In Production- Part Five and Epilogue (J2) NC-17
Title: In Production
Author: reccea
Artist: waterofthemoon
Genre: RPS
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Master Art Post
Master Fic Post
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five and Epilogue
Part Five
He flies into Texas a week later, has a day to get acclimated, and then it's off to the races. There’s no boot camp, which is fine because one is enough for a lifetime for Jared. But there’s a crash course in weapons and history, which Jensen and Jared laugh about. They’ve heard stories their whole lives so they’ve got one leg up on most of the cast.
It’s weird, filming in Texas, with his family within reach, and his carefully controlled accent slipping right back to the drawl of his youth. Jensen’s not quite as bad, but the later the nights get, the more he tends to mumble when they’re off camera. Being from Texas was the first thing that bonded the two of them, way back, and it’s funny to think about it now, because it’s such a small facet of what’s there between them.
The cast is split between two hotels, and Jared and Jensen are in the same one, so they get driven to and from set together. Jensen gets room service coffee to go every morning, and Jared bitches enough that he starts getting two cups. Sometimes they run lines and sometimes Jensen falls asleep on the drive out to set. Jared threatens to take pictures each time it happens, but he only takes one and uses it as the background for his phone.
The cast gets along pretty well, going out for drinks with each other and the crew most Friday nights. Jared likes to tell embarrassing stories and Jensen plays straight man to it all like he was born for it.
They don’t have all their scenes together but they have a lot, and mostly they’re always right together, in the thick of things. Always in each other’s space, and even their set chairs are side by side.
The momentum from filming the season finale has followed into this. Every time they’re in front of the camera together, it’s electric. Some takes aren’t the best, of course, but the chemistry is palpable and the energy is contagious. Mangold likes to comment on it, quick mentions of how on the two of them are, how brilliant the scene is, how well it’s going.
Jared’s taken two summers off in a row, the year before last because he and Sandy were coming apart, and he needed to at least try. But he knows the rumblings around town about his film career, and he knows that working on nothing but the show for two years straight hasn’t done him any favors. But he doesn’t feel it now, standing in the Texas sun, waiting with a prop gun in his hand for Mangold to call action.
No, now he feels like everything’s finally on the right track.
Jensen’s Crockett is a solid hero; layered, weathered, and complicated, but with the strong core of goodness that runs through a lot of Jensen’s characters. A good balance between Jared’s antihero Bowie and Highmore’s green around the ears Travis. Mangold talks about it like they’re almost three aspects of the same man. It’s more complicated than that, but Jared likes the idea that they’re all three from the same cloth. He likes playing it that some of the friction between Bowie and Travis is Bowie seeing some of himself in the younger man.
Jensen doesn’t wear the famous coonskin cap, but it’s tied to the saddle of his horse for those looking for it. Jared likes that, sees it as a small touch that shows a certain care for the subject. The movie is striving for some level of historical accuracy, which Jared’s damned glad for, but there’s no sense of shame about the Hollywood history of it either.
Jared should resist. He knows he should, but he can’t bring himself to. He’s weak, but he isn’t ashamed. He gets the bulk of the crew in on it, Mangold too, so Jensen’s first take of Crockett’s arrival is punctuated with a loud and cheerful rendition of the old Disney theme song.
Jensen flips off the crew, which is surely going on the outtakes, but he’s laughing too. He ends up finishing the chorus with them.
The scene takes up the bulk of the day, too many angles to be covered, and too many horses to make it easy. Jensen spends most of that time trapped in the saddle and looking none too happy about it. Jared goes over to him between takes, tries to keep him smiling despite the fatigue that has to be setting in.
“King of the wild frontier.” Jared waves the tail of the coonskin cap.
Jensen flicks Jared’s hand. “You having fun, Jay?”
“Nah,” Jared shakes his head with a grin, pulling his hands back. “What about filming an Alamo movie in the middle of Texas could possibly be fun?”
“Not a damn thing,” Jensen grins back. He runs a hand down over the cap, smoothing it down against the saddlebags. “Tell you what, though, I can’t wait until this day is over. It’s fucking hot as hell.”
“That’s Texas,” Jared says.
“That it is,” Jensen sighs, straightening up on the horse and cracking his neck.
“Could be worse.” Jared barely manages to keep a straight face.
Jensen frowns. “Okay, I’m waiting. How could it be worse?”
“If you weren’t bowlegged, you’d be getting awful saddle sore.”
Jensen stares at him and then leans down to smack him. Jared laughs, jerking away before Jensen can’t get him.
“You’re getting your own damn coffee tomorrow,” Jensen mutters. He’s trying not to laugh though, so Jared considers his mission accomplished.
The last thing Jared wants to do, after spending a whole day playing a man drunk off his ass, is go to a bar. Still, Fred invites him, Jensen invites himself, and after that, it’s half the cast and crew. Jared’s not going to be the only one saying no. He’s exhausted though, the energy burned right out of him, so he parks himself at a table far away from the bar. Jensen gets them both beers from the bar and heads over, Fred in tow. Highmore’s a good kid, level head on his shoulders, especially for all that he’s ten years younger than Jared, but has been in the business almost as long.
“No shop talk,” Jensen tells them both when he takes his seat. “Jared, here, looks like he’s going to off himself if we say Alamo one more time.”
“Won’t off myself,” Jared protests, taking the beer pushed at him. “Might kill you, though.”
“You may be big, but you’re really not scary.” Jensen shakes his head in mock pity. “Sorry, man.”
Fred chuckles, looking at the both of them with honest amusement. “No shop talk,” he agrees. Jared spends all day on set with the guy, listening to him rattle off lines with a perfect Texan drawl, and he’s always a little surprised when they get off set and the guy’s English accent comes back with a vengeance.
The waitress brings buffalo wings and french-fries. Jensen makes the mistake of bringing up sports, which means within five minutes Fred’s declared that American football is for pussies, and Jared and Jensen are talking trash about cricket. Jared orders onion rings and another round when the waitress circles back. Jensen ends up using napkins and french-fries to explain football strategy to Fred, who keeps insisting that he’s had it all laid out for him before, and he still thinks it’s stupid.
Jared unabashedly watches Jensen’s hands trace the confines of the table.
Fred spends ten minutes going on about soccer (“real football”) and how the forced inability to use hands makes it the superior sport. Jared gets into it, but for once it’s Jensen energetically dominating the table. Jared’s grateful for it. He’s too damn tired to really keep up his end of the conversation, which doesn’t happen often.
When Fred gets up to use the restroom, Jared’s half-asleep, mechanically eating onion rings.
"You're staring." Jensen kicks him under the table.
Jared totally has been staring at Jensen. Possibly for a while. He hooks his ankle over Jensen's, locking their feet together. "You're the prettiest girl in the whole place."
"Like I've never heard that before." Jensen wiggles his foot free and steps down on Jared’s foot. It doesn’t hurt.
Fred comes back with shots and a well-thought-out rant against baseball. Jared has two shots, one more beer, and almost falls asleep at the table. It’s a sad display that Jensen rags on him about the whole ride back to the hotel.
Jared’s sitting up on a cot, back braced against the wall. He has blankets strewn across his legs, shirt half on, and a pistol in each hand. Jared likes the old fashioned guns, the reality that the weight of them bring to his character.
Mangold calls cut and Jared relaxes, leaning his head back against the wall.
“You’re doing great, Jared,” Mangold says, pleasure apparent in his voice. “One more take and I think we got it.”
There are four people touching up the pale makeup spread across him, and another one spraying a fine sheen of water across his forehead. There are extras beyond him, all holding pistols. He knows his blocking, knows which of the men will go down and which ones will take him down. He’s done death scenes before, not as many as Jensen, but he’s done them. This feels different, though. He has no last lines, no goodbyes, no arms to catch him. Bowie is going out, fighting as best he can, and he’s going out alone.
Men take their marks and quiet on the set is called. Jared breathes in and out, several times, moving himself away from how hard the cot is, how awkward he, himself, feels just sitting like this. He blinks slowly and in his brain it clicks over. Mangold calls action and Jared is Bowie, making his last stand, there in his very last moment, defiant still. He shoots right, left, right, right, blanks going off and men dropping to the ground. The squibs pop against his chest and he falls back against the wall. He bites the pack in his mouth, fake blood spilling over his lips with a few hitching breaths. He slumps in on himself, shoulders forward, neck at an uncomfortable angle, and lets his eyes stare at nothing.
Men move around him, a carefully choreographed fight across the room. Jared doesn’t breathe and he doesn’t breathe.
Mangold calls, “Cut!” with a giddy enthusiasm that makes Jared look straight up and smile.
“Perfect,” Mangold says, pointing at Jared. “Fucking nailed it, Jared.”
Jared grins like a maniac because he knows he did absolutely nail it.
Jensen catches Jared just as he’s leaving his trailer.
“Got us a later car.” He grabs Jared by the arm and steers him away from the direction of the lot.
Jared lets himself be led. “Where’re we going?”
“Mangold and some of the crew are watching the dailies, and I decided we should crash the party. I heard you were amazing today while I was off rehearsing fight choreography.”
Jared grins. “Heard that, did you?”
Jen’s fingers tighten briefly against his forearm. “All anyone could talk about.”
There’s a trailer, in the back of the lot, that’s been converted to a mini-theater. Everyone looks pretty happy to see them, Mangold offering them space in the front row with him.
“You want everybody else to see the screen don’t you?” Jared declines, pulling Jen to the back.
“You just want to make out,” Jensen says quietly, grinning at his own joke.
“I’m not really into exhibitionism,” Jared says seriously.
Jensen blinks, surprise obvious on his face. The lights go down, the dailies go up and whatever Jensen was going to say is lost.
Jensen shoves a script in Jared’s direction. "A washed out punk rocker, going through detox, falling for this guy who has everything going for him, and doesn't need that kind of baggage."
Jared pulls off his headphones and turns away from the monitor to look at Jensen. "What?"
"Anne's husband is producing it." Jensen shifts further back into his chair, slouching down so far that his ass was nearly off the seat. "She had it sent over with a little pink post-it. 'You can wear eyeliner.' I swear to god, it was one scene and she can't let it go. I think she's got a fetish."
Jared smacks Jensen on the thigh to get his attention. "You want to play a gay punk rocker who wears eyeliner and gets it on with a stockbroker?"
"Journalist actually,” Jensen corrects offhandedly.
"You're serious." Jared tries to envision it and shifts in his chair.
"I'm seriously considering it, which isn't exactly the same thing.” Jensen rubs the back of his neck, sighing quietly. “Some scenes need rewrites, and I think me in leather at this age is going to be a hard sell."
"It's not," Jared says without hesitation.
Jensen gives him an amused look. "That's sweet man, but I'm forty-one. I think the leather pants days are behind me."
“Not according to People,” Jared shrugs.
Jensen groans. “Don’t start that shit again.”
“So why don’t you really want to take it?” Jared knows him well enough to know that leather pants aren’t a make-or-break thing for Jensen. He’s more selective than he used to be, sure, but he’s still the guy who’ll wear almost anything in a photoshoot.
Jensen shifts in his seat, drumming his fingers against his knees. “It’s four months in New Zealand.”
“You love New Zealand.” Jared didn’t actually know anyone who didn’t love New Zealand.
“Yeah, well, maybe I want to stick closer to home for a little while.” Jensen gives him a small smile before turning to face the monitor.
“Yeah? Gonna miss me too much, huh?” It comes out wrong, not the joke Jared meant it to be. He can barely hear over the sound of his own heart pumping away.
Jensen’s smile comes back, bigger this time. He still doesn’t look Jared in the eye. But he says, “Yeah,” like he knows exactly what he’s saying.
Jared wants to overthink it. He wants to call Allison up, and analyze Jensen’s every move with someone who knows him almost as well. Not because he wants to talk about it but mostly because he just wants someone else to say, “It’s a good idea. Go for it.” Sandy would tell him all those things, but she’s Sandy. He can’t go to her about this. And Chad would say, “Whatever you do, wait until filming’s over.” He’s heard Chad say it to everybody else a hundred times.
It freaks Jared out a little, but he’s going to listen to his inner Chad.
He can wait a while longer and if things blow up in his face? At least they’ll both have enough distance to get over it and not let it fuck up everything.
Mostly, it’s all just hard work in the hot sun and weekends spent with his parents. Jensen tags along sometimes, and drags him out to Dallas others. Jared’s mama loves cooking for them, fawns over Jensen like one of her own, like no time has passed at all.
“You boys are as close as ever,” she says, making Jared stand there with her and cut up vegetables.
Jensen is outside with Jared’s nieces and nephews, leading an impromptu game of freeze tag. Jared keeps his eyes on the window. “Closer maybe.”
Jared’s mama takes it for what it is, says, “Well he’s always welcome here, no matter what,” like she’s imparting a secret. The approval in her voice makes Jared’s chest go warm.
“Thanks,” he says, quiet and steady, focusing on breathing.
Outside Jensen runs like a man fifteen years younger and Jared just watches him go.
There’s a cloudburst on one of the outdoor days. The sky opens up out of practically nowhere, and it’s a torrential downpour. Jensen’s laughing, water sliding down his face, making the makeup smear. They’re going to have to take a break, because it’s raining too hard to work through, and Jared can hear the director shouting, just can’t make out any of the words. Jensen’s eyes are slits, the laugh lines spread out from the corners, and the grin on his face isn’t like anything Jared ever sees him give anyone else.
Jared leans forward, unconsciously sliding into Jensen’s personal space. Jensen’s laugh fades and his eyes widen a fraction. But he keeps that smile on. “What?” Jensen shouts over the rain.
“Nothing,” Jared shakes his head. He punches Jensen lightly on the arm.
Jensen pushes at him, squeezing his bicep before making him lean back a little. “Told you this would be fun.”
“Fun,” Jared repeats as thunder peals across the sky. Fun isn’t the word he’d pick, it isn’t strong enough, but it’ll do.
“Fun,” Jensen confirms, turning to look out at the set. One of the PAs races across, holding a notebook over her head.
Jared wants to get back into Jensen’s space, reach out with his thumb and drag some of the rain off Jensen’s face. It’s not the time he tells himself, taking a breath. Not the time or place to be doing something like that, no matter how bad he wants to. He closes his eyes and leans back against the faux adobe wall arms folded over his chest. “Fun.”
Jensen touches his side, hand warm through the coolness of his wet shirt. “We should probably get to our trailers,” he says. His voice is softer and closer than before.
Jared opens his eyes, looks at Jensen and the dark blue sky behind him. “I like it.” He doesn’t move, hoping Jen’s hand will linger.
Jen leans back against the wall too, close enough that Jared can hear him breathing. “There’s nothing like Texas,” Jensen says.
“Amen,” Jared hooks an arm around Jen’s shoulder, which he thinks has always been the perfect height. “I’ll drink to that.”
Filming wraps up on a Tuesday, one last battle scene that goes well into the night. Jared has his assistant get two tickets for a Thursday flight back to LA. He has the inklings of a plan in his head.
Jensen's asleep before the plane takes off, head tilted back in the exact worst way. Jared pulls out his camera, because he can't resist, but after a few blackmail shots, he nudges Jensen to turn. Jensen grumbles but tilts his head down without really waking up. It looks more comfortable at least, and his breathing is quieter. Jared can’t sleep at all. He’s too wired and his brain is going a mile a minute.
Jensen’s pretty foggy from sleep when they get to the baggage claim. Jared’s able to get the bags and steer Jensen to the exit without much fuss. One driver is waiting for them both with a quick and polite, “Hello,” and an offer to get the bags.
Jensen smiles and nods at the driver before shooting Jared a weird look. "You’ve had three months straight of me. Don't you miss, you know, the rest of your friends?"
"The rest of my friends are Chad," Jared mutters impatiently.
Jensen looks considering for a moment and then says, "Good point."
Jared snorts, hooking his arm over the cab door. “Just get inside, would ya?”
Jensen hands his bags off to the driver and climbs inside. The back seat is cramped, Jensen's thigh pressed against his. Jared keeps his fist on his knee, sticking pretty hard to the idea that waiting until they get inside, and away from prying eyes, is for the best.
The drive is hell. Traffic’s shit, like normal, slowing to a crawl at every interchange. Jared taps his fingers nervously against his leg, and he keeps catching Jensen out of the corner of his eye, staring at him.
When the car pulls up the curb Jared practically jumps out, jogging back to the trunk before the driver's all the way out of his seat. He hears Jensen cussing something fierce from inside the car, but laughing at the same time, so Jared figures he can't be too annoyed. The driver pops the trunk, and looks nonplussed when he gets there and Jared's already got their luggage out. Jared gives him an obscene tip, and shouts for Jensen to get a move on.
Jensen comes around the car to grab his bags, waving off the driver's help with a polite smile. "We're good from here. Thanks."
Jared jogs up the drive, digging his keys out of his pocket with one hand, keeping his bags steady with the other.
“Jesus Christ, Jared.” Jensen stops halfway up the drive. “I’m forty-one years old and it’s not raining, so I’m not running up the driveway. What’s wrong with you?”
Jared has suffered through a three -hour plane ride, an hour drive, and months of frustration. He is two steps from Jensen’s house, and that’s just going to have to be close enough. Screw self control, he thinks.
Jared drops the duffel bag on the porch and steps off it, right into Jensen’s space. Right up against him, fists in his t-shirt, pulling. Jensen cants his head up to look Jared in the eye and that’s it, right there. Jared bends his head down and kisses him
Jensen opens his mouth without hesitation, fingers finding purchase on Jared’s hips, holding on just as tight as Jared is. First kisses are always uneasy rhythms, stops and starts until the angle’s right, and the pressure’s steady. Jared doesn’t have to turn his head, or wait for Jensen to catch up. It’s mutual aggression, effortless and fast, like they both already know the rules.
It’s not like a first kiss at all, and it is, hands down, the best first kiss Jared’s ever had. And sure, he’s thirty-seven, but he knows it has nothing to do with experience, and everything to do with knowing Jensen.
He gasps into Jensen’s mouth, "You're clueless, man." He’s been working up to this for weeks, months, years, he doesn’t know how long. But it’s been there, building.
Jensen tilts his hips into Jared's, whispers against his lips. "Fuck you, you've been clueless for years." He kisses Jared hard, holding him in place and making him feel it.
Getting inside is a fumbled mess of keys, bags, and a complete inability to stop touching for even just a minute. Jensen gets the lock turned, and Jared gets the door open, and they spill into the hallway. The bags are kicked in, the door kicked shut, then Jensen’s dragging him down the hall, deftly undoing the buttons of Jared’s shirt.
Getting up the stairs is a trick, Jensen tripping up backwards, and Jared laughing at every impatient noise he makes. Jensen tastes like mint gum and leftover traces of sleep. He has strong hands, and nice arms, and a set of abs that aren’t quite what they used to be. He has grey in his hair, and lines around his eyes, and Jared loves it all. Jared bites at his mouth, and pulls at his grey t-shirt, and makes sure he doesn’t trip as he backs into his bedroom, and kicks off his shoes.
“You’re real impatient,” Jensen mutters, letting Jared tug off his t-shirt.
Jared runs his hands straight down Jen’s stomach, cups the hard line of his erection. “Don’t think you really mind.”
Jensen swears softly and pulls at Jared’s belt. “Worse things in the world than a little impatience.” His knuckles push into Jared’s belly, fingers tripping over the jeans button.
Jared slides his hands up Jensen, finding every angle in reach, hard and soft. He has always loved touching Jensen, the way the guy leans into it without meaning to, and returns the favor without thought. He has always loved it, and he’s almost embarrassed that it took him so long to see what that means.
“Focus.” Jensen bites Jared’s bottom lip.
Jared grins, feels the pull of Jensen’s teeth. “I’m focused, trust me.” He cups Jensen’s jaw, kisses him hard, teeth clashing but he doesn’t care. All he wants it to be let in.
Jensen’s fingers ride the edge of Jared’s boxers, nails dragging along the hairs there. Jared growls instinctively, dropping his hands to cup Jensen’s ass. Jensen grunts, thrusting against Jared once, twice, before pulling back. He presses haphazard kisses all along Jared’s throat and jaw while he undoes the buttons of Jared’s jeans.
Jared’s the kind of guy who laughs during sex, not because it’s funny, really, but because he’s happy. He is happy, and breathless, and gasping against Jensen, and he’s still wearing half his clothes.
Jared’s belt clinks when it hits the floor.
Jared pulls back, impatient, ditching his flip flops and jeans. He tugs his boxers off and kicks them away. Jensen’s jeans are gone just as fast, and closes the space between them, pressing straight up against Jared and kissing him like, yeah, he’s been waiting for years.
Jared breaks away, gasping into the rough stubble on Jensen's cheek. "I want you to fuck me, okay?"
Jensen gives a throaty laugh, hand sliding up the curve of Jared's spine. "Yeah." He pushes Jared down on the bed and Jared obligingly moves until he’s all the way on.
“It’s unfair that you’re in this good a shape.” Jensen slides a hand up Jared’s calf, blunt nails scratching lightly down the muscle.
Jared hooks a foot behind Jensen’s thigh, pulling gently. “Get up here.”
Jensen grins, crawling up the bed until he’s within reach. Jared cups the back of Jensen’s head and pulls his face down. Jared kisses the laugh lines at Jensen’s eyes and the small creases at the corners of his mouth. “I’m a lucky bastard,” Jared says seriously.
“Yeah, you’re about to be.” Jensen winks and pulls away just long enough to get into his nightstand drawer.
“I’ve got stuff in my bag,” Jared runs a hand over Jensen’s arm, thumb dipping in at the elbow. “Downstairs.”
Jens pulls out an unopened lube and a condom from the drawer. “Gotta be prepared,” he says.
Jared doesn’t ask. He gets it. He was a stupid bastard, but he gets it now. Jared rolls over onto his stomach without prompting. Jensen runs his hands up Jared’s sides, urging him onto his knees. Jared braces his hands on the bed and spreads his legs. He hears the click of the cap being undone.
Jensen presses one finger in, and Jared pushes back into it. It’s been a while, but he couldn’t care less. He wants Jensen, right now, in him, against him, everywhere. “Come on,” he urges.
Jensen laughs, placing a light kiss to the base of Jared’s spine. “Take it easy, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
Jared looks over his shoulder at Jensen. “I know,” he says, but he’s impatient and he can’t help it. He rocks his hips again. Jensen slips a second finger in, thrusts a few times, finally getting the right angle to make Jared groan.
Jensen pulls his fingers back out and then Jared can feel Jensen’s thighs line up against his own. He pushes into Jared in one slow thrust, making Jared feel every inch. Jared fists the sheets, presses his face into the pillow and sighs. The second thrust he rolls with, angling down until Jensen hits the perfect spot. Jared’s vision goes starry and he groans, moving his body back, picking up the pace. He hears Jensen muttering, something soft and shaky, but he can’t quite make out the words.
Jensen puts one hand on Jared’s shoulder, holding him still and smoothing out the rhythm. The other hand is curled around Jared’s dick, sliding with every thrust of their hips. Jensen moves faster, urged on by Jared’s uncontrolled mantra, “Come on, come on, come on.”
He feels Jensen’s forehead against his back, the warmth of his breath, the tickle of his hair. He hears the hitch, the, “God, Jared.” Feels the twist of the callused fingers against the head of his dick. He can’t think, isn’t sure he’s breathing himself, only aware of Jensen. The smell and feel of him, the easy way they’re moving together.
It’s long minutes of that, Jensen’s hips slamming against him over and over, Jensen’s fingers making a half moon on his shoulder, his other palm curving over sensitive skin with every breath.
Jensen comes first with a deep guttural groan, the hand on Jared’s dick going shaky as Jensen rides it out. Jensen takes a deep breath and then jacks his fist up and down, firm and rough, until Jared goes over the edge.
When Jared’s head clears he can feel Jensen’s hands on Jared's back, thumbs meeting at the spine. He pulls out of Jared slowly and when the bed dips with his loss of weight, Jared lowers himself with shaky arms and rolls onto his back.
Jensen drops the condom in the small trashcan near the door. Jared watches him walk back to the bed, looks at Jensen’s skin flushed red all over.
“Could get used to that,” Jensen settles on the bed next to him.
Jared runs his palm over Jensen’s rough jaw, tilts Jensen’s face to his, kisses his bruised lips. “Good thing,” he says into Jensen’s mouth. “I plan on making it a habit.”
Jensen kisses him back, languid and sweet. He settles down against Jared, easy and perfectly familiar.
He tells Sandy first, because she deserves to know and because she’s Sandy. She says, “I told you so,” and, “I’m really happy for you, Jared.”
His family isn’t surprised, though some of his friends are, but most everyone responds to the heads up with well-wishes and pleasure.
All Chad says is, "You're gonna miss pussy."
It's really not a reaction Jared was expecting, and hell maybe it's true. Maybe he will. But he knows he's not gonna miss it enough to regret anything.
"I don't know," he says, returning Chad's good natured smile. "There's a pretty good tradeoff."
Epilogue
Jared's phone rings at an absolutely ungodly hour, and he'd just as soon ignore it, but Jensen shoves him and cusses loudly. So. Jared reaches out from under the covers and snags the phone off his nightstand. "'lo?"
It's Sandy, which he knew from the ring, but he can't understand a word she's saying. She's high-pitched, giddy sounding, and it's all a babble. Jared pushes himself up on one elbow and interrupts her, "Sandy?"
There a long pause and then Sandy says, patient as can be, "You're not up yet are you?"
"No, it's--" Jared looks at the clock. "God, really early."
"Yes, it is." He can tell she's grinning, can hear it in her high voice. "And you should be up already. You should have been watching."
It takes Jared about a half second before he gets it. He sits up in bed and flails around for the remote he knows is on Jen's nightstand.
"Jesus, what the fuck," Jensen says, wiggling away from Jared's hands and scooting up in bed.
Jared gets the remote and turns the TV on, flipping through the channels. "Did I--" he doesn't want to jinx it, just in case, but if he missed it he needs to know.
"Congratulations, Jared," Sandy says, pride and delight clear.
"Fuck," Jared says eloquently. His name is on the scroll at the bottom of the TV, right behind the words, Best Supporting Actor Nominees.
Jensen gets his glasses on and then his hands are on Jared's head, pulling him in for a quick, congratulatory kiss. "I knew you could do it," he says.
On the line Sandy laughs, says, "Tell Jensen, I knew it too."
"Okay," Jared says. His heart is racing and he can feel his fingers tingling.
"I'm gonna go. Your phone'll be ringing off the hook any minute now. But I am so proud of you, Jared."
"Thank you." Jared closes his eyes and smiles.
His phone does ring like crazy, and Jensen's too, a hundred people wanting to offer congratulations and advice and just be happy for him. Jensen gives up on sharing at the hour and half mark, taking Jared's phone away and chucking it across the room.
"People want to talk to me," Jared says, laughing.
"Yeah, well..." Jensen pushes him back down on the bed. "I didn't get to congratulate you, yet." He kisses Jared firmly, one hand sliding under the sheet to curl around Jared’s dick. Jared smiles into the kiss.
Jensen slides his hand up and down Jared’s dick until it’s fully hard. He breaks off the kiss, giving Jared an exaggerated wink as he inches down the bed. He kisses a trail down to the hair, fist stroking Jared’s dick slow and steady. Jared thrusts shallowly into the touch, urging Jensen on.
Jensen’s not one to tease, he takes Jared halfway down at first go, fist sliding up to meet his lips. Jared drops his head against the pillow and groans. Jensen moves his head up and down at the slow pace that drives Jared crazy. He moves down a little farther at every go, fist going up a little less until his hand is still at the base and his mouth is going over and over along the skin. He sucks hard with every upslide, and hums as he goes back down.
Jared props himself up on his elbows so he can watch Jensen’s mouth spread wide. Jensen’s eyes flick up, catching Jared’s for a second, before he pulls up to run his tongue over the head. Jared clenches his eyes, focusing on the feeling of Jensen’s tongue making slow patterns over his skin.
Jared’s already amped all the way up, body thrumming, pulse pounding. It takes a few more thrusts and then he’s coming in Jensen’s mouth. He opens his eyes to see Jensen pull off, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. Jared gives him a lazy grin.
Jensen shakes his head, smiling, and gets off the bed. He grabs the green shirt off the floor and pulls it over his head. "So what do you want to do on your big day?"
Jared watches him walk around the bedroom, picking up the discarded clothes, and dumping them in the hamper. He tries to remember if he ever watched Jensen's ass like this, way back in the day, and he doesn't think he did. It's kind of a shame.
Jensen winces and picks up a stray sock, nose crinkled from what Jared bets is a mostly imaginary smell.
"We're out of coffee," Jared says.
"I can do a latte run. I'm not too proud." Jensen disposes of the sock and then grabs a new pair from the top right drawer of the wardrobe.
Community property socks, Jared thinks.
"And I think the milk's bad."
Jensen looks at him, eyebrow arched, only one foot socked. "House rules are still grocery shopping is a team effort."
Jared moves his leg and kicks at Jensen's thigh through the blankets. "We could go early before the soccer moms get up. And then we'll have time to fuck around before we go to the pound."
Jensen grabs Jared's foot through the blankets, narrowly avoiding another playful kick. "You are really damn set on that, aren't you?"
"You need a dog," Jared says with finality.
Jensen stands up, swatting at Jared's calf before he steps away towards the closet. "Yeah, yeah," he shakes his head, already resigned to it. "We need a dog."
Jared braces himself on his elbows, watching Jensen grab a pair of tennis shoes. Jensen walks around the bed and sits down on the edge, leaning back against Jared’s thigh. He sets one shoe to the side and puts the other one on.
Jared sits up all the way, looking at the hard line of Jensen’s shoulders underneath the t-shirt. "I know you're not big on public displays and shit..."
Jensen angles back to look Jared right in the eye. "I'm totally your trophy date." Jensen grins as he turns back to tie his shoes. "The bitch of it is, you have to rewrite that Oscar speech again."
Jared rests his palm against the back of Jensen's neck, rubs his thumb underneath Jensen's ear to make him shiver. "Nah," Jared says, smiling so hard it hurts. "You were the first one on the list, anyway."
Author: reccea
Artist: waterofthemoon
Genre: RPS
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Master Art Post
Master Fic Post
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five and Epilogue
Part Five
He flies into Texas a week later, has a day to get acclimated, and then it's off to the races. There’s no boot camp, which is fine because one is enough for a lifetime for Jared. But there’s a crash course in weapons and history, which Jensen and Jared laugh about. They’ve heard stories their whole lives so they’ve got one leg up on most of the cast.
It’s weird, filming in Texas, with his family within reach, and his carefully controlled accent slipping right back to the drawl of his youth. Jensen’s not quite as bad, but the later the nights get, the more he tends to mumble when they’re off camera. Being from Texas was the first thing that bonded the two of them, way back, and it’s funny to think about it now, because it’s such a small facet of what’s there between them.
The cast is split between two hotels, and Jared and Jensen are in the same one, so they get driven to and from set together. Jensen gets room service coffee to go every morning, and Jared bitches enough that he starts getting two cups. Sometimes they run lines and sometimes Jensen falls asleep on the drive out to set. Jared threatens to take pictures each time it happens, but he only takes one and uses it as the background for his phone.
The cast gets along pretty well, going out for drinks with each other and the crew most Friday nights. Jared likes to tell embarrassing stories and Jensen plays straight man to it all like he was born for it.
They don’t have all their scenes together but they have a lot, and mostly they’re always right together, in the thick of things. Always in each other’s space, and even their set chairs are side by side.
The momentum from filming the season finale has followed into this. Every time they’re in front of the camera together, it’s electric. Some takes aren’t the best, of course, but the chemistry is palpable and the energy is contagious. Mangold likes to comment on it, quick mentions of how on the two of them are, how brilliant the scene is, how well it’s going.
Jared’s taken two summers off in a row, the year before last because he and Sandy were coming apart, and he needed to at least try. But he knows the rumblings around town about his film career, and he knows that working on nothing but the show for two years straight hasn’t done him any favors. But he doesn’t feel it now, standing in the Texas sun, waiting with a prop gun in his hand for Mangold to call action.
No, now he feels like everything’s finally on the right track.
Jensen’s Crockett is a solid hero; layered, weathered, and complicated, but with the strong core of goodness that runs through a lot of Jensen’s characters. A good balance between Jared’s antihero Bowie and Highmore’s green around the ears Travis. Mangold talks about it like they’re almost three aspects of the same man. It’s more complicated than that, but Jared likes the idea that they’re all three from the same cloth. He likes playing it that some of the friction between Bowie and Travis is Bowie seeing some of himself in the younger man.
Jensen doesn’t wear the famous coonskin cap, but it’s tied to the saddle of his horse for those looking for it. Jared likes that, sees it as a small touch that shows a certain care for the subject. The movie is striving for some level of historical accuracy, which Jared’s damned glad for, but there’s no sense of shame about the Hollywood history of it either.
Jared should resist. He knows he should, but he can’t bring himself to. He’s weak, but he isn’t ashamed. He gets the bulk of the crew in on it, Mangold too, so Jensen’s first take of Crockett’s arrival is punctuated with a loud and cheerful rendition of the old Disney theme song.
Jensen flips off the crew, which is surely going on the outtakes, but he’s laughing too. He ends up finishing the chorus with them.
The scene takes up the bulk of the day, too many angles to be covered, and too many horses to make it easy. Jensen spends most of that time trapped in the saddle and looking none too happy about it. Jared goes over to him between takes, tries to keep him smiling despite the fatigue that has to be setting in.
“King of the wild frontier.” Jared waves the tail of the coonskin cap.
Jensen flicks Jared’s hand. “You having fun, Jay?”
“Nah,” Jared shakes his head with a grin, pulling his hands back. “What about filming an Alamo movie in the middle of Texas could possibly be fun?”
“Not a damn thing,” Jensen grins back. He runs a hand down over the cap, smoothing it down against the saddlebags. “Tell you what, though, I can’t wait until this day is over. It’s fucking hot as hell.”
“That’s Texas,” Jared says.
“That it is,” Jensen sighs, straightening up on the horse and cracking his neck.
“Could be worse.” Jared barely manages to keep a straight face.
Jensen frowns. “Okay, I’m waiting. How could it be worse?”
“If you weren’t bowlegged, you’d be getting awful saddle sore.”
Jensen stares at him and then leans down to smack him. Jared laughs, jerking away before Jensen can’t get him.
“You’re getting your own damn coffee tomorrow,” Jensen mutters. He’s trying not to laugh though, so Jared considers his mission accomplished.
The last thing Jared wants to do, after spending a whole day playing a man drunk off his ass, is go to a bar. Still, Fred invites him, Jensen invites himself, and after that, it’s half the cast and crew. Jared’s not going to be the only one saying no. He’s exhausted though, the energy burned right out of him, so he parks himself at a table far away from the bar. Jensen gets them both beers from the bar and heads over, Fred in tow. Highmore’s a good kid, level head on his shoulders, especially for all that he’s ten years younger than Jared, but has been in the business almost as long.
“No shop talk,” Jensen tells them both when he takes his seat. “Jared, here, looks like he’s going to off himself if we say Alamo one more time.”
“Won’t off myself,” Jared protests, taking the beer pushed at him. “Might kill you, though.”
“You may be big, but you’re really not scary.” Jensen shakes his head in mock pity. “Sorry, man.”
Fred chuckles, looking at the both of them with honest amusement. “No shop talk,” he agrees. Jared spends all day on set with the guy, listening to him rattle off lines with a perfect Texan drawl, and he’s always a little surprised when they get off set and the guy’s English accent comes back with a vengeance.
The waitress brings buffalo wings and french-fries. Jensen makes the mistake of bringing up sports, which means within five minutes Fred’s declared that American football is for pussies, and Jared and Jensen are talking trash about cricket. Jared orders onion rings and another round when the waitress circles back. Jensen ends up using napkins and french-fries to explain football strategy to Fred, who keeps insisting that he’s had it all laid out for him before, and he still thinks it’s stupid.
Jared unabashedly watches Jensen’s hands trace the confines of the table.
Fred spends ten minutes going on about soccer (“real football”) and how the forced inability to use hands makes it the superior sport. Jared gets into it, but for once it’s Jensen energetically dominating the table. Jared’s grateful for it. He’s too damn tired to really keep up his end of the conversation, which doesn’t happen often.
When Fred gets up to use the restroom, Jared’s half-asleep, mechanically eating onion rings.
"You're staring." Jensen kicks him under the table.
Jared totally has been staring at Jensen. Possibly for a while. He hooks his ankle over Jensen's, locking their feet together. "You're the prettiest girl in the whole place."
"Like I've never heard that before." Jensen wiggles his foot free and steps down on Jared’s foot. It doesn’t hurt.
Fred comes back with shots and a well-thought-out rant against baseball. Jared has two shots, one more beer, and almost falls asleep at the table. It’s a sad display that Jensen rags on him about the whole ride back to the hotel.
Jared’s sitting up on a cot, back braced against the wall. He has blankets strewn across his legs, shirt half on, and a pistol in each hand. Jared likes the old fashioned guns, the reality that the weight of them bring to his character.
Mangold calls cut and Jared relaxes, leaning his head back against the wall.
“You’re doing great, Jared,” Mangold says, pleasure apparent in his voice. “One more take and I think we got it.”
There are four people touching up the pale makeup spread across him, and another one spraying a fine sheen of water across his forehead. There are extras beyond him, all holding pistols. He knows his blocking, knows which of the men will go down and which ones will take him down. He’s done death scenes before, not as many as Jensen, but he’s done them. This feels different, though. He has no last lines, no goodbyes, no arms to catch him. Bowie is going out, fighting as best he can, and he’s going out alone.
Men take their marks and quiet on the set is called. Jared breathes in and out, several times, moving himself away from how hard the cot is, how awkward he, himself, feels just sitting like this. He blinks slowly and in his brain it clicks over. Mangold calls action and Jared is Bowie, making his last stand, there in his very last moment, defiant still. He shoots right, left, right, right, blanks going off and men dropping to the ground. The squibs pop against his chest and he falls back against the wall. He bites the pack in his mouth, fake blood spilling over his lips with a few hitching breaths. He slumps in on himself, shoulders forward, neck at an uncomfortable angle, and lets his eyes stare at nothing.
Men move around him, a carefully choreographed fight across the room. Jared doesn’t breathe and he doesn’t breathe.
Mangold calls, “Cut!” with a giddy enthusiasm that makes Jared look straight up and smile.
“Perfect,” Mangold says, pointing at Jared. “Fucking nailed it, Jared.”
Jared grins like a maniac because he knows he did absolutely nail it.
Jensen catches Jared just as he’s leaving his trailer.
“Got us a later car.” He grabs Jared by the arm and steers him away from the direction of the lot.
Jared lets himself be led. “Where’re we going?”
“Mangold and some of the crew are watching the dailies, and I decided we should crash the party. I heard you were amazing today while I was off rehearsing fight choreography.”
Jared grins. “Heard that, did you?”
Jen’s fingers tighten briefly against his forearm. “All anyone could talk about.”
There’s a trailer, in the back of the lot, that’s been converted to a mini-theater. Everyone looks pretty happy to see them, Mangold offering them space in the front row with him.
“You want everybody else to see the screen don’t you?” Jared declines, pulling Jen to the back.
“You just want to make out,” Jensen says quietly, grinning at his own joke.
“I’m not really into exhibitionism,” Jared says seriously.
Jensen blinks, surprise obvious on his face. The lights go down, the dailies go up and whatever Jensen was going to say is lost.
Jensen shoves a script in Jared’s direction. "A washed out punk rocker, going through detox, falling for this guy who has everything going for him, and doesn't need that kind of baggage."
Jared pulls off his headphones and turns away from the monitor to look at Jensen. "What?"
"Anne's husband is producing it." Jensen shifts further back into his chair, slouching down so far that his ass was nearly off the seat. "She had it sent over with a little pink post-it. 'You can wear eyeliner.' I swear to god, it was one scene and she can't let it go. I think she's got a fetish."
Jared smacks Jensen on the thigh to get his attention. "You want to play a gay punk rocker who wears eyeliner and gets it on with a stockbroker?"
"Journalist actually,” Jensen corrects offhandedly.
"You're serious." Jared tries to envision it and shifts in his chair.
"I'm seriously considering it, which isn't exactly the same thing.” Jensen rubs the back of his neck, sighing quietly. “Some scenes need rewrites, and I think me in leather at this age is going to be a hard sell."
"It's not," Jared says without hesitation.
Jensen gives him an amused look. "That's sweet man, but I'm forty-one. I think the leather pants days are behind me."
“Not according to People,” Jared shrugs.
Jensen groans. “Don’t start that shit again.”
“So why don’t you really want to take it?” Jared knows him well enough to know that leather pants aren’t a make-or-break thing for Jensen. He’s more selective than he used to be, sure, but he’s still the guy who’ll wear almost anything in a photoshoot.
Jensen shifts in his seat, drumming his fingers against his knees. “It’s four months in New Zealand.”
“You love New Zealand.” Jared didn’t actually know anyone who didn’t love New Zealand.
“Yeah, well, maybe I want to stick closer to home for a little while.” Jensen gives him a small smile before turning to face the monitor.
“Yeah? Gonna miss me too much, huh?” It comes out wrong, not the joke Jared meant it to be. He can barely hear over the sound of his own heart pumping away.
Jensen’s smile comes back, bigger this time. He still doesn’t look Jared in the eye. But he says, “Yeah,” like he knows exactly what he’s saying.
Jared wants to overthink it. He wants to call Allison up, and analyze Jensen’s every move with someone who knows him almost as well. Not because he wants to talk about it but mostly because he just wants someone else to say, “It’s a good idea. Go for it.” Sandy would tell him all those things, but she’s Sandy. He can’t go to her about this. And Chad would say, “Whatever you do, wait until filming’s over.” He’s heard Chad say it to everybody else a hundred times.
It freaks Jared out a little, but he’s going to listen to his inner Chad.
He can wait a while longer and if things blow up in his face? At least they’ll both have enough distance to get over it and not let it fuck up everything.
Mostly, it’s all just hard work in the hot sun and weekends spent with his parents. Jensen tags along sometimes, and drags him out to Dallas others. Jared’s mama loves cooking for them, fawns over Jensen like one of her own, like no time has passed at all.
“You boys are as close as ever,” she says, making Jared stand there with her and cut up vegetables.
Jensen is outside with Jared’s nieces and nephews, leading an impromptu game of freeze tag. Jared keeps his eyes on the window. “Closer maybe.”
Jared’s mama takes it for what it is, says, “Well he’s always welcome here, no matter what,” like she’s imparting a secret. The approval in her voice makes Jared’s chest go warm.
“Thanks,” he says, quiet and steady, focusing on breathing.
Outside Jensen runs like a man fifteen years younger and Jared just watches him go.
There’s a cloudburst on one of the outdoor days. The sky opens up out of practically nowhere, and it’s a torrential downpour. Jensen’s laughing, water sliding down his face, making the makeup smear. They’re going to have to take a break, because it’s raining too hard to work through, and Jared can hear the director shouting, just can’t make out any of the words. Jensen’s eyes are slits, the laugh lines spread out from the corners, and the grin on his face isn’t like anything Jared ever sees him give anyone else.
Jared leans forward, unconsciously sliding into Jensen’s personal space. Jensen’s laugh fades and his eyes widen a fraction. But he keeps that smile on. “What?” Jensen shouts over the rain.
“Nothing,” Jared shakes his head. He punches Jensen lightly on the arm.
Jensen pushes at him, squeezing his bicep before making him lean back a little. “Told you this would be fun.”
“Fun,” Jared repeats as thunder peals across the sky. Fun isn’t the word he’d pick, it isn’t strong enough, but it’ll do.
“Fun,” Jensen confirms, turning to look out at the set. One of the PAs races across, holding a notebook over her head.
Jared wants to get back into Jensen’s space, reach out with his thumb and drag some of the rain off Jensen’s face. It’s not the time he tells himself, taking a breath. Not the time or place to be doing something like that, no matter how bad he wants to. He closes his eyes and leans back against the faux adobe wall arms folded over his chest. “Fun.”
Jensen touches his side, hand warm through the coolness of his wet shirt. “We should probably get to our trailers,” he says. His voice is softer and closer than before.
Jared opens his eyes, looks at Jensen and the dark blue sky behind him. “I like it.” He doesn’t move, hoping Jen’s hand will linger.
Jen leans back against the wall too, close enough that Jared can hear him breathing. “There’s nothing like Texas,” Jensen says.
“Amen,” Jared hooks an arm around Jen’s shoulder, which he thinks has always been the perfect height. “I’ll drink to that.”
Filming wraps up on a Tuesday, one last battle scene that goes well into the night. Jared has his assistant get two tickets for a Thursday flight back to LA. He has the inklings of a plan in his head.
Jensen's asleep before the plane takes off, head tilted back in the exact worst way. Jared pulls out his camera, because he can't resist, but after a few blackmail shots, he nudges Jensen to turn. Jensen grumbles but tilts his head down without really waking up. It looks more comfortable at least, and his breathing is quieter. Jared can’t sleep at all. He’s too wired and his brain is going a mile a minute.
Jensen’s pretty foggy from sleep when they get to the baggage claim. Jared’s able to get the bags and steer Jensen to the exit without much fuss. One driver is waiting for them both with a quick and polite, “Hello,” and an offer to get the bags.
Jensen smiles and nods at the driver before shooting Jared a weird look. "You’ve had three months straight of me. Don't you miss, you know, the rest of your friends?"
"The rest of my friends are Chad," Jared mutters impatiently.
Jensen looks considering for a moment and then says, "Good point."
Jared snorts, hooking his arm over the cab door. “Just get inside, would ya?”
Jensen hands his bags off to the driver and climbs inside. The back seat is cramped, Jensen's thigh pressed against his. Jared keeps his fist on his knee, sticking pretty hard to the idea that waiting until they get inside, and away from prying eyes, is for the best.
The drive is hell. Traffic’s shit, like normal, slowing to a crawl at every interchange. Jared taps his fingers nervously against his leg, and he keeps catching Jensen out of the corner of his eye, staring at him.
When the car pulls up the curb Jared practically jumps out, jogging back to the trunk before the driver's all the way out of his seat. He hears Jensen cussing something fierce from inside the car, but laughing at the same time, so Jared figures he can't be too annoyed. The driver pops the trunk, and looks nonplussed when he gets there and Jared's already got their luggage out. Jared gives him an obscene tip, and shouts for Jensen to get a move on.
Jensen comes around the car to grab his bags, waving off the driver's help with a polite smile. "We're good from here. Thanks."
Jared jogs up the drive, digging his keys out of his pocket with one hand, keeping his bags steady with the other.
“Jesus Christ, Jared.” Jensen stops halfway up the drive. “I’m forty-one years old and it’s not raining, so I’m not running up the driveway. What’s wrong with you?”
Jared has suffered through a three -hour plane ride, an hour drive, and months of frustration. He is two steps from Jensen’s house, and that’s just going to have to be close enough. Screw self control, he thinks.
Jared drops the duffel bag on the porch and steps off it, right into Jensen’s space. Right up against him, fists in his t-shirt, pulling. Jensen cants his head up to look Jared in the eye and that’s it, right there. Jared bends his head down and kisses him
Jensen opens his mouth without hesitation, fingers finding purchase on Jared’s hips, holding on just as tight as Jared is. First kisses are always uneasy rhythms, stops and starts until the angle’s right, and the pressure’s steady. Jared doesn’t have to turn his head, or wait for Jensen to catch up. It’s mutual aggression, effortless and fast, like they both already know the rules.
It’s not like a first kiss at all, and it is, hands down, the best first kiss Jared’s ever had. And sure, he’s thirty-seven, but he knows it has nothing to do with experience, and everything to do with knowing Jensen.
He gasps into Jensen’s mouth, "You're clueless, man." He’s been working up to this for weeks, months, years, he doesn’t know how long. But it’s been there, building.
Jensen tilts his hips into Jared's, whispers against his lips. "Fuck you, you've been clueless for years." He kisses Jared hard, holding him in place and making him feel it.
Getting inside is a fumbled mess of keys, bags, and a complete inability to stop touching for even just a minute. Jensen gets the lock turned, and Jared gets the door open, and they spill into the hallway. The bags are kicked in, the door kicked shut, then Jensen’s dragging him down the hall, deftly undoing the buttons of Jared’s shirt.
Getting up the stairs is a trick, Jensen tripping up backwards, and Jared laughing at every impatient noise he makes. Jensen tastes like mint gum and leftover traces of sleep. He has strong hands, and nice arms, and a set of abs that aren’t quite what they used to be. He has grey in his hair, and lines around his eyes, and Jared loves it all. Jared bites at his mouth, and pulls at his grey t-shirt, and makes sure he doesn’t trip as he backs into his bedroom, and kicks off his shoes.
“You’re real impatient,” Jensen mutters, letting Jared tug off his t-shirt.
Jared runs his hands straight down Jen’s stomach, cups the hard line of his erection. “Don’t think you really mind.”
Jensen swears softly and pulls at Jared’s belt. “Worse things in the world than a little impatience.” His knuckles push into Jared’s belly, fingers tripping over the jeans button.
Jared slides his hands up Jensen, finding every angle in reach, hard and soft. He has always loved touching Jensen, the way the guy leans into it without meaning to, and returns the favor without thought. He has always loved it, and he’s almost embarrassed that it took him so long to see what that means.
“Focus.” Jensen bites Jared’s bottom lip.
Jared grins, feels the pull of Jensen’s teeth. “I’m focused, trust me.” He cups Jensen’s jaw, kisses him hard, teeth clashing but he doesn’t care. All he wants it to be let in.
Jensen’s fingers ride the edge of Jared’s boxers, nails dragging along the hairs there. Jared growls instinctively, dropping his hands to cup Jensen’s ass. Jensen grunts, thrusting against Jared once, twice, before pulling back. He presses haphazard kisses all along Jared’s throat and jaw while he undoes the buttons of Jared’s jeans.
Jared’s the kind of guy who laughs during sex, not because it’s funny, really, but because he’s happy. He is happy, and breathless, and gasping against Jensen, and he’s still wearing half his clothes.
Jared’s belt clinks when it hits the floor.
Jared pulls back, impatient, ditching his flip flops and jeans. He tugs his boxers off and kicks them away. Jensen’s jeans are gone just as fast, and closes the space between them, pressing straight up against Jared and kissing him like, yeah, he’s been waiting for years.
Jared breaks away, gasping into the rough stubble on Jensen's cheek. "I want you to fuck me, okay?"
Jensen gives a throaty laugh, hand sliding up the curve of Jared's spine. "Yeah." He pushes Jared down on the bed and Jared obligingly moves until he’s all the way on.
“It’s unfair that you’re in this good a shape.” Jensen slides a hand up Jared’s calf, blunt nails scratching lightly down the muscle.
Jared hooks a foot behind Jensen’s thigh, pulling gently. “Get up here.”
Jensen grins, crawling up the bed until he’s within reach. Jared cups the back of Jensen’s head and pulls his face down. Jared kisses the laugh lines at Jensen’s eyes and the small creases at the corners of his mouth. “I’m a lucky bastard,” Jared says seriously.
“Yeah, you’re about to be.” Jensen winks and pulls away just long enough to get into his nightstand drawer.
“I’ve got stuff in my bag,” Jared runs a hand over Jensen’s arm, thumb dipping in at the elbow. “Downstairs.”
Jens pulls out an unopened lube and a condom from the drawer. “Gotta be prepared,” he says.
Jared doesn’t ask. He gets it. He was a stupid bastard, but he gets it now. Jared rolls over onto his stomach without prompting. Jensen runs his hands up Jared’s sides, urging him onto his knees. Jared braces his hands on the bed and spreads his legs. He hears the click of the cap being undone.
Jensen presses one finger in, and Jared pushes back into it. It’s been a while, but he couldn’t care less. He wants Jensen, right now, in him, against him, everywhere. “Come on,” he urges.
Jensen laughs, placing a light kiss to the base of Jared’s spine. “Take it easy, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
Jared looks over his shoulder at Jensen. “I know,” he says, but he’s impatient and he can’t help it. He rocks his hips again. Jensen slips a second finger in, thrusts a few times, finally getting the right angle to make Jared groan.
Jensen pulls his fingers back out and then Jared can feel Jensen’s thighs line up against his own. He pushes into Jared in one slow thrust, making Jared feel every inch. Jared fists the sheets, presses his face into the pillow and sighs. The second thrust he rolls with, angling down until Jensen hits the perfect spot. Jared’s vision goes starry and he groans, moving his body back, picking up the pace. He hears Jensen muttering, something soft and shaky, but he can’t quite make out the words.
Jensen puts one hand on Jared’s shoulder, holding him still and smoothing out the rhythm. The other hand is curled around Jared’s dick, sliding with every thrust of their hips. Jensen moves faster, urged on by Jared’s uncontrolled mantra, “Come on, come on, come on.”
He feels Jensen’s forehead against his back, the warmth of his breath, the tickle of his hair. He hears the hitch, the, “God, Jared.” Feels the twist of the callused fingers against the head of his dick. He can’t think, isn’t sure he’s breathing himself, only aware of Jensen. The smell and feel of him, the easy way they’re moving together.
It’s long minutes of that, Jensen’s hips slamming against him over and over, Jensen’s fingers making a half moon on his shoulder, his other palm curving over sensitive skin with every breath.
Jensen comes first with a deep guttural groan, the hand on Jared’s dick going shaky as Jensen rides it out. Jensen takes a deep breath and then jacks his fist up and down, firm and rough, until Jared goes over the edge.
When Jared’s head clears he can feel Jensen’s hands on Jared's back, thumbs meeting at the spine. He pulls out of Jared slowly and when the bed dips with his loss of weight, Jared lowers himself with shaky arms and rolls onto his back.
Jensen drops the condom in the small trashcan near the door. Jared watches him walk back to the bed, looks at Jensen’s skin flushed red all over.
“Could get used to that,” Jensen settles on the bed next to him.
Jared runs his palm over Jensen’s rough jaw, tilts Jensen’s face to his, kisses his bruised lips. “Good thing,” he says into Jensen’s mouth. “I plan on making it a habit.”
Jensen kisses him back, languid and sweet. He settles down against Jared, easy and perfectly familiar.
He tells Sandy first, because she deserves to know and because she’s Sandy. She says, “I told you so,” and, “I’m really happy for you, Jared.”
His family isn’t surprised, though some of his friends are, but most everyone responds to the heads up with well-wishes and pleasure.
All Chad says is, "You're gonna miss pussy."
It's really not a reaction Jared was expecting, and hell maybe it's true. Maybe he will. But he knows he's not gonna miss it enough to regret anything.
"I don't know," he says, returning Chad's good natured smile. "There's a pretty good tradeoff."
Epilogue
Jared's phone rings at an absolutely ungodly hour, and he'd just as soon ignore it, but Jensen shoves him and cusses loudly. So. Jared reaches out from under the covers and snags the phone off his nightstand. "'lo?"
It's Sandy, which he knew from the ring, but he can't understand a word she's saying. She's high-pitched, giddy sounding, and it's all a babble. Jared pushes himself up on one elbow and interrupts her, "Sandy?"
There a long pause and then Sandy says, patient as can be, "You're not up yet are you?"
"No, it's--" Jared looks at the clock. "God, really early."
"Yes, it is." He can tell she's grinning, can hear it in her high voice. "And you should be up already. You should have been watching."
It takes Jared about a half second before he gets it. He sits up in bed and flails around for the remote he knows is on Jen's nightstand.
"Jesus, what the fuck," Jensen says, wiggling away from Jared's hands and scooting up in bed.
Jared gets the remote and turns the TV on, flipping through the channels. "Did I--" he doesn't want to jinx it, just in case, but if he missed it he needs to know.
"Congratulations, Jared," Sandy says, pride and delight clear.
"Fuck," Jared says eloquently. His name is on the scroll at the bottom of the TV, right behind the words, Best Supporting Actor Nominees.
Jensen gets his glasses on and then his hands are on Jared's head, pulling him in for a quick, congratulatory kiss. "I knew you could do it," he says.
On the line Sandy laughs, says, "Tell Jensen, I knew it too."
"Okay," Jared says. His heart is racing and he can feel his fingers tingling.
"I'm gonna go. Your phone'll be ringing off the hook any minute now. But I am so proud of you, Jared."
"Thank you." Jared closes his eyes and smiles.
His phone does ring like crazy, and Jensen's too, a hundred people wanting to offer congratulations and advice and just be happy for him. Jensen gives up on sharing at the hour and half mark, taking Jared's phone away and chucking it across the room.
"People want to talk to me," Jared says, laughing.
"Yeah, well..." Jensen pushes him back down on the bed. "I didn't get to congratulate you, yet." He kisses Jared firmly, one hand sliding under the sheet to curl around Jared’s dick. Jared smiles into the kiss.
Jensen slides his hand up and down Jared’s dick until it’s fully hard. He breaks off the kiss, giving Jared an exaggerated wink as he inches down the bed. He kisses a trail down to the hair, fist stroking Jared’s dick slow and steady. Jared thrusts shallowly into the touch, urging Jensen on.
Jensen’s not one to tease, he takes Jared halfway down at first go, fist sliding up to meet his lips. Jared drops his head against the pillow and groans. Jensen moves his head up and down at the slow pace that drives Jared crazy. He moves down a little farther at every go, fist going up a little less until his hand is still at the base and his mouth is going over and over along the skin. He sucks hard with every upslide, and hums as he goes back down.
Jared props himself up on his elbows so he can watch Jensen’s mouth spread wide. Jensen’s eyes flick up, catching Jared’s for a second, before he pulls up to run his tongue over the head. Jared clenches his eyes, focusing on the feeling of Jensen’s tongue making slow patterns over his skin.
Jared’s already amped all the way up, body thrumming, pulse pounding. It takes a few more thrusts and then he’s coming in Jensen’s mouth. He opens his eyes to see Jensen pull off, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. Jared gives him a lazy grin.
Jensen shakes his head, smiling, and gets off the bed. He grabs the green shirt off the floor and pulls it over his head. "So what do you want to do on your big day?"
Jared watches him walk around the bedroom, picking up the discarded clothes, and dumping them in the hamper. He tries to remember if he ever watched Jensen's ass like this, way back in the day, and he doesn't think he did. It's kind of a shame.
Jensen winces and picks up a stray sock, nose crinkled from what Jared bets is a mostly imaginary smell.
"We're out of coffee," Jared says.
"I can do a latte run. I'm not too proud." Jensen disposes of the sock and then grabs a new pair from the top right drawer of the wardrobe.
Community property socks, Jared thinks.
"And I think the milk's bad."
Jensen looks at him, eyebrow arched, only one foot socked. "House rules are still grocery shopping is a team effort."
Jared moves his leg and kicks at Jensen's thigh through the blankets. "We could go early before the soccer moms get up. And then we'll have time to fuck around before we go to the pound."
Jensen grabs Jared's foot through the blankets, narrowly avoiding another playful kick. "You are really damn set on that, aren't you?"
"You need a dog," Jared says with finality.
Jensen stands up, swatting at Jared's calf before he steps away towards the closet. "Yeah, yeah," he shakes his head, already resigned to it. "We need a dog."
Jared braces himself on his elbows, watching Jensen grab a pair of tennis shoes. Jensen walks around the bed and sits down on the edge, leaning back against Jared’s thigh. He sets one shoe to the side and puts the other one on.
Jared sits up all the way, looking at the hard line of Jensen’s shoulders underneath the t-shirt. "I know you're not big on public displays and shit..."
Jensen angles back to look Jared right in the eye. "I'm totally your trophy date." Jensen grins as he turns back to tie his shoes. "The bitch of it is, you have to rewrite that Oscar speech again."
Jared rests his palm against the back of Jensen's neck, rubs his thumb underneath Jensen's ear to make him shiver. "Nah," Jared says, smiling so hard it hurts. "You were the first one on the list, anyway."