(no subject)
Title: on my way to you
Author: mijmeraar
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: R [but mostly just for language]
AN: Approx 3,800 words. SCHMOOP. OMG is there schmoop. This is really different for me, is strongly narrative, and yeah. Is SCHMOOP. Feedback is love, even if you didn’t like it and want to tell me why.
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Jensen’s back from Richardson; hands rough from too much real work, and heart aching from not enough. Everything’s how he left it: photos crooked on the wall, milk rancid in the fridge. Everything’s the same, nothings changed, except for a matchbox on the coffee table and Jared’s scrawl emblazoned on the front. come find me.
Jensen looks over his shoulder, knowing Jared, knowing Jared’s idea of funny. Funny is Jensen with egg on his face, and sometimes that’s known to be literal. There’s no other print on the box, no sign of what it means, but Jensen’s already got it figured out.
Mike’s drunk. Tom’s Tom. Jensen wonders why he agreed to this.
“Why did I agree to this?” he asks no-one in particular, and Jared giggles into his beer. His shoulders are hunched and his hair is in his face and he’s flipping a matchbox against the table, burned out. Jared’s a good kid, free and easy and a mile a minute; still unmarked by the claws of Hollywood. Up til now, Jared’s barely had the mind to stay still. He’s probably never had the mind to stay still. Jensen usually hates that about people. He doesn’t here.
Jared’s not obnoxious, he doesn’t say ‘homeboy’ and he hasn’t slapped Jensen’s ass jovially like they’re team mates on a football team; as soon as Jared had said ‘friends’ and ‘Chad Michael Murray’ that had pretty much been his take on the kid. Turns out, Jensen’s up to his gonads in humble pie. With the pilot being picked up, and eight hours sleep just a distant memory, that’s probably a good thing.
“Let’s not get into this Jenny,” Mike says with mock solemnity, shaking his head before throwing it back, taking another shot.
“Into what?”
“That whole bitch and moan, I’m too good for this, I want to go play shuffleboard, crap. When really, deep, deep, down in that big, buried heart of yours, there’s a song playing just for me and Tommy.”
“A song, huh? How does it go?”
“Can’t say. Top secret. Except, well, think Mariah Carey’s ‘Hero’ meets Bette Midler’s ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’.”
Sprawled, half catatonic on his seat, Tom starts howling like a werewolf, “Did you ever know that you’re my hero? You’re everything I would like to be …”
Jared snorts beer from his nose and Jensen can just tell. This night will end badly and it will somehow be his fault because he’s supposed to be respectable and responsible and all those other R words girls used to use to dump him. They’re on somebody else’s watch now, both of them, and so they’re in this together. Jared’s his business, now.
“I think Jared’s had enough induction, don’t you Mike? I think I should get the boy a cab and get him back to his hotel room.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem Jensen. You think.”
Jared’s looking over, bleary eyed, swaying really slowly like he’s trying to keep up with the room. His cheeks are flushed pink and his lips are glossy with Jack, and Jensen maybe smiles, right out of the blue. “Hey, man, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“Sorry.” Jensen can’t get to his feet quick enough, over to Jared, trying to pull him up by the armpits. “’s my job now, little brother. Let’s get you some air.”
It takes him a good half hour to get Jared on his feet, what with the boys and their lyrical protests [and then a hero comes along, with the strength to carry on] and the fact that Jared’s taller than Shaquille O-fucking-Neill. They abandon the Hardy Brothers inside and Jared strolls out of his own accord, fumbling slowly behind Jensen, his jacket back on, one arm at a time.
Jensen rests a cigarette loosely between his lips, patting down his pockets to try and find a lighter. Every now and then he won’t bring one along, under the long standing semblance of ‘going to quit’, so he moves to abandon the venture when Jared strikes a match, the orange flare ripping a hole in the dark, cold sky.
Jared just holds it there, no witty remarks, no ‘tell me about it, stud’ he just stands and waits and is. Jensen leans forward, cigarette still in his mouth, and privately wonders just how often Jared Padalecki will play amongst his vices. “How many words do you think we got in? All up?”
Jared shrugs and makes a humming noise, matchbox back in his pocket. “25?”
“Yeah, that’s what I was going to say.”
“Doesn’t matter, man. We’ve got plenty of time.”
Jensen exhales and Jared isn’t bothered by the smoky cloud, just looking down at Jensen with this warm, sugar grin, and it’s been a long time since anyone in this business has smiled at him and meant it. “Yeah. Plenty of time. Cool. But, just in case Teen Dream or Prom Queen call and want an interview, you know, all ‘so tell us what Jared Padalecki is really like’. Well, what do I tell ‘em?”
Jared laughs like a girl, but Jensen needs more than that. “I donno. The truth. Tell ‘em the truth. Tell ‘em I’m a Texas boy. Tell ‘em I was homesick ‘til I met you.”
Jensen dials Jared’s number and fondles the matchbox absently, listening as it rings on through, click, Jared’s voice spun low and coarse, You’re pretty, Jensen, not stupid. I’m the director now. Come find me, click. Jensen’s shocked, a fish with a hook in his lip, open shut and open shut until finally,
“What the hell is this, orienteering? I’ve been plenty of things in my time, Jared, but a boy scout isn’t one of them. Call me back or you’ll be going to bed without any supper.”
Fifteen minutes and twenty two seconds later, Jensen’s in his car and on his way to the bar. Supper he can do without, but it’s been a whole week with no Jared - no touching, kissing, fucking until they forget their own names, forget everything except each other - and he’s not waiting idly around for that. His mind, body, everything can’t take it. His right hand surely can’t take it.
Joe’s, the two bit bar that had originally been Mikey’s idea, was already starting to fill up at six in the evening. Jensen scans the crowds, twice, knowing damn well that Jared isn’t hard to spot. Jensen’s come all this way, jeans straining with the weight of it, and he’s not here. He’s not here. Just moments from leaving the bastard a very colourful message, a blonde, buxom waitress with teeth bright enough to read by, approaches him.
“Mr. Ackles.” It isn’t a question. “I was asked to make sure this got to you.” She passes him a neatly folded handkerchief, red with the shape of Texas stitched along the front in white thread, a small piece of paper fluttering out when he unfolds it. Jared’s handwriting again, I’m waiting, and Jensen clutches the cloth tight, unable to hold back his smile.
It’s their first day off in three weeks and Jared has brought him to a -
“Hot Dog Stand? This is the meal you so badly needed to share with me? This is the reason why I’m not unconscious?”
“Jensen - ”
“I could be waist deep in Carmen Electra right now and instead I’m standing here smelling pig nose and horse hoof.”
Jared giggles, hand firm around his shoulder, trying to nudge him ever closer to the cart. Jensen knows this sweet ol’ Texas, rodeo clown, take it easy shtick is all an act. He knows nobody can be such a boy and so damn nice all at the one time. Not even Jared. And yet. And yet here he is, on the side of the road, in front of a Hot Dog cart. Hot Dog’s for fucks sake.
“Jen, we both know what this is about. You’re worried for your delicate figure. Don’t you fret; the ten hours in the gym will be totally worth it. Trust me. Best hot dogs you’ll ever have.”
“Well that won’t be hard. I don’t eat hotdogs.”
“Beg yours?”
“Don’t eat ‘em. Pig nose? Horse hoof?” Jared’s got his big, brown, doe eyes running laps up and down Jensen’s body, Jensen squirming under the pressure of it, finally biting, “What?”
“You really are a giant girl.”
“Watch who you’re calling giant, Andre.” Jensen’s well aware that he’s being a bitch and he knows it isn’t Jared’s fault, but he can’t help it. And when Jared just laughs again, throws an arm over his shoulder, he can’t help the way his blood quickly rushes south, either. Jared orders a hot dog with the lot and Jensen doesn’t make a joke about his or anyone else’s penis because he’s got to put this thing in his mouth and no. That’s way too much ammo.
He takes a bite because he’s a big boy, because he won’t live it down if he doesn’t. He takes a bite and he’s all geared up for gagging except. Except.
“Fuck, man.” His mother always told him not to talk with his mouth full. So these days he does it a lot. He’s prone to do a lot of things a well mannered Christian boy wouldn’t do.
“Good?”
“Good?” It’s better than the first time he sunk his teeth into his mama’s home made burgers, all meat and juice and fuck. Jensen takes another bite and doesn’t care that Jared’s laughing at him right now.
“I told you. I told you.” Jared orders himself the same, gorges it down in one and a half bites, Jensen still savouring it, still trying to decide whether or not he’s Man enough to admit he wants another.
“That was awesome.”
“I can tell.” Jared’s looking at him with his lip quirked up, pulling a bright red handkerchief from his pocket and stepping forward, arm raised in his direction.
“Whoa, hold up Grandma Walton.”
“You have mustard, just- ” Jared steps forward and Jensen steps back and Jared’s got him beat with the long strides, one hand through Jensen’s hair to tug his head back, the other brushing mustard from his chin. Jensen tries to laugh and can’t and Jared doesn’t move, just stares at Jensen and licks his lips, as if he’s going to take Jensen in one and a half bites, too.
“People are watching,” Jensen says, and then realises that he isn’t saying no, that the way his voice dips and breaks is actually ‘yesyesyes’. Jared has the hem of his shirt and is pulling him along and Jensen’s just scuffing his shoes behind him, just letting himself be led.
When they’re somewhere else and it’s quiet and it’s dark, Jensen’s back is slammed against a wall and Jared’s mouth is slammed against his own. It’s all rough and rugged until Jensen pulls away, says ‘easy, cowboy’ and slows it down. They kiss like boys do, hungry and hopeful, and its three hundred flavours, three hundred kinds of right. Jensen doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t say her name, he just kisses back.
He just wonders what he’s in for.
He’s back across town, record time, and the hot dog stand is closing up. They’ve been back so many times now, hell, they’ve made out so many times now, that Jensen had almost forgotten that fateful evening. Maybe that’s what all this shit is about. Maybe Jared’s trying to say: don’t forget. Don’t waste it.
Jensen’s the fuck now, talk later kind of guy. Jared likes bells and whistles.
When he approaches the cart the man’s shaking his head, his bottom lip stuck out and “No, no, no,” without even looking Jensen’s way.
“I’m sorry, I just, I was just wondering if you had something of mine?”
The guy looks over and cocks an eyebrow and Jensen scratches at his forehead with a thumb. Hot Dog Man narrows his eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Uh.” Jensen doesn’t like strangers. Even the ones who made kick ass hot dogs. “Uh. Jensen.”
“Ackles?”
“Can’t be too many of those around, hey?” he jokes, a not-amused-just-trying-to-break-the-ice Dean laugh, but the hot dog guy says nothing, just passes him a plain white envelope. Jared’s hand. come get me. Jensen coughs. The cheeky little fucker is going to pay for this.
Jensen gets back in his car before opening the envelope, a key on a ring, the number 6 attached. Jensen smiles to himself, because he knows exactly where he’s going, doesn’t even need the other clue inside the envelope.
Jared doesn’t understand tact.
Jensen’s constantly ripping Jared’s hands off of him, grumbling ‘Tact, Jared’ low and gritty, and Jared just looks at him, face a vacant lot, saying,
“Tacked to what?”
Jensen’s lounged in his make up chair, Jeannie telling him about her weekend and how drunk her stupid boyfriend was and is it normal for guys to want to swap underwear every time they’d been hitting the sauce a little too hard?
“Totally,” Jared interrupts, coming over to sit on the bench before Jensen, his leg’s spread so that they circle Jensen’s own. Jeannie doesn’t seem fazed by the gesture, her attention on Jared as she flicks a comb haphazardly through Jensen’s Dean hair. “I mean, Sandy has these awesome little knickers with cherries all over them and come on. I mean, why would I deprive anybody of seeing me in those?”
Jensen rolls his eyes but Jeannie laughs, because girls tend to do that around Jared. “You’re just making fun of me now.”
“And Jensen, Jensen likes to get a little frilly when the mood hits him. I’ve seen him in Victoria’s Secret more times than I’d like to remember.”
“Shut up ass face.”
“Your kind words warm me.”
“Can we agree my boyfriend’s a freak show and move on, now?”
“Please.” Jensen knocks his knee out to hit Jared’s own, to say tact Jared, goddamnit, tact, and Jared’s eyes say tacked to what? Actually, they say something a lot less fit for public and Jensen feels like an ant under a magnifying glass. Jared’s staring at him, as if he’s a fireworks display, while yanking his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Something the matter?”
Jared nods stiffly. “Yeah. Well, no. Are you free tonight?”
Jensen jolts, Jeannie’s comb scratching his scalp and he lets out a string of curse words while Jared just giggles inanely, slapping his thigh. That settles it. Jared’s getting a dictionary for Christmas and Jensen’s highlighting all the words that can be loosely defined as ‘stop being so fucking obvious’.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Jared doesn’t make any suggestive gestures for the rest of the day, dedicated to the work load, until they finish shooting and Jensen gets a text message with the name of a hotel, a room number and the time he is obviously expected to be there by. He tries to find Jared on set, but he’s long gone, and he tries to call his cell, but it’s off.
Jensen’s pretty. He’s not stupid. He knows why naughty boys go to hotel rooms. He knows that he can be as stubborn as a mule; but he’s not denying Jared anything. Let alone this. He beelines it all the way to the hotel, his head, shoulders, knees and toes shaking. His dick rock solid with anticipation. He takes no notice of his surroundings, of the walls and doors and people. He’s just looking for the number 6 and looking to finally, finally get laid.
Stupid goddamn schedules.
Jared opens the door, wearing fresh clothes; the jeans Jensen has since given his approval of, and a t-shirt that hugs all the right places. Jensen smirks.
“Thank God. I was half expecting you in cherry covered underwear.”
“That could be arranged.”
Jensen pushes past him and into the foyer. “A hotel Jared? What am I now, a hooker?”
Jared laughs and closes the door; closes the gap between them until there’s barely room to breathe. “You feel like a Pretty Woman, Jen?”
“I feel like fucking. Is that what I’m here for?”
“Such the romantic.”
Jensen doesn’t care because he knows Jared doesn’t either, just kisses the bastard to shut him up, except not just that. Kisses him because he wants and needs so badly and he can never get enough. Hell, he never gets enough. They don’t talk as they make their way towards a horizontal surface, just communicating with their lips and mouths and tongue and every time Jared nips at him like that Jensen hears ‘could do this always’.
The kiss suddenly breaks, not of Jensen’s accord, and he’s bleary eyed, looking around, trying to figure out where he is. The bedroom.
“Holy shit.”
The room looks like it’s on fire. Everything’s covered in plain white candles, aglow, like that first match Jared struck, their own little refuge in the night. It looks like a place of worship, and Jensen thinks, thank God. Thank God for Jared.
“You’re not going to propose to me, are you?”
Jared laughs. “Not exactly.”
“Well.” He clears his throat, his eyes only misty from looking at the flames too long, and that’s all. His gaze snaps to Jared. “What is this, then?”
“I needed the right setting.” Jared’s voice is low and raw and open. “I needed to butter you up.”
“That can be arranged,” Jensen mocks. Jared doesn’t giggle. He’s just smiling; his arms still hooked around Jensen’s back, his head dipped, keeping eye contact. “What Jared. What’s this for?”
“I needed to tell you.” He holds Jensen tighter and his mouth is at Jensen’s ear. “I needed to tell you I love you.”
Jensen doesn’t reply, just lifts his head and kisses Jared slow, saying things his own words can’t. He smirks, says “Would have been cheaper to send a card,” and Jared pushes him down on the bed.
He wakes up with a hundred dollars on his bedside table.
Jensen nervously fumbles with the key, trying to get it to fit in the lock, but his mind too busy on other things. What the hell has Jared cooked up in there? Why did Jensen have to trek around town only to get here? Surely Jared wasn’t going to propose? Surely he wasn’t that far gone.
Then again.
Jensen walks in, only to find that Jared has been out buying candles again. They cast a strong light, Jensen able to see where he’s walking, to see all the photos stuck to the walls. He stops when he finally realises what they are. Pictures of him and Jared. Personal ones, public ones; from filming, from network parties, from that time they went camping and Jensen got bitten by a hundred different bugs and Jared spent the better part of a day covering him in calamine. Pictures everywhere.
“Jared?”
There’s no response. Jensen follows the trail of candles, looking at all the pictures as he goes; smiling, laughing, some of them he hasn’t seen for almost a year. The bedroom door is slightly ajar, and Jensen gently pushes it open, saying “Jared?” low and scratchy, his voice defying him.
Jared’s on his stomach, lying naked on the bed, and Jensen’s breath catches in his throat. Better than anything he could ever capture with a camera. Long limbs and lines and panes of Texas skin, sinuous muscle and sleek hair that Jensen knows every inch of. Backward, forwards, end to end. Every single thing. “Jared?”
He’s asleep.
Chuckling, Jensen shucks off his jacket, toes off his boots, and heads over to the bed, crawling along Jared on all fours, trailing chaste kisses from knee to neck. “Jared,” he whispers, breathy, moving tendrils of Jared’s hair. Jared murmurs sleepily and Jensen rolls his eyes. Raises his voice,
“Up and at ‘em Romeo.”
Jared startles awake, kicking his leg, sending Jensen flying off him with an oomph and fuckinghelljared. “Jensen? Oh, shit, crap, I fell asleep.”
“No kidding?”
“Oh, crap, sorry. That’s not how I had planned it.” Now it’s Jared who crawls on top of Jensen, in all his naked glory, his kicked puppy expression still in good form.
“So long as we get to the best bit.”
Jared leans in and kisses him, tastes like lemon and mint. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Jensen shuffles into a comfortable position, his hands resting at Jared’s waist.
“You found me.”
“Of course I did.”
“I knew you weren’t stupid.”
“Thanks very much.”
Jared kisses him again, eager, his dick quickly joining in. Jensen feels trapped in his clothes, in his own skin, and he just wants to be naked, just wants to be, but first. First.
“Jared. What’s going on? Are you pregnant?”
“Ass. Don’t you know? Can’t you figure it out?”
“Apparently I’m prettier than I look.”
Jared kisses at Jensen’s neck, his hands ploughing up through Jensen’s hair. “It’s been a year, Jensen. A year today.”
“Since, since what?” Jensen bucks into him, wraps a leg around him, really can’t handle all this conversation. “Not since we were here? Not since that night? It’s been longer than that.”
“No, idiot.” Jared’s giggling again. Their erections are pressed together, they're on the starting blocks to absolution, and he’s giggling. Jensen doesn’t hate it. He doesn’t hate anything any more. Bloody Jared.
“It’s been a year since you told me you loved me.”
Jensen smirks, then smiles, then laughs.
Jared’s misty eyed and tongue tied, looking up at Jensen with his mouth agape. He’s just sitting there, flipping page after page, no sounds, no noise, just them.
“You did this?” he croaks, and he can’t take his eyes off the book on his lap, and his hands are shaking like he’s handling priceless jewels. Jensen goes to sit beside him, curl a hand around his thigh. Jared moves into the touch, glances at Jensen, glances back.
“You did this for me? Why? What’s it for?”
Jensen smirks. “I needed to butter you up.”
Jared’s head flicks over and his eyes are like saucers and he knows where this is going. He remembers things better then Jensen. He closes the photo album, photo upon photo of the both of them together, and later Jensen will gloat about how long it took him to rally them all up. To put it together. Later.
Now, he smiles and says “I love you,” and it’s been a long time coming.
Their journeys weren’t the same, but all the little pieces brought them where they're meant to be.
Head buried in Jared’s neck, Jensen wraps his arms right around and holds on for dear life.
-end-
Author: mijmeraar
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: R [but mostly just for language]
AN: Approx 3,800 words. SCHMOOP. OMG is there schmoop. This is really different for me, is strongly narrative, and yeah. Is SCHMOOP. Feedback is love, even if you didn’t like it and want to tell me why.
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Jensen’s back from Richardson; hands rough from too much real work, and heart aching from not enough. Everything’s how he left it: photos crooked on the wall, milk rancid in the fridge. Everything’s the same, nothings changed, except for a matchbox on the coffee table and Jared’s scrawl emblazoned on the front. come find me.
Jensen looks over his shoulder, knowing Jared, knowing Jared’s idea of funny. Funny is Jensen with egg on his face, and sometimes that’s known to be literal. There’s no other print on the box, no sign of what it means, but Jensen’s already got it figured out.
Mike’s drunk. Tom’s Tom. Jensen wonders why he agreed to this.
“Why did I agree to this?” he asks no-one in particular, and Jared giggles into his beer. His shoulders are hunched and his hair is in his face and he’s flipping a matchbox against the table, burned out. Jared’s a good kid, free and easy and a mile a minute; still unmarked by the claws of Hollywood. Up til now, Jared’s barely had the mind to stay still. He’s probably never had the mind to stay still. Jensen usually hates that about people. He doesn’t here.
Jared’s not obnoxious, he doesn’t say ‘homeboy’ and he hasn’t slapped Jensen’s ass jovially like they’re team mates on a football team; as soon as Jared had said ‘friends’ and ‘Chad Michael Murray’ that had pretty much been his take on the kid. Turns out, Jensen’s up to his gonads in humble pie. With the pilot being picked up, and eight hours sleep just a distant memory, that’s probably a good thing.
“Let’s not get into this Jenny,” Mike says with mock solemnity, shaking his head before throwing it back, taking another shot.
“Into what?”
“That whole bitch and moan, I’m too good for this, I want to go play shuffleboard, crap. When really, deep, deep, down in that big, buried heart of yours, there’s a song playing just for me and Tommy.”
“A song, huh? How does it go?”
“Can’t say. Top secret. Except, well, think Mariah Carey’s ‘Hero’ meets Bette Midler’s ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’.”
Sprawled, half catatonic on his seat, Tom starts howling like a werewolf, “Did you ever know that you’re my hero? You’re everything I would like to be …”
Jared snorts beer from his nose and Jensen can just tell. This night will end badly and it will somehow be his fault because he’s supposed to be respectable and responsible and all those other R words girls used to use to dump him. They’re on somebody else’s watch now, both of them, and so they’re in this together. Jared’s his business, now.
“I think Jared’s had enough induction, don’t you Mike? I think I should get the boy a cab and get him back to his hotel room.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem Jensen. You think.”
Jared’s looking over, bleary eyed, swaying really slowly like he’s trying to keep up with the room. His cheeks are flushed pink and his lips are glossy with Jack, and Jensen maybe smiles, right out of the blue. “Hey, man, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“Sorry.” Jensen can’t get to his feet quick enough, over to Jared, trying to pull him up by the armpits. “’s my job now, little brother. Let’s get you some air.”
It takes him a good half hour to get Jared on his feet, what with the boys and their lyrical protests [and then a hero comes along, with the strength to carry on] and the fact that Jared’s taller than Shaquille O-fucking-Neill. They abandon the Hardy Brothers inside and Jared strolls out of his own accord, fumbling slowly behind Jensen, his jacket back on, one arm at a time.
Jensen rests a cigarette loosely between his lips, patting down his pockets to try and find a lighter. Every now and then he won’t bring one along, under the long standing semblance of ‘going to quit’, so he moves to abandon the venture when Jared strikes a match, the orange flare ripping a hole in the dark, cold sky.
Jared just holds it there, no witty remarks, no ‘tell me about it, stud’ he just stands and waits and is. Jensen leans forward, cigarette still in his mouth, and privately wonders just how often Jared Padalecki will play amongst his vices. “How many words do you think we got in? All up?”
Jared shrugs and makes a humming noise, matchbox back in his pocket. “25?”
“Yeah, that’s what I was going to say.”
“Doesn’t matter, man. We’ve got plenty of time.”
Jensen exhales and Jared isn’t bothered by the smoky cloud, just looking down at Jensen with this warm, sugar grin, and it’s been a long time since anyone in this business has smiled at him and meant it. “Yeah. Plenty of time. Cool. But, just in case Teen Dream or Prom Queen call and want an interview, you know, all ‘so tell us what Jared Padalecki is really like’. Well, what do I tell ‘em?”
Jared laughs like a girl, but Jensen needs more than that. “I donno. The truth. Tell ‘em the truth. Tell ‘em I’m a Texas boy. Tell ‘em I was homesick ‘til I met you.”
Jensen dials Jared’s number and fondles the matchbox absently, listening as it rings on through, click, Jared’s voice spun low and coarse, You’re pretty, Jensen, not stupid. I’m the director now. Come find me, click. Jensen’s shocked, a fish with a hook in his lip, open shut and open shut until finally,
“What the hell is this, orienteering? I’ve been plenty of things in my time, Jared, but a boy scout isn’t one of them. Call me back or you’ll be going to bed without any supper.”
Fifteen minutes and twenty two seconds later, Jensen’s in his car and on his way to the bar. Supper he can do without, but it’s been a whole week with no Jared - no touching, kissing, fucking until they forget their own names, forget everything except each other - and he’s not waiting idly around for that. His mind, body, everything can’t take it. His right hand surely can’t take it.
Joe’s, the two bit bar that had originally been Mikey’s idea, was already starting to fill up at six in the evening. Jensen scans the crowds, twice, knowing damn well that Jared isn’t hard to spot. Jensen’s come all this way, jeans straining with the weight of it, and he’s not here. He’s not here. Just moments from leaving the bastard a very colourful message, a blonde, buxom waitress with teeth bright enough to read by, approaches him.
“Mr. Ackles.” It isn’t a question. “I was asked to make sure this got to you.” She passes him a neatly folded handkerchief, red with the shape of Texas stitched along the front in white thread, a small piece of paper fluttering out when he unfolds it. Jared’s handwriting again, I’m waiting, and Jensen clutches the cloth tight, unable to hold back his smile.
It’s their first day off in three weeks and Jared has brought him to a -
“Hot Dog Stand? This is the meal you so badly needed to share with me? This is the reason why I’m not unconscious?”
“Jensen - ”
“I could be waist deep in Carmen Electra right now and instead I’m standing here smelling pig nose and horse hoof.”
Jared giggles, hand firm around his shoulder, trying to nudge him ever closer to the cart. Jensen knows this sweet ol’ Texas, rodeo clown, take it easy shtick is all an act. He knows nobody can be such a boy and so damn nice all at the one time. Not even Jared. And yet. And yet here he is, on the side of the road, in front of a Hot Dog cart. Hot Dog’s for fucks sake.
“Jen, we both know what this is about. You’re worried for your delicate figure. Don’t you fret; the ten hours in the gym will be totally worth it. Trust me. Best hot dogs you’ll ever have.”
“Well that won’t be hard. I don’t eat hotdogs.”
“Beg yours?”
“Don’t eat ‘em. Pig nose? Horse hoof?” Jared’s got his big, brown, doe eyes running laps up and down Jensen’s body, Jensen squirming under the pressure of it, finally biting, “What?”
“You really are a giant girl.”
“Watch who you’re calling giant, Andre.” Jensen’s well aware that he’s being a bitch and he knows it isn’t Jared’s fault, but he can’t help it. And when Jared just laughs again, throws an arm over his shoulder, he can’t help the way his blood quickly rushes south, either. Jared orders a hot dog with the lot and Jensen doesn’t make a joke about his or anyone else’s penis because he’s got to put this thing in his mouth and no. That’s way too much ammo.
He takes a bite because he’s a big boy, because he won’t live it down if he doesn’t. He takes a bite and he’s all geared up for gagging except. Except.
“Fuck, man.” His mother always told him not to talk with his mouth full. So these days he does it a lot. He’s prone to do a lot of things a well mannered Christian boy wouldn’t do.
“Good?”
“Good?” It’s better than the first time he sunk his teeth into his mama’s home made burgers, all meat and juice and fuck. Jensen takes another bite and doesn’t care that Jared’s laughing at him right now.
“I told you. I told you.” Jared orders himself the same, gorges it down in one and a half bites, Jensen still savouring it, still trying to decide whether or not he’s Man enough to admit he wants another.
“That was awesome.”
“I can tell.” Jared’s looking at him with his lip quirked up, pulling a bright red handkerchief from his pocket and stepping forward, arm raised in his direction.
“Whoa, hold up Grandma Walton.”
“You have mustard, just- ” Jared steps forward and Jensen steps back and Jared’s got him beat with the long strides, one hand through Jensen’s hair to tug his head back, the other brushing mustard from his chin. Jensen tries to laugh and can’t and Jared doesn’t move, just stares at Jensen and licks his lips, as if he’s going to take Jensen in one and a half bites, too.
“People are watching,” Jensen says, and then realises that he isn’t saying no, that the way his voice dips and breaks is actually ‘yesyesyes’. Jared has the hem of his shirt and is pulling him along and Jensen’s just scuffing his shoes behind him, just letting himself be led.
When they’re somewhere else and it’s quiet and it’s dark, Jensen’s back is slammed against a wall and Jared’s mouth is slammed against his own. It’s all rough and rugged until Jensen pulls away, says ‘easy, cowboy’ and slows it down. They kiss like boys do, hungry and hopeful, and its three hundred flavours, three hundred kinds of right. Jensen doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t say her name, he just kisses back.
He just wonders what he’s in for.
He’s back across town, record time, and the hot dog stand is closing up. They’ve been back so many times now, hell, they’ve made out so many times now, that Jensen had almost forgotten that fateful evening. Maybe that’s what all this shit is about. Maybe Jared’s trying to say: don’t forget. Don’t waste it.
Jensen’s the fuck now, talk later kind of guy. Jared likes bells and whistles.
When he approaches the cart the man’s shaking his head, his bottom lip stuck out and “No, no, no,” without even looking Jensen’s way.
“I’m sorry, I just, I was just wondering if you had something of mine?”
The guy looks over and cocks an eyebrow and Jensen scratches at his forehead with a thumb. Hot Dog Man narrows his eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Uh.” Jensen doesn’t like strangers. Even the ones who made kick ass hot dogs. “Uh. Jensen.”
“Ackles?”
“Can’t be too many of those around, hey?” he jokes, a not-amused-just-trying-to-break-the-ice Dean laugh, but the hot dog guy says nothing, just passes him a plain white envelope. Jared’s hand. come get me. Jensen coughs. The cheeky little fucker is going to pay for this.
Jensen gets back in his car before opening the envelope, a key on a ring, the number 6 attached. Jensen smiles to himself, because he knows exactly where he’s going, doesn’t even need the other clue inside the envelope.
Jared doesn’t understand tact.
Jensen’s constantly ripping Jared’s hands off of him, grumbling ‘Tact, Jared’ low and gritty, and Jared just looks at him, face a vacant lot, saying,
“Tacked to what?”
Jensen’s lounged in his make up chair, Jeannie telling him about her weekend and how drunk her stupid boyfriend was and is it normal for guys to want to swap underwear every time they’d been hitting the sauce a little too hard?
“Totally,” Jared interrupts, coming over to sit on the bench before Jensen, his leg’s spread so that they circle Jensen’s own. Jeannie doesn’t seem fazed by the gesture, her attention on Jared as she flicks a comb haphazardly through Jensen’s Dean hair. “I mean, Sandy has these awesome little knickers with cherries all over them and come on. I mean, why would I deprive anybody of seeing me in those?”
Jensen rolls his eyes but Jeannie laughs, because girls tend to do that around Jared. “You’re just making fun of me now.”
“And Jensen, Jensen likes to get a little frilly when the mood hits him. I’ve seen him in Victoria’s Secret more times than I’d like to remember.”
“Shut up ass face.”
“Your kind words warm me.”
“Can we agree my boyfriend’s a freak show and move on, now?”
“Please.” Jensen knocks his knee out to hit Jared’s own, to say tact Jared, goddamnit, tact, and Jared’s eyes say tacked to what? Actually, they say something a lot less fit for public and Jensen feels like an ant under a magnifying glass. Jared’s staring at him, as if he’s a fireworks display, while yanking his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Something the matter?”
Jared nods stiffly. “Yeah. Well, no. Are you free tonight?”
Jensen jolts, Jeannie’s comb scratching his scalp and he lets out a string of curse words while Jared just giggles inanely, slapping his thigh. That settles it. Jared’s getting a dictionary for Christmas and Jensen’s highlighting all the words that can be loosely defined as ‘stop being so fucking obvious’.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Jared doesn’t make any suggestive gestures for the rest of the day, dedicated to the work load, until they finish shooting and Jensen gets a text message with the name of a hotel, a room number and the time he is obviously expected to be there by. He tries to find Jared on set, but he’s long gone, and he tries to call his cell, but it’s off.
Jensen’s pretty. He’s not stupid. He knows why naughty boys go to hotel rooms. He knows that he can be as stubborn as a mule; but he’s not denying Jared anything. Let alone this. He beelines it all the way to the hotel, his head, shoulders, knees and toes shaking. His dick rock solid with anticipation. He takes no notice of his surroundings, of the walls and doors and people. He’s just looking for the number 6 and looking to finally, finally get laid.
Stupid goddamn schedules.
Jared opens the door, wearing fresh clothes; the jeans Jensen has since given his approval of, and a t-shirt that hugs all the right places. Jensen smirks.
“Thank God. I was half expecting you in cherry covered underwear.”
“That could be arranged.”
Jensen pushes past him and into the foyer. “A hotel Jared? What am I now, a hooker?”
Jared laughs and closes the door; closes the gap between them until there’s barely room to breathe. “You feel like a Pretty Woman, Jen?”
“I feel like fucking. Is that what I’m here for?”
“Such the romantic.”
Jensen doesn’t care because he knows Jared doesn’t either, just kisses the bastard to shut him up, except not just that. Kisses him because he wants and needs so badly and he can never get enough. Hell, he never gets enough. They don’t talk as they make their way towards a horizontal surface, just communicating with their lips and mouths and tongue and every time Jared nips at him like that Jensen hears ‘could do this always’.
The kiss suddenly breaks, not of Jensen’s accord, and he’s bleary eyed, looking around, trying to figure out where he is. The bedroom.
“Holy shit.”
The room looks like it’s on fire. Everything’s covered in plain white candles, aglow, like that first match Jared struck, their own little refuge in the night. It looks like a place of worship, and Jensen thinks, thank God. Thank God for Jared.
“You’re not going to propose to me, are you?”
Jared laughs. “Not exactly.”
“Well.” He clears his throat, his eyes only misty from looking at the flames too long, and that’s all. His gaze snaps to Jared. “What is this, then?”
“I needed the right setting.” Jared’s voice is low and raw and open. “I needed to butter you up.”
“That can be arranged,” Jensen mocks. Jared doesn’t giggle. He’s just smiling; his arms still hooked around Jensen’s back, his head dipped, keeping eye contact. “What Jared. What’s this for?”
“I needed to tell you.” He holds Jensen tighter and his mouth is at Jensen’s ear. “I needed to tell you I love you.”
Jensen doesn’t reply, just lifts his head and kisses Jared slow, saying things his own words can’t. He smirks, says “Would have been cheaper to send a card,” and Jared pushes him down on the bed.
He wakes up with a hundred dollars on his bedside table.
Jensen nervously fumbles with the key, trying to get it to fit in the lock, but his mind too busy on other things. What the hell has Jared cooked up in there? Why did Jensen have to trek around town only to get here? Surely Jared wasn’t going to propose? Surely he wasn’t that far gone.
Then again.
Jensen walks in, only to find that Jared has been out buying candles again. They cast a strong light, Jensen able to see where he’s walking, to see all the photos stuck to the walls. He stops when he finally realises what they are. Pictures of him and Jared. Personal ones, public ones; from filming, from network parties, from that time they went camping and Jensen got bitten by a hundred different bugs and Jared spent the better part of a day covering him in calamine. Pictures everywhere.
“Jared?”
There’s no response. Jensen follows the trail of candles, looking at all the pictures as he goes; smiling, laughing, some of them he hasn’t seen for almost a year. The bedroom door is slightly ajar, and Jensen gently pushes it open, saying “Jared?” low and scratchy, his voice defying him.
Jared’s on his stomach, lying naked on the bed, and Jensen’s breath catches in his throat. Better than anything he could ever capture with a camera. Long limbs and lines and panes of Texas skin, sinuous muscle and sleek hair that Jensen knows every inch of. Backward, forwards, end to end. Every single thing. “Jared?”
He’s asleep.
Chuckling, Jensen shucks off his jacket, toes off his boots, and heads over to the bed, crawling along Jared on all fours, trailing chaste kisses from knee to neck. “Jared,” he whispers, breathy, moving tendrils of Jared’s hair. Jared murmurs sleepily and Jensen rolls his eyes. Raises his voice,
“Up and at ‘em Romeo.”
Jared startles awake, kicking his leg, sending Jensen flying off him with an oomph and fuckinghelljared. “Jensen? Oh, shit, crap, I fell asleep.”
“No kidding?”
“Oh, crap, sorry. That’s not how I had planned it.” Now it’s Jared who crawls on top of Jensen, in all his naked glory, his kicked puppy expression still in good form.
“So long as we get to the best bit.”
Jared leans in and kisses him, tastes like lemon and mint. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Jensen shuffles into a comfortable position, his hands resting at Jared’s waist.
“You found me.”
“Of course I did.”
“I knew you weren’t stupid.”
“Thanks very much.”
Jared kisses him again, eager, his dick quickly joining in. Jensen feels trapped in his clothes, in his own skin, and he just wants to be naked, just wants to be, but first. First.
“Jared. What’s going on? Are you pregnant?”
“Ass. Don’t you know? Can’t you figure it out?”
“Apparently I’m prettier than I look.”
Jared kisses at Jensen’s neck, his hands ploughing up through Jensen’s hair. “It’s been a year, Jensen. A year today.”
“Since, since what?” Jensen bucks into him, wraps a leg around him, really can’t handle all this conversation. “Not since we were here? Not since that night? It’s been longer than that.”
“No, idiot.” Jared’s giggling again. Their erections are pressed together, they're on the starting blocks to absolution, and he’s giggling. Jensen doesn’t hate it. He doesn’t hate anything any more. Bloody Jared.
“It’s been a year since you told me you loved me.”
Jensen smirks, then smiles, then laughs.
Jared’s misty eyed and tongue tied, looking up at Jensen with his mouth agape. He’s just sitting there, flipping page after page, no sounds, no noise, just them.
“You did this?” he croaks, and he can’t take his eyes off the book on his lap, and his hands are shaking like he’s handling priceless jewels. Jensen goes to sit beside him, curl a hand around his thigh. Jared moves into the touch, glances at Jensen, glances back.
“You did this for me? Why? What’s it for?”
Jensen smirks. “I needed to butter you up.”
Jared’s head flicks over and his eyes are like saucers and he knows where this is going. He remembers things better then Jensen. He closes the photo album, photo upon photo of the both of them together, and later Jensen will gloat about how long it took him to rally them all up. To put it together. Later.
Now, he smiles and says “I love you,” and it’s been a long time coming.
Their journeys weren’t the same, but all the little pieces brought them where they're meant to be.
Head buried in Jared’s neck, Jensen wraps his arms right around and holds on for dear life.
-end-