Samson & Delilah - SPN RPS
Title: Samson & Delilah (You Are My Greatest Downfall)
Author: laceandgrace
Fandom: SPN RPS
Pairings: Jared/Jensen
Word Count: 1,881
Rating: R; Smex.
Author’s Note: Inspired by Regina Spektor's song "Samson." A little funky, and definitely different than what I usually write about these two. Beta'd by the ever-faithful TrishFace. ♥
No matter what Jared says, Jensen is the first to love. Jared will argue and say that he was the first to say something. The first to reach out with that timid, uncertain touch and risk it all. But doing is different than being, and Jensen is first.
He loves Jared first.
Loves him for the first time when they’re at the bar the same as every other Friday night in Vancouver. He sees the hazel sparkle peeking out from underneath a fringe of oak-colored bangs and loves. He listens to the low thrum of a chuckle, and loves.
Like that. It’s as easy as breathing. The sweetest sin. The greatest downfall.
He loves Jared first. And it doesn’t mean that he has to do anything. He doesn’t really. Just leans in and listens to the story that’s falling from Jared’s lips. It’ll be months before Jared notices that something has shifted and everything’s changed.
But he loves Jared first. And that’s not a claim to be overridden.
----------
Jensen leaves him notes.
Notes on his pillow. Pieces of paper that say something like, You’re late again. I’ll save you some breakfast when he knows that Jared is too drunk the night before to get up on time for call.
Notes on his mirror. Yellow post-its that are scrawled on in black sharpie. Dude, you fugly. And don’t eat the last gummy bear, or I’ll kill you.
Notes in his script. Some of them written in crayon, because that’s all that there was lying around for him to use. You’ll nail this. I know you will.
Jared always looks like he’s decoding a secret message when he finds them. His brow furrows and the rest of his face screws up with the effort. Jensen kind of likes it.
“You write like a girl,” Jared informs him one morning.
Subtext is what counts though.
----------
Jared’s hair is almost too long when they meet. He has to blow it out of his eyes before he shakes Jensen’s hand. “I’m Jared.”
He knows that he’s smiling too hard. “Jensen.”
----------
Jensen wakes up at three in the morning to the sound of the television on. He climbs sleepily out of bed and pads into the living room. Jared is sprawled across his makeshift bed - the sofa - for when he’s too lazy to drive back to his apartment late at night. The remote is in his hands, and he flicks lazily to the next channel before glancing up. “Sorry.”
He blinks groggily. “What is it?”
“Can’t sleep.” Jared’s eyes wander back to the screen. “Worrying. It happens.”
Jensen doesn’t answer. Instead, he retreats into the kitchen and finds what he needs. When he comes back, he hands Jared a piece of bread. Jared looks at it quizzically. “Eat it. Then go back to sleep.”
He frowns a little, then nods hesitantly and takes his first bite. Jensen leaves him that way. But in the morning, he finds Jared making coffee in the kitchen like always. He doesn’t look tired, and there are no dark circles under his eyes.
“Magic,” he beams, smile charged at a thousand watts.
Jensen grunts and takes his coffee mug from Jared’s hand.
----------
Their fans see them a certain way. Kripke sees them a certain way. The writers see them a certain way. They’ll go down in the books as particular people.
In the end, who they are will be forgotten in legend.
----------
No matter what Jensen says, Jared is first to love. And it’s not because he’s the first to take a step towards what it means. No, it’s because it is all much simpler than that. Being is different than existing a certain way, and Jared is pretty sure that he comes into existence for the purpose of loving Jensen.
There is never a point of change. Being involves change, and Jared knows. He knows that it isn’t a change. It’s a realization. A realization that he’s loved Jensen all along. Since the day he was born, probably, because this is his purpose.
He realizes this - yes, realizes - when Jensen gets mad at himself for forgetting his line again. He goes through the processing while Jensen takes a walk to get back into character. And when Jensen comes back with his Dean face on, Jared is pretty much certain.
Like that. It’s as easy as breathing. The sweetest sin. The greatest downfall.
He loves Jensen first. And it means everything. It means he has to do something. Too much time wasted, and he’s not going to live with it. Not now that he’s found his purpose.
He loves Jensen first. And it can’t be disputed.
----------
Jared’s hair is too long the first day they start filming. Jensen makes a sideways comment between takes, and he defends himself.
“They won’t let me cut it.” He’s pretty sure he’s smiling too hard.
----------
Jensen’s in that place between sleep and awake when he feels the rustle of his sheets and the bed shifting. He opens his eyes drowsily to look at the window, but it’s still black in the room. The late-early hours of the night, and he feels warm arms wrap around his waist. A nose gently nuzzles up under his jaw, and Jared’s peppermint breath is its company.
“Jared?” he queries, voice still thick from sleep and senses still floundering for purchase in the sudden warmth that curls around him. He senses quiet uncertainty and a pair of lips brush over his, lighter than a touch. Jared hovers over him, and they stay like that. Breathing each other’s air.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. Their pronouncement of fate.
He should feel a shiver of anticipation. A shudder of expectancy. Something other than the warmth that curls in his stomach. But it’s only that, and Jensen twists his fingers in the hair that falls on Jared’s neck and pulls him down, coaxing the both of them into touch with soft kisses. Jared’s hands heat his skin until he’s burning from the inside out.
----------
Jared has his head in Jensen’s lap when they come to the conclusion. Jensen twists and strokes his fingers through Jared’s dark hair, and he says, “I think you’re Samson.”
Jared pops one eye open. “Doesn’t that make you Delilah?”
Jensen blushes and thinks. After a moment, he says, “I think that means I have to cut your hair. Someday. And then you’ll lose your strength and break columns down anyway.”
“But…” His co-star frowns. There’s silence for a few minutes, with nothing but the rain gently falling taptaptap against the windows and the roof. Jensen starts to feel sleepy, but Jared’s voice rumbles like thunder and yanks his eyelids open again. “I don’t like this metaphor. It means we’re doomed love. And that you’re using me to get paid by the enemy. I don’t like this metaphor at all.”
“You’re Samson,” he repeats, completely ignoring the general whole of Jared’s comment. “You’re tall and you have long hair. You’re Samson.”
Jared pouts. “If I have to be the pretty boy with girl hair, then you have to be the prostitute whose love I buy.”
“I want to cut your hair.”
He strokes his fingers over the small curl by Jared’s ear until he reaches up with a hand and presses his fingers gently into the thin skin on Jensen’s wrist. One rough tip traces the path of a vein, and when Jared looks up, his eyes hold something infinite and indefinable. “Okay,” he says softly, his heart traced over the edge of his words. “Okay.”
The only light in the room is the small lamp that sits on the table beside Jared’s sofa. It casts uneven shadows and leaves them both in stark relief. Jared sits on the floor in front of him, legs sprawled out across the grey carpet. Jensen holds the scissors easily, tilting Jared’s head when he needs to and letting his fingers linger on Jared’s pulse. Curls fall away beneath the gentle slide of the blades, but only just barely. And when he finally squeezes Jared’s shoulder, he only leans his head back against Jensen’s knee and looks up at him.
“You done good,” he murmurs, and curls his fingers around the back of Jensen’s neck to pull him down into a kiss that’s soft and pleasing. Just something to say I love you this much. Jared’s remaining hair tickles against his cheek, brushes against his eyelashes. And he digs his fingers in.
They don’t fall asleep until there’s light in the sky again.
----------
“Why do you worry?”
Jared’s lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Jensen has his head pressed against Jared’s shoulder with his chin tilted, so that he can watch him. He tickles a sensitive path across Jared’s stomach with his fingers and is rewarded with a soft snort and a squirm. “Talk to me.”
Jared swallows. Jensen watches his Adam’s apple move up and down in the dim light and resists the urge to reach out and taste it underneath his tongue. He doesn’t speak though. Jensen makes an irritable noise in the back of his throat and moves to straddle him before Jared can croak out his “Whuh-what?”
Large hands skate down his thighs. Squeeze playfully at his knees before growing still. After a minute or two of Jensen staring him directly in the eyes, he murmurs, “I’m afraid I can’t live up to what they see in me. They expect things. Everyone does. I can’t be what they want.”
Jensen furrows his eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”
“I can’t make the columns come down.” Jared isn’t looking at him now. He’s got his eyes squeezed shut, fingers digging into Jensen’s hips with something other than need or hunger. It’s pain. Or fear. Or maybe both. “What if we’re forgotten, Jensen? We’ll be put down as one thing. But they’ll never know what we really are.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jensen murmurs, leaning down to press their foreheads together. “We’ve got this. We’ve got us. What they remember doesn’t matter. What matters is what we are.”
“What we are?” He looks nervous. Eyes too wide and fingers gripping too tight. Forming bruises and holding on, holding on. “And what are we?”
Jensen’s heart catches in his throat. He swallows it down. Forces it to submit. But in the end, he knows. Oh, he knows. “Best friends,” he whispers, lips and words sliding against Jared’s jaw. A gentle rock of his hips that has Jared quietly gasping and arching up. “Lovers.” He moves slowly. Slides down to press his mouth and tongue to sharp curves and tan skin.
Jared growls softly under the touch. Tenses and rolls, pinning Jensen to the sheets and drinking from his mouth like a man dying in the desert. His hands map planes across skin and move down, tugging at the waist of Jensen’s boxers. “Samson and Delilah?”
“Everything,” Jensen gasps, shivering and embracing. “In love. And everything. This is us. Don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks. They can write what they want in the history books. Ain’t no one going to know us like we know us.”
“Mmm,” Jared hums against the skin of his shoulder, licking soft and biting sharp. “That’s alright then.”
^^^
Comments improve the writer's ability to write. ♥
Author: laceandgrace
Fandom: SPN RPS
Pairings: Jared/Jensen
Word Count: 1,881
Rating: R; Smex.
Author’s Note: Inspired by Regina Spektor's song "Samson." A little funky, and definitely different than what I usually write about these two. Beta'd by the ever-faithful TrishFace. ♥
No matter what Jared says, Jensen is the first to love. Jared will argue and say that he was the first to say something. The first to reach out with that timid, uncertain touch and risk it all. But doing is different than being, and Jensen is first.
He loves Jared first.
Loves him for the first time when they’re at the bar the same as every other Friday night in Vancouver. He sees the hazel sparkle peeking out from underneath a fringe of oak-colored bangs and loves. He listens to the low thrum of a chuckle, and loves.
Like that. It’s as easy as breathing. The sweetest sin. The greatest downfall.
He loves Jared first. And it doesn’t mean that he has to do anything. He doesn’t really. Just leans in and listens to the story that’s falling from Jared’s lips. It’ll be months before Jared notices that something has shifted and everything’s changed.
But he loves Jared first. And that’s not a claim to be overridden.
----------
Jensen leaves him notes.
Notes on his pillow. Pieces of paper that say something like, You’re late again. I’ll save you some breakfast when he knows that Jared is too drunk the night before to get up on time for call.
Notes on his mirror. Yellow post-its that are scrawled on in black sharpie. Dude, you fugly. And don’t eat the last gummy bear, or I’ll kill you.
Notes in his script. Some of them written in crayon, because that’s all that there was lying around for him to use. You’ll nail this. I know you will.
Jared always looks like he’s decoding a secret message when he finds them. His brow furrows and the rest of his face screws up with the effort. Jensen kind of likes it.
“You write like a girl,” Jared informs him one morning.
Subtext is what counts though.
----------
Jared’s hair is almost too long when they meet. He has to blow it out of his eyes before he shakes Jensen’s hand. “I’m Jared.”
He knows that he’s smiling too hard. “Jensen.”
----------
Jensen wakes up at three in the morning to the sound of the television on. He climbs sleepily out of bed and pads into the living room. Jared is sprawled across his makeshift bed - the sofa - for when he’s too lazy to drive back to his apartment late at night. The remote is in his hands, and he flicks lazily to the next channel before glancing up. “Sorry.”
He blinks groggily. “What is it?”
“Can’t sleep.” Jared’s eyes wander back to the screen. “Worrying. It happens.”
Jensen doesn’t answer. Instead, he retreats into the kitchen and finds what he needs. When he comes back, he hands Jared a piece of bread. Jared looks at it quizzically. “Eat it. Then go back to sleep.”
He frowns a little, then nods hesitantly and takes his first bite. Jensen leaves him that way. But in the morning, he finds Jared making coffee in the kitchen like always. He doesn’t look tired, and there are no dark circles under his eyes.
“Magic,” he beams, smile charged at a thousand watts.
Jensen grunts and takes his coffee mug from Jared’s hand.
----------
Their fans see them a certain way. Kripke sees them a certain way. The writers see them a certain way. They’ll go down in the books as particular people.
In the end, who they are will be forgotten in legend.
----------
No matter what Jensen says, Jared is first to love. And it’s not because he’s the first to take a step towards what it means. No, it’s because it is all much simpler than that. Being is different than existing a certain way, and Jared is pretty sure that he comes into existence for the purpose of loving Jensen.
There is never a point of change. Being involves change, and Jared knows. He knows that it isn’t a change. It’s a realization. A realization that he’s loved Jensen all along. Since the day he was born, probably, because this is his purpose.
He realizes this - yes, realizes - when Jensen gets mad at himself for forgetting his line again. He goes through the processing while Jensen takes a walk to get back into character. And when Jensen comes back with his Dean face on, Jared is pretty much certain.
Like that. It’s as easy as breathing. The sweetest sin. The greatest downfall.
He loves Jensen first. And it means everything. It means he has to do something. Too much time wasted, and he’s not going to live with it. Not now that he’s found his purpose.
He loves Jensen first. And it can’t be disputed.
----------
Jared’s hair is too long the first day they start filming. Jensen makes a sideways comment between takes, and he defends himself.
“They won’t let me cut it.” He’s pretty sure he’s smiling too hard.
----------
Jensen’s in that place between sleep and awake when he feels the rustle of his sheets and the bed shifting. He opens his eyes drowsily to look at the window, but it’s still black in the room. The late-early hours of the night, and he feels warm arms wrap around his waist. A nose gently nuzzles up under his jaw, and Jared’s peppermint breath is its company.
“Jared?” he queries, voice still thick from sleep and senses still floundering for purchase in the sudden warmth that curls around him. He senses quiet uncertainty and a pair of lips brush over his, lighter than a touch. Jared hovers over him, and they stay like that. Breathing each other’s air.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. Their pronouncement of fate.
He should feel a shiver of anticipation. A shudder of expectancy. Something other than the warmth that curls in his stomach. But it’s only that, and Jensen twists his fingers in the hair that falls on Jared’s neck and pulls him down, coaxing the both of them into touch with soft kisses. Jared’s hands heat his skin until he’s burning from the inside out.
----------
Jared has his head in Jensen’s lap when they come to the conclusion. Jensen twists and strokes his fingers through Jared’s dark hair, and he says, “I think you’re Samson.”
Jared pops one eye open. “Doesn’t that make you Delilah?”
Jensen blushes and thinks. After a moment, he says, “I think that means I have to cut your hair. Someday. And then you’ll lose your strength and break columns down anyway.”
“But…” His co-star frowns. There’s silence for a few minutes, with nothing but the rain gently falling taptaptap against the windows and the roof. Jensen starts to feel sleepy, but Jared’s voice rumbles like thunder and yanks his eyelids open again. “I don’t like this metaphor. It means we’re doomed love. And that you’re using me to get paid by the enemy. I don’t like this metaphor at all.”
“You’re Samson,” he repeats, completely ignoring the general whole of Jared’s comment. “You’re tall and you have long hair. You’re Samson.”
Jared pouts. “If I have to be the pretty boy with girl hair, then you have to be the prostitute whose love I buy.”
“I want to cut your hair.”
He strokes his fingers over the small curl by Jared’s ear until he reaches up with a hand and presses his fingers gently into the thin skin on Jensen’s wrist. One rough tip traces the path of a vein, and when Jared looks up, his eyes hold something infinite and indefinable. “Okay,” he says softly, his heart traced over the edge of his words. “Okay.”
The only light in the room is the small lamp that sits on the table beside Jared’s sofa. It casts uneven shadows and leaves them both in stark relief. Jared sits on the floor in front of him, legs sprawled out across the grey carpet. Jensen holds the scissors easily, tilting Jared’s head when he needs to and letting his fingers linger on Jared’s pulse. Curls fall away beneath the gentle slide of the blades, but only just barely. And when he finally squeezes Jared’s shoulder, he only leans his head back against Jensen’s knee and looks up at him.
“You done good,” he murmurs, and curls his fingers around the back of Jensen’s neck to pull him down into a kiss that’s soft and pleasing. Just something to say I love you this much. Jared’s remaining hair tickles against his cheek, brushes against his eyelashes. And he digs his fingers in.
They don’t fall asleep until there’s light in the sky again.
----------
“Why do you worry?”
Jared’s lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Jensen has his head pressed against Jared’s shoulder with his chin tilted, so that he can watch him. He tickles a sensitive path across Jared’s stomach with his fingers and is rewarded with a soft snort and a squirm. “Talk to me.”
Jared swallows. Jensen watches his Adam’s apple move up and down in the dim light and resists the urge to reach out and taste it underneath his tongue. He doesn’t speak though. Jensen makes an irritable noise in the back of his throat and moves to straddle him before Jared can croak out his “Whuh-what?”
Large hands skate down his thighs. Squeeze playfully at his knees before growing still. After a minute or two of Jensen staring him directly in the eyes, he murmurs, “I’m afraid I can’t live up to what they see in me. They expect things. Everyone does. I can’t be what they want.”
Jensen furrows his eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”
“I can’t make the columns come down.” Jared isn’t looking at him now. He’s got his eyes squeezed shut, fingers digging into Jensen’s hips with something other than need or hunger. It’s pain. Or fear. Or maybe both. “What if we’re forgotten, Jensen? We’ll be put down as one thing. But they’ll never know what we really are.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jensen murmurs, leaning down to press their foreheads together. “We’ve got this. We’ve got us. What they remember doesn’t matter. What matters is what we are.”
“What we are?” He looks nervous. Eyes too wide and fingers gripping too tight. Forming bruises and holding on, holding on. “And what are we?”
Jensen’s heart catches in his throat. He swallows it down. Forces it to submit. But in the end, he knows. Oh, he knows. “Best friends,” he whispers, lips and words sliding against Jared’s jaw. A gentle rock of his hips that has Jared quietly gasping and arching up. “Lovers.” He moves slowly. Slides down to press his mouth and tongue to sharp curves and tan skin.
Jared growls softly under the touch. Tenses and rolls, pinning Jensen to the sheets and drinking from his mouth like a man dying in the desert. His hands map planes across skin and move down, tugging at the waist of Jensen’s boxers. “Samson and Delilah?”
“Everything,” Jensen gasps, shivering and embracing. “In love. And everything. This is us. Don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks. They can write what they want in the history books. Ain’t no one going to know us like we know us.”
“Mmm,” Jared hums against the skin of his shoulder, licking soft and biting sharp. “That’s alright then.”
^^^
Comments improve the writer's ability to write. ♥