin’ somethin’, alright,” Jensen waspishly delivers then, and Jared barely resists the urgent and violent desire to slap him for that smart ass comment. He always strikes, spitting poison like a cobra when he’s backed into a corner, to hide how scared and uncertain he really is on the inside, instead of just admitting the truth. In lieu of the punch, he grabs Jensen’s hands, seizing his wrists, and pins them above his head, keeping them there, never mind the freezing, pinching snow that makes their skin burn.
“Is that right?” he asks as he moves again, a slow, deliberate and well aimed thrust against Jensen that gains him another startled, pained moan and an unexpected, responding roll of Jensen’s hips. Jared’s name falling from Jensen’s lips sounds like a curse and a prayer all at once.
“I think--” Jensen breathes out, sounding unsure, almost shy as he tilts his chin up, meeting Jared’s eyes directly. “I-I think that I--.”
Jared doesn’t let him finish, because Jensen can be really slow sometimes. Impatient and cold, he presses his lips on Jensen’s, to touch, to feel, to taste the remaining flavor of the lollipop Jensen had been rolling around in his mouth on the way back from set, unwittingly driving Jared totally insane. His lips are chilly, but soft and so full. It’s a brief touch, and Jared means to draw back, but then Jensen’s teeth sink into his lower lip and bite onto the flesh, tugging gently and keeping him in place. Jared lets go of Jensen’s hands and cups his cheeks instead, angling his head just right and nudging Jensen’s lips apart with his own. When Jensen finally succumbs and Jared’s tongue slips inside, Jared trembles in response, because in the cool air around them, it’s like being suddenly kissed by fire, wet and silky flames. Jensen moans quietly, giving back just as much he’s being given, and entangles his hand in Jared’s dishevelled hair. His fingers chill like icicles, but Jared couldn’t care less.