Fic: No Pain, No Gains, Jared/Jensen, NC-17 2/2
Part One found here
“Yeah,” he says, though admitting he’s doing nothing on a Saturday is sort of embarrassing. But then neither is Jared so maybe it isn’t too bad. “That’d be good. Meet you at closing time?” Jared nods and that’s settled. Sure, Jensen still has to fight the urge to dash back home and tidy up, but he’s pretty sure Jared isn’t going to give a shit, and Jensen always leaves the place clean, if not unpacked. He heads in, a decent interval after Jared, and showers briskly, dresses fast, and gets back to the desk so he can pretend to do some work, though it feels like his first free afternoon in ages. Hypothetically the conference he’d crossed the country for had been a holiday, but it hadn’t felt like it, just resulted in the itchy, useless, sad mood he found himself in on return, though that’s been dented a little bit by Jared’s cheerfulness.
Back at his place, he ends up hovering uselessly, trying to remember what box holds what. He’s at least sure there’s no porn - that’s gone digital, and he’s about 90% sure nothing is too embarrassing. Jared, on the other hand, is having the time of his life. Apparently there’s nothing more he’s ever wanted from life than to be allowed to dig through a box and find the cat cushions that Jensen’s aunt had given him as a housewarming present. He’s laughing at all the right things, though, not a word about how it’s kind of weird how Jensen’s pretty much managed to live with two plates and a fork before now, and it’s at that moment that Jensen can see how far physically Jared’s come. He’s used to seeing Jared with the impersonal eye of a trainer, one muscle group at a time, used to noting poor extension, good posture, all the bits that go to making up a body.
Now he’s seeing Jared lift three boxes with ease, when he couldn’t have lifted one without effort a few months ago, seeing the new build of muscle in Jared’s arms, the strong curve of his back as he bends to get another one, even the strength of his hands that speaks to perpetual use of the handgrips he’d bought. Built, is the first word that comes to mind, even though Jared doesn’t quite fit it yet. Built, more in the sense that Jared has put effort in, has built himself again, formed himself, with maybe a bit of Jensen’s help, and it’s not the first time he’s felt a sensation of pride at what he’s been able to help a client do, but it is the first time he’s felt it this personally, as though he had some hand in it himself.
Jared’s different in all sorts of ways now, not just physical. When he first started coming to the gym, it was strictly business, eyes down, sidling in and out like he didn’t have a right to be there. Now he chats easily and casually with other people in the weights room, gives a hand here and there, jokes with Misha and the rest, and Gen can’t stop talking about what a different guy he is now, how he’s come out of his shell. He’s chatting and laughing with Jensen now as he screws a dismantled desk together with easy movements, face turning up to Jensen now and then with half a smile as he looked for the screws. “You’re so neat,” he comments, holding up a tiny bag with all the screws divided in them.
Jensen doesn’t say that that’s his dad’s handiwork, just takes the credit, and begins hauling things into place. There’s still...not a lot. But he could always pretend to be minimalist, maybe paint the walls white. Jared’s engaged in scattering the cat cushions on the sofa that is almost the only item of furniture in the front room for the reason that it hadn’t had to be unpacked, and Jensen makes a resolution that if he’s buying only one new thing it’s cushions, because the cat ones are terrifying, huge carnivorous mouths looming out of innocent embroidery.
“Heya,” Jared says then, and holds out a stack of photos. “Where do you want to put these?” He’s not flicking through them like a normal person would, a mercy Jensen’s unexpectedly grateful for when he realizes that they’re a bunch of college ones, half of them in black and white from at least one of his friends going through an artsy SLR phase. Nobody needs to see him in sleeveless shirts chugging the shit out of a beer. Of course, of course, there’s a picture of Matty on the top, arms around Jensen, lips half on his cheek, half on his mouth, and Jensen’s staring straight at the camera with a look of eyerolling disdain. “Jesus, I was a dick,” he says, and takes the photos, ready to put them in the drawer.
Jared’s still kind of quiet, and it suddenly clicks. Jared didn’t know that Jensen isn’t exactly straight. He hasn’t been closeted since he’d moved here, but he hasn’t shared much of himself (anything) with anyone either. He’s fine telling clients personal stories about his own fitness struggles - sometimes more personal things than he’d ever tell a friend - but he keeps his social life out of it, and the result, it seems, is that Jared didn’t know that. Suddenly everything about this seems much more awkward. Does Jared think that this is a weird date now? That Jensen was trying to get him alone?
“I didn’t know,” Jared said, and no shit. “That you used to spike your hair. It looked kind of dumb.” And the tension breaks like it was never there at all, Jared’s lips are curling upwards, and Jensen can feel a stupid surge of relief go through him.
“We all make mistakes,” Jensen says. “Six foot mistakes in some cases.”
“So he was short, huh?” Jared says, and okay, yeah six foot probably is short to Jared.
“Yeah, he was a tri guy, it would never have worked. Came from the wrong side of the gym,” and it’s all half joke, half truth. He’s glad that Jared didn’t look at the rest of the photos, at the endless parade of six foot mistakes and five foot five mistakes. He was a different person then.
“Come on,” he says and heads into the kitchen, hands Jared a beer. “Cheat day,” he says. “Or you can call it carb-loading if it’ll make you feel better.”
Jared grins. “You read my mind,” he says, takes a swig, and then matter-of-factly starts putting away Jensen’s cutlery. “I sincerely hope you didn’t take me seriously about the chicken either. I think I’ve eaten enough that PETA might make me a special target for a kitchen break. Just one night off, please.”
Jensen’s got that sorted, doesn’t admit that he had to use his cell to google local pizza places and trawl Yelp to find somewhere that might be half decent. It’s not like he’s had much call for pizza since he moved here. So he casually tosses out a name, and Jared volunteers to call, though half a second in, his mouth starts twitching with laughter.
“They went out of business,” he informs Jensen. “Two years ago.”
Jensen bangs his head on a cupboard and opens another beer. “I’m a personal trainer,” he defends himself. “If I want to eat myself to death I’m gonna do it on burgers.”
Jared holds his hands up. “No judgement here,” he says. “I like burgers as much as the next guy. Unless the next guy is you, apparently. Hang on, I’ve got this.” He calls up somewhere else, laughter still in his voice, and orders something he swears will be the best pizza Jensen’s ever tasted. While they wait, he helps Jensen ease the TV out of its protective box. “You seriously don’t watch it?” he asks, holds it without an effort as Jensen drags the small stand into place.
“Nope,” Jensen says. “I get my fill of it in the gym, if I want to watch anything particularly, there’s always my cell. It just seems like pointless noise in the background, and I don’t spend enough of my time here anyway to bother it.” He’s pretty sure that Jared’s figured that much out already. There’s a pre-erected set of shelves from the last apartment owner, where Jared’s placed the two solitary books that came out of Jensen’s boxes, and Jared is surveying them with a frown as he waits for Jensen to get the stand adjusted.
“Not a reader?” he asks.
“Audio books, sometimes,” Jensen says. “Good for the gym, I listen to music but not while I work out. Everything else, there’s a Kindle. Here.” He gestures for Jared to let him take the other end of the TV so they can settle it down, and he’s absolutely certain, as certain as he can be in that second, that Jared wants to make a move - there’s something in the way he looks at Jensen, the sweep of his lashes down, the hot gaze of his eyes, that says if they weren’t manhandling a delicate object, he’d drop it and go for the kiss. Jensen’s expecting it, enough that it’s a shock when they set it down, and Jared steps back and not forward. Which, if Jared’s not feeling it, Jensen’s not going to push it, even if there’s more disappointment in the feeling than he would care to admit.
The momentary tension is broken by Jared skidding on a piece of plastic wrapping and falling back onto the sofa, the surprised, winded look on his face cracking Jensen up, even as he moves forward to make sure that Jared’s okay. “Unpacking is fucking dangerous,” Jared says. “I swear I’ve almost died about five times tonight. That metal sculpture thing was probably going to give me tetanus.”
Jensen doesn’t have the heart to tell Jared that the metal sculpture thing was actually a candlestick set that his sister had given him for some obscure reason that she hadn’t actually explained, but he suspected translated as “they were on sale”. “Very dangerous,” he says. “You can put that on your resume: survived Jensen’s apartment.”
The rest of the evening is the first decent one that Jensen’s had in longer than he’d like to admit - Jared’s promises about the pizza quality are true, they manage with some effort and a lot of box shaking to get the TV working rather than acting as an expensive ornament, the beer smoothes the conversational way, given that this is the first time they’ve spent more than 15 minutes in each other’s company without Jensen bullying Jared into pushing himself harder. It doesn’t, unfortunately, make Jared any less attractive; the new way he holds himself, like his height is an asset not a flaw, or the developing strength of his forearms doesn’t mitigate the new assurance in the way he moves. But that’s a side effect he can live with, to see a stronger, more self confident, and, he thinks, happier Jared.
By the time, it’s time for Jared to head off, they’re both mildly buzzed, and it seems entirely natural for Jensen to walk Jared most of the way back to his place since it’s max about half a mile, entirely natural for them to wait on the doorstep chatting just long enough to make it weird. Entirely natural for Jared to hug Jensen goodbye, without a shred of self-consciousness, like they’re close enough for it to be normal. And as Jensen walks back home alone, he knows beyond a single shred of doubt that he’s screwed.
He doesn’t see Jared on Sunday, but it doesn’t surprise him. Compared to a lot of places, Jared opens for later on a Sunday - something about no other time of the week being convenient for some people - so if he works out on a Sunday, it’s generally during lunch break. He is kind of surprised to see Jared turn up after closing time, though - Jensen opens until 8 on a Sunday but it’s also the only day he’s strict about closing up on time. Jensen’s just finished his own after-hours workout, and is just about to head to the shower when he sees Jared at the door with an awkward box in his arms, hovering anxiously. He unlocks the door and waves Jared in, a little bit confused.
Jared dumps the box on the counter and smiles expectantly at Jensen, who takes the hint and looks inside. It’s books. About twenty of them as far as he can tell, and now he’s confused. “Fill up your shelves,” Jared tells him. “I’m not a luddite who thinks e-books are the devil, even if they are stealing my income, but you need some books and these are good ones. You have my word on that. They’re not color co-ordinated with your cat cushions though, so they’re not quite perfect.”
“You’re giving me your stock,” Jensen says, lifting them out carefully. He hasn’t heard of any of them.
“Some of my stock,” Jared corrects him. “Actually these are some multiple copies and most of them are second hand, so it’s really not that big a deal, you know.” Like doing a nice thing is something to downplay. “They’re a present. Call it a really really late housewarming present if you must, and maybe a thank you for all of this,” and he gestures a hand vaguely, maybe means the gym, maybe means himself. Whatever he means, he’s sincere.
“You don’t have to do that,” Jensen says, slipping back into the automatic response of vague niceties.
“Well, no,” Jared says, as if surprised at Jensen. “But I wanted to.”
Jensen’s pretty sure that neither of them’s surprised when Jensen pulls him in for a kiss then, screw personal rules about trainers and their clients. He sidesteps the box to pull Jared closer, and Jared's hesitant for a second, then kissing back, arms tightening around Jensen like he needs to hold on to him, mouth smiling still, and Jensen would stand here pretty much all night if he could. He can feel the tense muscles of Jared’s neck under his hand, the dig of Jared’s fingers into Jensen’s back, like he’s as disbelieving as Jensen at this happening at all.
Jensen’s sweaty and grubby from his workout, though, and if they’re taking this further, he wants to be clean, wants to be ready to meet Jared with all that he’s got. So he finally breaks free, takes in the stunned, tender look in Jared’s eyes and doesn’t feel the urge to back away from it, though this is bigger than he’d anticipated it being. He feels like he’s spent a long time running, and maybe someone’s saying to him that it’s okay to stop.
“I need a shower,” he says, no preamble.
Jared laughs, a dry little scratch of a sound. “Is that an invitation?” What should sound smooth and sexy comes out questioning, a tentative feel, as though Jared’s still not sure that Jensen means this. He wonders if Jared’s been burnt like this before.
In fairness, Jensen doesn’t think he can call himself a coward. Not anymore. “Yeah,” he replies. “If you want to.”
He’s never watched a lover strip off with the same intentness that he watches Jared, like this is the first time he’s ever seen him. Jared hides still, biggest baggiest XL t-shirts that he can find, which now fit him in the shoulders but nowhere else, only wears shorts when Jensen threatens him with a kettlebell session if he doesn’t. He’s stayed away from the showers when Jared’s there, not from fear he can’t control himself, but from the lurking suspicion that he might give himself away, even if slowly he’s been beginning to think Jared might’ve been looking back.
Jared’s perfect. Not the sort of perfection that’s the end of a journey, but a developing one - broad swoop of shoulders leading to a ridiculously narrow waist, firm strength of his back as he turns away to kick off his shorts leading to the dip and roundness of his ass. He looks what he is, strong and healthy and beautiful, and Jensen’s mouth’s gone dry just looking at him, before he’s seen the half hard, heavy swell of Jared’s dick, solid and thick, making Jensen want to go to his knees without a moment’s more justification.
He’s almost forgotten that he needs to strip himself, tears off his top and unlaces his shoes, before shedding his shorts, and getting into the shower. He’s always sworn he’d kick the ass of anything he ever caught doing what he is about thirty seconds away from doing, but it’s his own gym, he can make the fucking rules - in more ways than one. Jared’s turned on the water for them already, hair slicked dark and wet back against his skull, eyes wary as though he’s expecting this to be the moment that Jensen backs out, and Jensen finally gets how hard it was for Jared to do what he did.
He’s pretty sure nothing he can say is going to make an impact, but he gives it his best go anyway. Kisses Jared as hard as he can, feels the brutal push of their mouths, the wet slide of slippery skin under his fingers. “I’ve wanted this from that first day,” he says, in between their mouths, can’t even be sure that Jared’s heard him over the wet patter of water.
He presses them closer under the spray, feels his fingers catch in the day-end tangles of Jared’s hair when he threads his fingers through it, sees the softening blush of Jared’s face at the pull, eyes open and honest even through the water as he clutches at Jensen.
Jensen wants to bite at the long line of Jared’s neck, along the tautness of his skin, mouth at the exposed strength of his shoulders, follow the water down his flat stomach, take the unknown paths, wants to mumble out the ways he finds Jared stunning, if he thought it wouldn’t curl Jared up inside himself, like the way compliments generally do. So he keeps it inside, doesn’t break the silence between them, shattered only by the wet slide of their skin. Lets Jared press him against the cool hardness of the wall, icy against his shower-warmed skin, and kiss him like that, reverent press of his mouth, as they grind almost unconsciously together, heavy thrust of Jared’s dick against Jensen’s hip, as he smoothes his fingers down the cut of Jensen’s abs, enough until it isn’t, fingers too close and teasing.
It doesn’t take much to turn them back under the spray mostly, until Jared’s against the wall, mouth open, unconscious to the water, as Jensen grips at the firmness of his thigh, hangs onto the smooth jut of his hips, and goes down like he’s wanted to, for longer than he can say. He’s not used to it, not like this, wet splash of water in his face, Jared’s hand in his hair like he can’t believe it, but he takes a deep breath and tries. It’s been months since he’s sucked dick, some anonymous hook-up that’d brought it home how little he cared about anything except getting off and getting out. Jared’s better. He’s thick and hard already, wet with the almost sweet taste of water, and he jerks forward at the touch of Jensen’s mouth, then back again. It’s the most awkward position Jensen knows of for giving head, hard on the knees, and he almost drowns in the water, before Jared bends forward enough that most of the water runs off, but he doesn’t want to stop. Jared’s warm and solid under his hands, his dick heavy on Jensen’s tongue, and Jensen can feel the minute tremors, the tiny shakes as he pulls back like he doesn’t want to choke Jensen only very slightly more than he does want to choke him.
It tugs at his jaw, pressing this far, this fast, but he doesn’t care, knows he’s earning the soreness, but he wants to give everything he can in this moment. Sucks the slow well of pre-come from the head of Jared’s dick, and goes back for more, takes as much as he can, nothing fast or desperate about any of it, just slow and hot and suction-tight, presses his fingers into Jared’s hips hard, feels more than hears the swallowed sounds Jared’s making, like he’s trying not to beg for more, harder. When Jensen gets his hand round enough to get a handful of Jared’s ass, Jared jerks forward, deeper into his mouth, groan of pleasure finally getting out, and Jensen uses every moment of it to advantage, manoeuvres Jared where he wants him, urges him forward in a jerky rhythm until Jared gets it, ass tensing in Jensen’s hand as he shifts enough that Jensen can fold his fingers around more, fingers pushing into the curve of Jared’s ass, not pushing or demanding, just present, and Jared’s grinding back into him, as though he wants the feel of Jensen’s fingers on his skin, before he thrusts back into Jensen’s mouth as though he belongs there, Jensen welcoming him in each time, closing his eyes so he can feel it all, in the blackness behind his eyelids, muffled sound of water around him, and nothing but Jared in front.
Jared’s still got his fingers in the short strands of Jensen’s hair, one hand brushing over the exposed skin of his face, pressing at the side of Jensen’s cheek with the lightest of touches, and it’s only minutes, feels like no time at all, before he’s coming, fingers desperately scrabbling at Jensen as though to warn him, which fuck no. Jared moans, soft and broken, fingers spread against the wall now, like he’s trying to keep his balance, still pumping into Jensen’s mouth, and Jensen’s taking it and would if it was for no other reason than how hot Jared looks like this, wet, pink and breathing like he’s run a marathon, not got a blowjob.
He hauls himself upright, takes a moment to look at Jared spread out against the wall, dick still almost half hard, wet from the water and Jensen’s mouth, and the trace amounts of come that Jensen let escape, and he needs. Gets his hand around his dick, zero finesse or teasing, feels the wetness of his skin, and the slickness of the head of his dick, so hard just from watching and feeling Jared. It’s frightening to realize just how many things he wants from Jared, half of them in bed, and half of them, even more frighteningly, out of it. There’s too many but right now he can be content with the sight of Jared, bedraggled and open and fucked out just from a blowjob, bitten red of his mouth, hectic flush on his face, the way he’s lazily cupped a hand over his dick like he wants the last shreds of sensation to be wrung out of him. Jensen thinks how next time they do this, he’ll keep sucking even after Jared’s come, until he’s sure Jared can’t take it for a second more.
Then Jared’s moving, watching Jensen with greed like he wants everything Jensen wants as well, eyes moving from Jensen’s face to his cock, as though he can’t decide what to settle on. Jensen’s happy to put on a show, if it’s Jared who’s watching - if there wasn’t the slightest thread of an exhibitionist in him, he probably wouldn’t have picked this career path after all. He slows down, just a little, lets his fingers twist over the fat head of his dick, watches Jared’s face, the soft drop of his lip, nervous swipe of his tongue, like he wants as bad as Jensen had to be on his knees, sees Jared’s fingernails dig into his thigh as though he thinks he isn’t allowed to touch.
He remembers what Jared said about not minding Jensen telling him what to do, wonders how far that goes, if he’ll hold still, hold his wrists tight above his head while Jensen rides him, how pretty and easy he’ll take Jensen’s cock, thinks about that wide, gorgeous mouth choking on his dick, and he’s not taking it slow any longer, is suddenly, brutally desperate to come.
He can’t quite make it over the edge until Jared’s folding himself down like he can’t wait a moment longer, so close to Jensen’s dick, fingers curling over Jensen’s to steady him, as he fits the head of Jensen’s dick on the curve of his bottom lip, and just the sight, the pressure of Jared’s fingers is enough to make Jensen come, hard and desperate, hips rocking forward as though to force the last shudder out. Jared’s mouth is wet with it, face a little shocked, though like it’s natural and instinctive in him, he presses against Jensen’s dick again and licks the last drops of come away, presses his tongue against the slit then runs under until the head of Jensen’s dick is in his mouth again.
Jensen fully understands the urge to clutch the wall now, but takes the second best option and hauls Jared up instead, steadies himself against him for a moment, before Jared kisses him, not the hard, anxious press of earlier but a softer one that lingers long enough that Jensen’s intensely glad there’s endless hot water. They separate soon after, Jared ducking out of the water as though he needs some time to recompose himself, and Jensen washes himself unselfconsciously, knows that Jared’s still watching through the haze of water, but this time’s for actually getting clean. When he exits, dressed in a towel, though, Jared’s nowhere to be seen, and waiting for a few minutes doesn’t produce him either.
Jensen’s been fucked and run on before, and he’s done it himself, though he’s not proud of those occasions, but Jared is the last person he’d ever have thought would be that guy. There’s a hard, hot ball of disappointment in his chest that he doesn’t want to poke at too much, because if there’s one thing Jensen believes in, it’s choices, and that includes choices like walking away. He dresses quickly, doesn’t bother drying his hair, and when he walks around the bench, he notices Jared’s shoes are still there. Which, either that blowjob was bad enough that Jared ran into the street sans shoes, or he is still somewhere in the gym complex.
He can’t believe that idea didn’t occur to him first, wonders if he’s so determined to imagine the worst that he’s given up believing in the best. Sure enough, when he gets close to the reception area, he can hear voices. Which isn’t great given that the gym’s supposed to be locked up, but it’s better than the alternative. When he rounds the corner, he can see Jared first, every bit of the tension dispelled by the shower back in his shoulders, which are hunched up around him. He’s zipped up in his hoodie as well, which somewhere along the line Jensen’s come to spot as a bad sign.
The other man is Gerald, and of course it’s the late night Sunday boxing meet. Jensen is quietly, fervently glad that he and Jared finished up before the changing rooms were invaded by spillover. He walks forward anyway and stands next to Jared, offering a hand to Gerald who shakes briskly, so clearly whatever this argument is about, it’s not about Jensen corrupting his son in any way, shape or fashion. Jared’s looking mutinous, though, got the bullish face on that Jensen knows from that final set of reps where Jared just can’t push any further.
“I’m not joining, dad,” he says bluntly. “I don’t want to.”
Gerald clearly doesn’t want to argue in front of a stranger, and Jensen’s not leaving, so he at least half changes the topic of conversation. “What are you doing here anyway if you’re not here for the gym?”
“I know Jensen,” Jared says. “I was bringing him some books, not joining,” and he deliberately curls an arm round Jensen and pulls him in a bit.
There’s many ways for Jensen to spend his Sunday night, and he’d personally hoped it’d be in bed with Jared, not being used as an object lesson in some petty, on-going spat with his dad. He doesn’t buck Jared off, because he’s not going to show him up in front of his dad, but he keeps his distance as well, because meeting the parent of someone you’ve blown twenty minutes ago is as awkward as you’re going to get. All he has to hope is that Gerald doesn’t put two and two together with the shower, or tonight will have taken a steep turn downhill.
He gets why Jared doesn’t want to tell his dad that he’s going to the gym, gets why Jared’s still wearing too-big shirts and pretending that there’s nothing different about himself, but nothing about it gels with the painfully honest person Jared is on a day-to-day basis, the way he stripped off for Jensen. It’s like the progress they’ve made is receding backwards, that it’s all been kind of a waste if Jared values none of it as something to be proud of.
Rationally he knows that family makes you do stupid things, traps you in a resentful teenage condition of rebellion sometimes long past when it should be over. Jensen’s felt it, but maybe it’s the four years between them that makes it feel like he can’t quite understand Jared, even taking that into account. But there’s something uncomfortable about standing there, and Jensen wants to be gone.
Jared lets go of him. “I’m screwing this up,” he mumbles. “Dad, this is Jensen. He’s my personal trainer. And before you say anything, you were right about the gym, okay, and I started going because you thought it would help. But I’m not boxing. I don’t want to, I’ve never wanted to, and that’s not changing.”
Gerald rubs a hand across the back of his neck in a move uncomfortably reminiscent of Jared at his most embarrassed. “We can talk about this later,” he says. “I’ve got to head back,” he says, nods at Jensen, awkwardly touches Jared’s arm as though to reassure him, and leaves as quickly as he politely can. Jensen’s never going to be able to look him in the face again.
“The bit about him inspiring me to go to the gym is a lie, but a lie my mom will thank me for,” Jared breaks in on the silence with.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Jensen says, but Jared ignores it.
“And I’m not lifting for you either,” he says. “I mean, yeah, I admit that I stuck around for that first session because you were the hottest person I’d ever seen when you were smiling at a squat rack, and I came back at first because that helped convince me to make the effort. But it’s not the reason I’m still coming. You don’t need to apologize for finding me hotter now anyway, because if I’m honest that’s about 90% of the reason I started this in the first place.”
“What was the other 10%?” Jensen has to ask.
“I really wanted to kick the ass of those stairs. Which is one mission sorted, at least.”
“Come back with me,” Jensen says on impulse. Jared can’t hog all the truth in one evening.
“Yeah,” Jared says, steady and warm. “I’d like that.”
Turns out he likes it even more when Jensen’s got him inside the apartment, and they’re kissing again, fire banked from earlier, one orgasm down so the next can come slow. Almost everybody Jensen’s ever dated has been shorter than him, male and female both, so it’s a change of pace to be the one reaching up, but Jared eliminates that in seconds by getting them both to the couch, long stretch against each other. Two years ago, Jensen would have sneered at this, all this effort for a fuck, when he could get what he wanted in twenty minutes if he timed it right. Now it feels like he can't get enough of Jared's mouth, the press of his fingers in the cut of Jensen's hips, the way he chases the contact as though there's nothing he'd like more than to lazily rut against Jensen until he comes like that, in his shorts.
Jared's lips are soft and bruised, look like Jensen’s feel by the time they're done, mirror of all of the pent-up impatience of past months, and Jensen can't resist pressing his thumb into them, feeling Jared duck his head into his hand, open his mouth up and let Jensen in, a sudden body flashback of being in the shower and seeing Jared open his mouth in exactly the same way for Jensen's cock.
Jared knows exactly what he's doing, looking at Jensen with a laugh in his eyes, face flushed pink, gleam of white teeth around Jensen's thumb, just a little scrape against the skin, before he lets it slip out of his mouth, goes for the exposed skin of Jensen's neck instead, sharp flicker of those teeth against his skin, just enough to prickle and heat, no marks left behind, and Jensen can't believe he wants that, wants Jared to bite in and leave a trace of where he's been. Feels the smooth glide of Jared's mouth over his skin, swift nip to the collarbone, before he rucks up Jensen's t-shirt and gets to work on the skin there instead, hair falling over his face, one hand coming up to hold it back until Jensen does it for him, so he can see Jared rub his cheek against Jensen's stomach, and mouth along the line of his sweatpants, thumb slipping underneath the band.
There's a knock at the door, and Jensen would ignore it, only nobody ever knocks on his door so it's probably important. Jared seems to get that, at least he shifts enough that he's no longer pressed down on Jensen's legs, looks like he's laughing at just how pissed off Jensen is, flushed and disheveled against the backdrop of a cat cushion. "Screw it," Jensen says. "They want anything, they can come back." Reaches back down, until the knock sounds again, and hell, he's up, might as well answer it.
There's an edge in his voice, he knows, as he says hello, and the woman outside the door looks at him uncertainly. "I'm so sorry for interrupting, especially this late, I really am. I just wondered if you could help. I know you're new- " Jensen doesn't correct her with the knowledge that he's been here for months and nobody's ever knocked on his door before apart from the landlord. "But I really need a hand - I’ve managed to knock a desk over and it’s jammed a door. Which wouldn’t usually be a problem, only,” and she nods helplessly at her right arm, bound up in a sling. “I know it sounds so stupid, but if you could give me a hand, I’d appreciate it a lot.”
There's a WWJD bracelet on her unbroken wrist, and all Jensen can think for a second is why is she wearing a What Would Jared Do reminder. Unfortunately, he knows exactly what Jared would do, and it is with a sigh that he trudges on up behind her to unwedge a heavy desk, and get a literal cookie for his help (plus a second one for his 'friend'), before he goes back down to Jared. When he lets himself in, the living room is dark, but the door to the bedroom is lit up, and Jensen grins. Taking the initiative is clearly Jared's secret talent. He strips off his t-shirt as he goes, toes at his socks, but isn't prepared for the sight of Jared spread out on his bed, hot flush on his face, naked as the day he was born, slowly stroking his dick. Jensen has to pause, just long enough for the look on Jared's face to start making the slow shift to discomfort as though he thinks he’s miscalculated, before Jensen stumbles towards the bed, and almost falls down on top of Jared, face mashed into his hair, Jared laughing clear and loudly beneath him.
He saw Jared naked in the changing room, he's had Jared's dick in his mouth and his ass in his hands, just an hour or two ago, but this feels different. It's Jared, in his bed, in his room, and Jensen's cock is almost painful, he's not entirely sure he'll last long enough to do anything other than kiss Jared, and maybe rub against him, until they both come. Jared's fingers are as hard and eager as his own, in tugging off Jensen's sweatpants and boxers, until they're both naked against each other. When Jared's fingers reach out, Jensen catches at his wrist, watches in fascination the sudden deepening colour of Jared's face, lip disappearing as he sucks it in with a breath.
If this was a one night stand, Jensen would be asking questions. What do you want? How? Top or bottom? It's stupid to think that he should just know with Jared, but Jared does that to him. Luckily Jared appears to have picked up all the brain cells Jensen's dropped, because he's asking it instead, with his body if not his mouth, pulling his fingers out of Jensen's grasp, and heading straight for his first target, folding those long fingers that Jensen's never properly appreciated up until this moment around Jensen's dick and jerking him off, a double manoeuvre given that he's still lazily tugging at himself, and Jesus he must be ambidextrous.
"Fuck me?" Jared asks, straight into Jensen's ear, and he shivers at the feel of it, feels every nerve come alive, as Jared's fingers work on making him utterly incapable of speech, and most of Jensen wants Jared to stop or they're both going to be disappointed.
"Yeah," he says, "yeah," because at this moment Jared could probably ask him for anything and he'd say yes, and fucking Jared is the easiest sell anyone has ever made in the history of ever. Jared grins, kisses him again, and makes lube appear as though with magic, and Jensen looks at it. "You rifled my drawers, didn't you?" he accuses weakly.
"Of course," Jared says without shame. "Jonathan Franzen, Jensen? I'm disappointed. Tell it was jerk off material, not reading."
Jensen laughs at the absurdity, and shudders in the warm grip of Jared's fingers. "That's not any better. It was a present, okay."
He wriggles free of Jared's hand and sits back on his haunches, ready to get on with it. Another time he wants to take Jared apart, slowly and carefully, get to know every inch of the body that Jared's worked so hard to make, but there's no chance of that happening tonight for either of them. Jared has plans of his own, though, grasps Jensen's with thighs that are more like steel than putty now, and flips them over, or at least tries to - Jensen goes half way over from sheer shock, but Jared forgot the upper part of his body, and it degenerates into a mess of arms and legs, and an unfortunate collision with the squeezy lube bottle. None of this is anywhere close to ruining the mood, until there's an ominous creak and the bottom right corner of the bed goes down, first with a creak and then a crash, and Jared's laughing as though he can't stop.
"Did we just break your bed?" he says, practically into Jensen's mouth, but Jared's very slowly sliding towards the broken slope of the bed himself, and Jensen can feel the tremble on the other side. "I mean, before we had sex, even."
"Yes," Jensen says, and the funny side of it hits him then, because they're mostly disentangled, which means there's nothing to arrest Jared sliding away with a shocked look on his face, and it's the most hideous mixture of aroused to the point of violence, and hilarity that he's ever felt. "This is your fault," Jensen says, as he rolls off his side and surveys the mess of his room, hand over his dick, as Jared picks himself up, more difficult than it looks as he's tangled himself in a blanket. "My bed has never collapsed before."
"You weren't using it right," Jared says. He looks as stupid as Jensen does, hair messed up and wild, dick still hard, sagging against the weight of gravity now, and perhaps stupid isn't exactly the word Jensen's looking for. It takes both of them to pull the remains of the frame away, until the mattress can sit on the floor, and Jared pushes Jensen back onto it, but more carefully as though they haven't already done the worst they can do between them. "Sit tight," he says, and Jensen's cock, which maybe had softened a little, has a sudden resurgence of interest. Jared's eyes are darkened, and he's not grinning any more, though there's still a hint of it at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe I should fuck you instead," he says softly, scanning Jensen's face, "seeing that the other way wasn't working out."
Jensen feels a flash of heat go through him, low sizzle of it in his spine. If he can only vaguely remember the last time he got a blowjob, he can name almost to the day the last time he got fucked. When it happens, he likes it from people big enough to pin him down, to shoulder aside the restless jerks of his hips, hold down his thighs until he stops moving. He's not sure Jared's strong enough to make it good for him, but the thought still makes him hot, because it's been more years than he'd care to remember since the last time someone tried. He moves his head, unsure for the first time since he kissed Jared today. He wants that from Jared, he does, but it's a fucking tangle of things he can't explain, not like this, spread out and bare already. What he wants right now is to fuck Jared, until Jared can't remember his own name, and then perhaps he'll promise to stay, so sometime Jensen can tell him.
Jared gets it, because Jared embarrassingly gets half the things Jensen doesn't say, and can make a good guess at the rest. "Another time," he says, like a promise, just between them. "I've been waiting for you to fuck me. It was pretty much all I thought about that first damn session, wanting you to look at me, to see me. I've had more dirty thoughts about that bench than I can actually count, and it's all your fault." He says it affectionately, and Jensen doesn't know why this is making him even harder, but it is. There's something about the thought of Jared watching him, imagining Jensen fucking him, wanting it that bad, that gets all the way into his gut.
It wouldn't mean the same thing if he said it back, even though every word of it's true, so he does what he's always done best, and uses his body to say it. Pulls Jared down on top of him, wants the heavy weight of Jared's cock in his mouth, to impale him with his fingers or push him down and rim the hell out of him, until Jared's shaking under his hands, his mouth, and eventually his cock. Takes what he can get, brief taste of Jared's dick, sucks him back to hardness in seconds, ragged pulse of Jared's breaths above him, until Jared shifts back and gets busy.
Jensen runs a hand down the visible muscle of Jared's thigh, watches him spread himself a little further apart, thick weight of his dick shiny from Jensen's mouth, as Jared fucks himself with his own fingers. Jensen can't see them, but he can imagine, the dip first of one and then two, pushing inside Jared, can trace the progression from the look on Jared's face, all shyness cast aside, all doubts about himself, about Jensen, lost in the moment, wrenching himself open for Jensen to see in. Jensen just watches, hardly breathing, slides his hands down the tenseness of Jared's stomach, the narrowness of his waist, follows the curve of his ass round, feels the minute shiver of Jared under his hand.
It takes seconds for Jared to fumble a condom on Jensen, fingers slippery and sure, seconds for him to brace himself against Jensen, and Jensen wants to know where Jared learnt all this, how Jared can be so sure here and so unsure outside, hopes he's got time to hear that story. Then none of it matters any longer, just the strong brace of Jared, breath held in, as he takes Jensen in, an inch at a time, so slow that Jensen has to fight the wretched impulse to pull him down faster, fist his hands into the disheveled bedsheets to stop himself from even trying. Jared's brow is contracted, wrinkled, and he's staring down as though he can't believe it either, slow incremental rocking as he shifts down until they meet.
Jared's started breathing by the end, slow inhaled gulps of air, and there's a fine tremor running through him, matched by Jensen, a sweat breaking out across his face and chest, glossy and shiny, until it feels like Jensen’s surrounded - by Jared’s body, hands, the sight and smell of him, and instead of making him feel stifled and trapped, it’s almost comforting.
Even more comforting is the grip of Jared around him, the sheer strength in Jared as he rides Jensen, cock heavy between them, and Jensen can’t keep his hands away, jerks Jared off as Jared braces himself and rocks on Jensen, slow and hot. There have been times, Jensen would have been embarrassed by how fast he comes, but he doesn’t imagine there’s a single person who could blame him, at the sight of Jared watching his face, grinding on down and inching up, until Jensen has no choice but to let go and just come helplessly apart.
Jared’s batted Jensen’s hand away and is jerking himself off now, fast and precise, thighs clenching around Jensen, ass still rocking against his dick, until he comes with one hand shoved in his mouth to stifle any noise, biting down so hard that Jensen can see the marks, eyes wide and fixed as he rides his way through it, and then falls down so heavy and hard that Jensen thinks he might suffocate, like a too thick electric blanket, and Jensen almost sinks his teeth into Jared’s shoulder to hide his own moan as he slips out of Jared, condom already wilting. That seems to be Jared’s cue to roll off, though.
The ceiling seems further away than usual as Jensen stares up, rolling the condom off, until he remembers that they’re on the floor more or less. A tissue or two later, and they’re lying side by side, Jared’s breath still irregular between them. “Need to work on cardio,” Jared says into the air.
“Squats have paid off, though,” Jensen says on the automatic, and Jared thumps him on the chest with an outflung fist, which Jensen considers harsh, since it’s the truth after all. He doesn’t exactly mean to fall asleep like that, between one breath and the next, but apparently he does, because the next thing he knows, he’s waking up to a dark room (Jared had clearly remained conscious enough to turn off the lights) and the steady breathing of someone beside him, something rare enough to jolt him out of the haze of half-sleep. He can just about see the tilt of Jared’s jaw in the light from outside, the shaded hollow of his cheek, and it almost terrifies him. He hadn’t bargained for this bit.
He gets out of bed quietly and pads on through to the kitchen to get some water. His right side where he’s been mostly pushed up against Jared is now uncomfortably cool. On the side in the kitchen, as he runs himself a glass and drains it, he sees the box of books, sitting there innocuously in the dark. Suddenly the miniature freakout he was just getting ready for seems stupid and beside the point. Flopping back down next to Jared, and feeling Jared kick out in a futile attempt to grab more space seems a much better idea, and for once he follows that instinct.
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“Yeah,” he says, though admitting he’s doing nothing on a Saturday is sort of embarrassing. But then neither is Jared so maybe it isn’t too bad. “That’d be good. Meet you at closing time?” Jared nods and that’s settled. Sure, Jensen still has to fight the urge to dash back home and tidy up, but he’s pretty sure Jared isn’t going to give a shit, and Jensen always leaves the place clean, if not unpacked. He heads in, a decent interval after Jared, and showers briskly, dresses fast, and gets back to the desk so he can pretend to do some work, though it feels like his first free afternoon in ages. Hypothetically the conference he’d crossed the country for had been a holiday, but it hadn’t felt like it, just resulted in the itchy, useless, sad mood he found himself in on return, though that’s been dented a little bit by Jared’s cheerfulness.
Back at his place, he ends up hovering uselessly, trying to remember what box holds what. He’s at least sure there’s no porn - that’s gone digital, and he’s about 90% sure nothing is too embarrassing. Jared, on the other hand, is having the time of his life. Apparently there’s nothing more he’s ever wanted from life than to be allowed to dig through a box and find the cat cushions that Jensen’s aunt had given him as a housewarming present. He’s laughing at all the right things, though, not a word about how it’s kind of weird how Jensen’s pretty much managed to live with two plates and a fork before now, and it’s at that moment that Jensen can see how far physically Jared’s come. He’s used to seeing Jared with the impersonal eye of a trainer, one muscle group at a time, used to noting poor extension, good posture, all the bits that go to making up a body.
Now he’s seeing Jared lift three boxes with ease, when he couldn’t have lifted one without effort a few months ago, seeing the new build of muscle in Jared’s arms, the strong curve of his back as he bends to get another one, even the strength of his hands that speaks to perpetual use of the handgrips he’d bought. Built, is the first word that comes to mind, even though Jared doesn’t quite fit it yet. Built, more in the sense that Jared has put effort in, has built himself again, formed himself, with maybe a bit of Jensen’s help, and it’s not the first time he’s felt a sensation of pride at what he’s been able to help a client do, but it is the first time he’s felt it this personally, as though he had some hand in it himself.
Jared’s different in all sorts of ways now, not just physical. When he first started coming to the gym, it was strictly business, eyes down, sidling in and out like he didn’t have a right to be there. Now he chats easily and casually with other people in the weights room, gives a hand here and there, jokes with Misha and the rest, and Gen can’t stop talking about what a different guy he is now, how he’s come out of his shell. He’s chatting and laughing with Jensen now as he screws a dismantled desk together with easy movements, face turning up to Jensen now and then with half a smile as he looked for the screws. “You’re so neat,” he comments, holding up a tiny bag with all the screws divided in them.
Jensen doesn’t say that that’s his dad’s handiwork, just takes the credit, and begins hauling things into place. There’s still...not a lot. But he could always pretend to be minimalist, maybe paint the walls white. Jared’s engaged in scattering the cat cushions on the sofa that is almost the only item of furniture in the front room for the reason that it hadn’t had to be unpacked, and Jensen makes a resolution that if he’s buying only one new thing it’s cushions, because the cat ones are terrifying, huge carnivorous mouths looming out of innocent embroidery.
“Heya,” Jared says then, and holds out a stack of photos. “Where do you want to put these?” He’s not flicking through them like a normal person would, a mercy Jensen’s unexpectedly grateful for when he realizes that they’re a bunch of college ones, half of them in black and white from at least one of his friends going through an artsy SLR phase. Nobody needs to see him in sleeveless shirts chugging the shit out of a beer. Of course, of course, there’s a picture of Matty on the top, arms around Jensen, lips half on his cheek, half on his mouth, and Jensen’s staring straight at the camera with a look of eyerolling disdain. “Jesus, I was a dick,” he says, and takes the photos, ready to put them in the drawer.
Jared’s still kind of quiet, and it suddenly clicks. Jared didn’t know that Jensen isn’t exactly straight. He hasn’t been closeted since he’d moved here, but he hasn’t shared much of himself (anything) with anyone either. He’s fine telling clients personal stories about his own fitness struggles - sometimes more personal things than he’d ever tell a friend - but he keeps his social life out of it, and the result, it seems, is that Jared didn’t know that. Suddenly everything about this seems much more awkward. Does Jared think that this is a weird date now? That Jensen was trying to get him alone?
“I didn’t know,” Jared said, and no shit. “That you used to spike your hair. It looked kind of dumb.” And the tension breaks like it was never there at all, Jared’s lips are curling upwards, and Jensen can feel a stupid surge of relief go through him.
“We all make mistakes,” Jensen says. “Six foot mistakes in some cases.”
“So he was short, huh?” Jared says, and okay, yeah six foot probably is short to Jared.
“Yeah, he was a tri guy, it would never have worked. Came from the wrong side of the gym,” and it’s all half joke, half truth. He’s glad that Jared didn’t look at the rest of the photos, at the endless parade of six foot mistakes and five foot five mistakes. He was a different person then.
“Come on,” he says and heads into the kitchen, hands Jared a beer. “Cheat day,” he says. “Or you can call it carb-loading if it’ll make you feel better.”
Jared grins. “You read my mind,” he says, takes a swig, and then matter-of-factly starts putting away Jensen’s cutlery. “I sincerely hope you didn’t take me seriously about the chicken either. I think I’ve eaten enough that PETA might make me a special target for a kitchen break. Just one night off, please.”
Jensen’s got that sorted, doesn’t admit that he had to use his cell to google local pizza places and trawl Yelp to find somewhere that might be half decent. It’s not like he’s had much call for pizza since he moved here. So he casually tosses out a name, and Jared volunteers to call, though half a second in, his mouth starts twitching with laughter.
“They went out of business,” he informs Jensen. “Two years ago.”
Jensen bangs his head on a cupboard and opens another beer. “I’m a personal trainer,” he defends himself. “If I want to eat myself to death I’m gonna do it on burgers.”
Jared holds his hands up. “No judgement here,” he says. “I like burgers as much as the next guy. Unless the next guy is you, apparently. Hang on, I’ve got this.” He calls up somewhere else, laughter still in his voice, and orders something he swears will be the best pizza Jensen’s ever tasted. While they wait, he helps Jensen ease the TV out of its protective box. “You seriously don’t watch it?” he asks, holds it without an effort as Jensen drags the small stand into place.
“Nope,” Jensen says. “I get my fill of it in the gym, if I want to watch anything particularly, there’s always my cell. It just seems like pointless noise in the background, and I don’t spend enough of my time here anyway to bother it.” He’s pretty sure that Jared’s figured that much out already. There’s a pre-erected set of shelves from the last apartment owner, where Jared’s placed the two solitary books that came out of Jensen’s boxes, and Jared is surveying them with a frown as he waits for Jensen to get the stand adjusted.
“Not a reader?” he asks.
“Audio books, sometimes,” Jensen says. “Good for the gym, I listen to music but not while I work out. Everything else, there’s a Kindle. Here.” He gestures for Jared to let him take the other end of the TV so they can settle it down, and he’s absolutely certain, as certain as he can be in that second, that Jared wants to make a move - there’s something in the way he looks at Jensen, the sweep of his lashes down, the hot gaze of his eyes, that says if they weren’t manhandling a delicate object, he’d drop it and go for the kiss. Jensen’s expecting it, enough that it’s a shock when they set it down, and Jared steps back and not forward. Which, if Jared’s not feeling it, Jensen’s not going to push it, even if there’s more disappointment in the feeling than he would care to admit.
The momentary tension is broken by Jared skidding on a piece of plastic wrapping and falling back onto the sofa, the surprised, winded look on his face cracking Jensen up, even as he moves forward to make sure that Jared’s okay. “Unpacking is fucking dangerous,” Jared says. “I swear I’ve almost died about five times tonight. That metal sculpture thing was probably going to give me tetanus.”
Jensen doesn’t have the heart to tell Jared that the metal sculpture thing was actually a candlestick set that his sister had given him for some obscure reason that she hadn’t actually explained, but he suspected translated as “they were on sale”. “Very dangerous,” he says. “You can put that on your resume: survived Jensen’s apartment.”
The rest of the evening is the first decent one that Jensen’s had in longer than he’d like to admit - Jared’s promises about the pizza quality are true, they manage with some effort and a lot of box shaking to get the TV working rather than acting as an expensive ornament, the beer smoothes the conversational way, given that this is the first time they’ve spent more than 15 minutes in each other’s company without Jensen bullying Jared into pushing himself harder. It doesn’t, unfortunately, make Jared any less attractive; the new way he holds himself, like his height is an asset not a flaw, or the developing strength of his forearms doesn’t mitigate the new assurance in the way he moves. But that’s a side effect he can live with, to see a stronger, more self confident, and, he thinks, happier Jared.
By the time, it’s time for Jared to head off, they’re both mildly buzzed, and it seems entirely natural for Jensen to walk Jared most of the way back to his place since it’s max about half a mile, entirely natural for them to wait on the doorstep chatting just long enough to make it weird. Entirely natural for Jared to hug Jensen goodbye, without a shred of self-consciousness, like they’re close enough for it to be normal. And as Jensen walks back home alone, he knows beyond a single shred of doubt that he’s screwed.
He doesn’t see Jared on Sunday, but it doesn’t surprise him. Compared to a lot of places, Jared opens for later on a Sunday - something about no other time of the week being convenient for some people - so if he works out on a Sunday, it’s generally during lunch break. He is kind of surprised to see Jared turn up after closing time, though - Jensen opens until 8 on a Sunday but it’s also the only day he’s strict about closing up on time. Jensen’s just finished his own after-hours workout, and is just about to head to the shower when he sees Jared at the door with an awkward box in his arms, hovering anxiously. He unlocks the door and waves Jared in, a little bit confused.
Jared dumps the box on the counter and smiles expectantly at Jensen, who takes the hint and looks inside. It’s books. About twenty of them as far as he can tell, and now he’s confused. “Fill up your shelves,” Jared tells him. “I’m not a luddite who thinks e-books are the devil, even if they are stealing my income, but you need some books and these are good ones. You have my word on that. They’re not color co-ordinated with your cat cushions though, so they’re not quite perfect.”
“You’re giving me your stock,” Jensen says, lifting them out carefully. He hasn’t heard of any of them.
“Some of my stock,” Jared corrects him. “Actually these are some multiple copies and most of them are second hand, so it’s really not that big a deal, you know.” Like doing a nice thing is something to downplay. “They’re a present. Call it a really really late housewarming present if you must, and maybe a thank you for all of this,” and he gestures a hand vaguely, maybe means the gym, maybe means himself. Whatever he means, he’s sincere.
“You don’t have to do that,” Jensen says, slipping back into the automatic response of vague niceties.
“Well, no,” Jared says, as if surprised at Jensen. “But I wanted to.”
Jensen’s pretty sure that neither of them’s surprised when Jensen pulls him in for a kiss then, screw personal rules about trainers and their clients. He sidesteps the box to pull Jared closer, and Jared's hesitant for a second, then kissing back, arms tightening around Jensen like he needs to hold on to him, mouth smiling still, and Jensen would stand here pretty much all night if he could. He can feel the tense muscles of Jared’s neck under his hand, the dig of Jared’s fingers into Jensen’s back, like he’s as disbelieving as Jensen at this happening at all.
Jensen’s sweaty and grubby from his workout, though, and if they’re taking this further, he wants to be clean, wants to be ready to meet Jared with all that he’s got. So he finally breaks free, takes in the stunned, tender look in Jared’s eyes and doesn’t feel the urge to back away from it, though this is bigger than he’d anticipated it being. He feels like he’s spent a long time running, and maybe someone’s saying to him that it’s okay to stop.
“I need a shower,” he says, no preamble.
Jared laughs, a dry little scratch of a sound. “Is that an invitation?” What should sound smooth and sexy comes out questioning, a tentative feel, as though Jared’s still not sure that Jensen means this. He wonders if Jared’s been burnt like this before.
In fairness, Jensen doesn’t think he can call himself a coward. Not anymore. “Yeah,” he replies. “If you want to.”
He’s never watched a lover strip off with the same intentness that he watches Jared, like this is the first time he’s ever seen him. Jared hides still, biggest baggiest XL t-shirts that he can find, which now fit him in the shoulders but nowhere else, only wears shorts when Jensen threatens him with a kettlebell session if he doesn’t. He’s stayed away from the showers when Jared’s there, not from fear he can’t control himself, but from the lurking suspicion that he might give himself away, even if slowly he’s been beginning to think Jared might’ve been looking back.
Jared’s perfect. Not the sort of perfection that’s the end of a journey, but a developing one - broad swoop of shoulders leading to a ridiculously narrow waist, firm strength of his back as he turns away to kick off his shorts leading to the dip and roundness of his ass. He looks what he is, strong and healthy and beautiful, and Jensen’s mouth’s gone dry just looking at him, before he’s seen the half hard, heavy swell of Jared’s dick, solid and thick, making Jensen want to go to his knees without a moment’s more justification.
He’s almost forgotten that he needs to strip himself, tears off his top and unlaces his shoes, before shedding his shorts, and getting into the shower. He’s always sworn he’d kick the ass of anything he ever caught doing what he is about thirty seconds away from doing, but it’s his own gym, he can make the fucking rules - in more ways than one. Jared’s turned on the water for them already, hair slicked dark and wet back against his skull, eyes wary as though he’s expecting this to be the moment that Jensen backs out, and Jensen finally gets how hard it was for Jared to do what he did.
He’s pretty sure nothing he can say is going to make an impact, but he gives it his best go anyway. Kisses Jared as hard as he can, feels the brutal push of their mouths, the wet slide of slippery skin under his fingers. “I’ve wanted this from that first day,” he says, in between their mouths, can’t even be sure that Jared’s heard him over the wet patter of water.
He presses them closer under the spray, feels his fingers catch in the day-end tangles of Jared’s hair when he threads his fingers through it, sees the softening blush of Jared’s face at the pull, eyes open and honest even through the water as he clutches at Jensen.
Jensen wants to bite at the long line of Jared’s neck, along the tautness of his skin, mouth at the exposed strength of his shoulders, follow the water down his flat stomach, take the unknown paths, wants to mumble out the ways he finds Jared stunning, if he thought it wouldn’t curl Jared up inside himself, like the way compliments generally do. So he keeps it inside, doesn’t break the silence between them, shattered only by the wet slide of their skin. Lets Jared press him against the cool hardness of the wall, icy against his shower-warmed skin, and kiss him like that, reverent press of his mouth, as they grind almost unconsciously together, heavy thrust of Jared’s dick against Jensen’s hip, as he smoothes his fingers down the cut of Jensen’s abs, enough until it isn’t, fingers too close and teasing.
It doesn’t take much to turn them back under the spray mostly, until Jared’s against the wall, mouth open, unconscious to the water, as Jensen grips at the firmness of his thigh, hangs onto the smooth jut of his hips, and goes down like he’s wanted to, for longer than he can say. He’s not used to it, not like this, wet splash of water in his face, Jared’s hand in his hair like he can’t believe it, but he takes a deep breath and tries. It’s been months since he’s sucked dick, some anonymous hook-up that’d brought it home how little he cared about anything except getting off and getting out. Jared’s better. He’s thick and hard already, wet with the almost sweet taste of water, and he jerks forward at the touch of Jensen’s mouth, then back again. It’s the most awkward position Jensen knows of for giving head, hard on the knees, and he almost drowns in the water, before Jared bends forward enough that most of the water runs off, but he doesn’t want to stop. Jared’s warm and solid under his hands, his dick heavy on Jensen’s tongue, and Jensen can feel the minute tremors, the tiny shakes as he pulls back like he doesn’t want to choke Jensen only very slightly more than he does want to choke him.
It tugs at his jaw, pressing this far, this fast, but he doesn’t care, knows he’s earning the soreness, but he wants to give everything he can in this moment. Sucks the slow well of pre-come from the head of Jared’s dick, and goes back for more, takes as much as he can, nothing fast or desperate about any of it, just slow and hot and suction-tight, presses his fingers into Jared’s hips hard, feels more than hears the swallowed sounds Jared’s making, like he’s trying not to beg for more, harder. When Jensen gets his hand round enough to get a handful of Jared’s ass, Jared jerks forward, deeper into his mouth, groan of pleasure finally getting out, and Jensen uses every moment of it to advantage, manoeuvres Jared where he wants him, urges him forward in a jerky rhythm until Jared gets it, ass tensing in Jensen’s hand as he shifts enough that Jensen can fold his fingers around more, fingers pushing into the curve of Jared’s ass, not pushing or demanding, just present, and Jared’s grinding back into him, as though he wants the feel of Jensen’s fingers on his skin, before he thrusts back into Jensen’s mouth as though he belongs there, Jensen welcoming him in each time, closing his eyes so he can feel it all, in the blackness behind his eyelids, muffled sound of water around him, and nothing but Jared in front.
Jared’s still got his fingers in the short strands of Jensen’s hair, one hand brushing over the exposed skin of his face, pressing at the side of Jensen’s cheek with the lightest of touches, and it’s only minutes, feels like no time at all, before he’s coming, fingers desperately scrabbling at Jensen as though to warn him, which fuck no. Jared moans, soft and broken, fingers spread against the wall now, like he’s trying to keep his balance, still pumping into Jensen’s mouth, and Jensen’s taking it and would if it was for no other reason than how hot Jared looks like this, wet, pink and breathing like he’s run a marathon, not got a blowjob.
He hauls himself upright, takes a moment to look at Jared spread out against the wall, dick still almost half hard, wet from the water and Jensen’s mouth, and the trace amounts of come that Jensen let escape, and he needs. Gets his hand around his dick, zero finesse or teasing, feels the wetness of his skin, and the slickness of the head of his dick, so hard just from watching and feeling Jared. It’s frightening to realize just how many things he wants from Jared, half of them in bed, and half of them, even more frighteningly, out of it. There’s too many but right now he can be content with the sight of Jared, bedraggled and open and fucked out just from a blowjob, bitten red of his mouth, hectic flush on his face, the way he’s lazily cupped a hand over his dick like he wants the last shreds of sensation to be wrung out of him. Jensen thinks how next time they do this, he’ll keep sucking even after Jared’s come, until he’s sure Jared can’t take it for a second more.
Then Jared’s moving, watching Jensen with greed like he wants everything Jensen wants as well, eyes moving from Jensen’s face to his cock, as though he can’t decide what to settle on. Jensen’s happy to put on a show, if it’s Jared who’s watching - if there wasn’t the slightest thread of an exhibitionist in him, he probably wouldn’t have picked this career path after all. He slows down, just a little, lets his fingers twist over the fat head of his dick, watches Jared’s face, the soft drop of his lip, nervous swipe of his tongue, like he wants as bad as Jensen had to be on his knees, sees Jared’s fingernails dig into his thigh as though he thinks he isn’t allowed to touch.
He remembers what Jared said about not minding Jensen telling him what to do, wonders how far that goes, if he’ll hold still, hold his wrists tight above his head while Jensen rides him, how pretty and easy he’ll take Jensen’s cock, thinks about that wide, gorgeous mouth choking on his dick, and he’s not taking it slow any longer, is suddenly, brutally desperate to come.
He can’t quite make it over the edge until Jared’s folding himself down like he can’t wait a moment longer, so close to Jensen’s dick, fingers curling over Jensen’s to steady him, as he fits the head of Jensen’s dick on the curve of his bottom lip, and just the sight, the pressure of Jared’s fingers is enough to make Jensen come, hard and desperate, hips rocking forward as though to force the last shudder out. Jared’s mouth is wet with it, face a little shocked, though like it’s natural and instinctive in him, he presses against Jensen’s dick again and licks the last drops of come away, presses his tongue against the slit then runs under until the head of Jensen’s dick is in his mouth again.
Jensen fully understands the urge to clutch the wall now, but takes the second best option and hauls Jared up instead, steadies himself against him for a moment, before Jared kisses him, not the hard, anxious press of earlier but a softer one that lingers long enough that Jensen’s intensely glad there’s endless hot water. They separate soon after, Jared ducking out of the water as though he needs some time to recompose himself, and Jensen washes himself unselfconsciously, knows that Jared’s still watching through the haze of water, but this time’s for actually getting clean. When he exits, dressed in a towel, though, Jared’s nowhere to be seen, and waiting for a few minutes doesn’t produce him either.
Jensen’s been fucked and run on before, and he’s done it himself, though he’s not proud of those occasions, but Jared is the last person he’d ever have thought would be that guy. There’s a hard, hot ball of disappointment in his chest that he doesn’t want to poke at too much, because if there’s one thing Jensen believes in, it’s choices, and that includes choices like walking away. He dresses quickly, doesn’t bother drying his hair, and when he walks around the bench, he notices Jared’s shoes are still there. Which, either that blowjob was bad enough that Jared ran into the street sans shoes, or he is still somewhere in the gym complex.
He can’t believe that idea didn’t occur to him first, wonders if he’s so determined to imagine the worst that he’s given up believing in the best. Sure enough, when he gets close to the reception area, he can hear voices. Which isn’t great given that the gym’s supposed to be locked up, but it’s better than the alternative. When he rounds the corner, he can see Jared first, every bit of the tension dispelled by the shower back in his shoulders, which are hunched up around him. He’s zipped up in his hoodie as well, which somewhere along the line Jensen’s come to spot as a bad sign.
The other man is Gerald, and of course it’s the late night Sunday boxing meet. Jensen is quietly, fervently glad that he and Jared finished up before the changing rooms were invaded by spillover. He walks forward anyway and stands next to Jared, offering a hand to Gerald who shakes briskly, so clearly whatever this argument is about, it’s not about Jensen corrupting his son in any way, shape or fashion. Jared’s looking mutinous, though, got the bullish face on that Jensen knows from that final set of reps where Jared just can’t push any further.
“I’m not joining, dad,” he says bluntly. “I don’t want to.”
Gerald clearly doesn’t want to argue in front of a stranger, and Jensen’s not leaving, so he at least half changes the topic of conversation. “What are you doing here anyway if you’re not here for the gym?”
“I know Jensen,” Jared says. “I was bringing him some books, not joining,” and he deliberately curls an arm round Jensen and pulls him in a bit.
There’s many ways for Jensen to spend his Sunday night, and he’d personally hoped it’d be in bed with Jared, not being used as an object lesson in some petty, on-going spat with his dad. He doesn’t buck Jared off, because he’s not going to show him up in front of his dad, but he keeps his distance as well, because meeting the parent of someone you’ve blown twenty minutes ago is as awkward as you’re going to get. All he has to hope is that Gerald doesn’t put two and two together with the shower, or tonight will have taken a steep turn downhill.
He gets why Jared doesn’t want to tell his dad that he’s going to the gym, gets why Jared’s still wearing too-big shirts and pretending that there’s nothing different about himself, but nothing about it gels with the painfully honest person Jared is on a day-to-day basis, the way he stripped off for Jensen. It’s like the progress they’ve made is receding backwards, that it’s all been kind of a waste if Jared values none of it as something to be proud of.
Rationally he knows that family makes you do stupid things, traps you in a resentful teenage condition of rebellion sometimes long past when it should be over. Jensen’s felt it, but maybe it’s the four years between them that makes it feel like he can’t quite understand Jared, even taking that into account. But there’s something uncomfortable about standing there, and Jensen wants to be gone.
Jared lets go of him. “I’m screwing this up,” he mumbles. “Dad, this is Jensen. He’s my personal trainer. And before you say anything, you were right about the gym, okay, and I started going because you thought it would help. But I’m not boxing. I don’t want to, I’ve never wanted to, and that’s not changing.”
Gerald rubs a hand across the back of his neck in a move uncomfortably reminiscent of Jared at his most embarrassed. “We can talk about this later,” he says. “I’ve got to head back,” he says, nods at Jensen, awkwardly touches Jared’s arm as though to reassure him, and leaves as quickly as he politely can. Jensen’s never going to be able to look him in the face again.
“The bit about him inspiring me to go to the gym is a lie, but a lie my mom will thank me for,” Jared breaks in on the silence with.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Jensen says, but Jared ignores it.
“And I’m not lifting for you either,” he says. “I mean, yeah, I admit that I stuck around for that first session because you were the hottest person I’d ever seen when you were smiling at a squat rack, and I came back at first because that helped convince me to make the effort. But it’s not the reason I’m still coming. You don’t need to apologize for finding me hotter now anyway, because if I’m honest that’s about 90% of the reason I started this in the first place.”
“What was the other 10%?” Jensen has to ask.
“I really wanted to kick the ass of those stairs. Which is one mission sorted, at least.”
“Come back with me,” Jensen says on impulse. Jared can’t hog all the truth in one evening.
“Yeah,” Jared says, steady and warm. “I’d like that.”
Turns out he likes it even more when Jensen’s got him inside the apartment, and they’re kissing again, fire banked from earlier, one orgasm down so the next can come slow. Almost everybody Jensen’s ever dated has been shorter than him, male and female both, so it’s a change of pace to be the one reaching up, but Jared eliminates that in seconds by getting them both to the couch, long stretch against each other. Two years ago, Jensen would have sneered at this, all this effort for a fuck, when he could get what he wanted in twenty minutes if he timed it right. Now it feels like he can't get enough of Jared's mouth, the press of his fingers in the cut of Jensen's hips, the way he chases the contact as though there's nothing he'd like more than to lazily rut against Jensen until he comes like that, in his shorts.
Jared's lips are soft and bruised, look like Jensen’s feel by the time they're done, mirror of all of the pent-up impatience of past months, and Jensen can't resist pressing his thumb into them, feeling Jared duck his head into his hand, open his mouth up and let Jensen in, a sudden body flashback of being in the shower and seeing Jared open his mouth in exactly the same way for Jensen's cock.
Jared knows exactly what he's doing, looking at Jensen with a laugh in his eyes, face flushed pink, gleam of white teeth around Jensen's thumb, just a little scrape against the skin, before he lets it slip out of his mouth, goes for the exposed skin of Jensen's neck instead, sharp flicker of those teeth against his skin, just enough to prickle and heat, no marks left behind, and Jensen can't believe he wants that, wants Jared to bite in and leave a trace of where he's been. Feels the smooth glide of Jared's mouth over his skin, swift nip to the collarbone, before he rucks up Jensen's t-shirt and gets to work on the skin there instead, hair falling over his face, one hand coming up to hold it back until Jensen does it for him, so he can see Jared rub his cheek against Jensen's stomach, and mouth along the line of his sweatpants, thumb slipping underneath the band.
There's a knock at the door, and Jensen would ignore it, only nobody ever knocks on his door so it's probably important. Jared seems to get that, at least he shifts enough that he's no longer pressed down on Jensen's legs, looks like he's laughing at just how pissed off Jensen is, flushed and disheveled against the backdrop of a cat cushion. "Screw it," Jensen says. "They want anything, they can come back." Reaches back down, until the knock sounds again, and hell, he's up, might as well answer it.
There's an edge in his voice, he knows, as he says hello, and the woman outside the door looks at him uncertainly. "I'm so sorry for interrupting, especially this late, I really am. I just wondered if you could help. I know you're new- " Jensen doesn't correct her with the knowledge that he's been here for months and nobody's ever knocked on his door before apart from the landlord. "But I really need a hand - I’ve managed to knock a desk over and it’s jammed a door. Which wouldn’t usually be a problem, only,” and she nods helplessly at her right arm, bound up in a sling. “I know it sounds so stupid, but if you could give me a hand, I’d appreciate it a lot.”
There's a WWJD bracelet on her unbroken wrist, and all Jensen can think for a second is why is she wearing a What Would Jared Do reminder. Unfortunately, he knows exactly what Jared would do, and it is with a sigh that he trudges on up behind her to unwedge a heavy desk, and get a literal cookie for his help (plus a second one for his 'friend'), before he goes back down to Jared. When he lets himself in, the living room is dark, but the door to the bedroom is lit up, and Jensen grins. Taking the initiative is clearly Jared's secret talent. He strips off his t-shirt as he goes, toes at his socks, but isn't prepared for the sight of Jared spread out on his bed, hot flush on his face, naked as the day he was born, slowly stroking his dick. Jensen has to pause, just long enough for the look on Jared's face to start making the slow shift to discomfort as though he thinks he’s miscalculated, before Jensen stumbles towards the bed, and almost falls down on top of Jared, face mashed into his hair, Jared laughing clear and loudly beneath him.
He saw Jared naked in the changing room, he's had Jared's dick in his mouth and his ass in his hands, just an hour or two ago, but this feels different. It's Jared, in his bed, in his room, and Jensen's cock is almost painful, he's not entirely sure he'll last long enough to do anything other than kiss Jared, and maybe rub against him, until they both come. Jared's fingers are as hard and eager as his own, in tugging off Jensen's sweatpants and boxers, until they're both naked against each other. When Jared's fingers reach out, Jensen catches at his wrist, watches in fascination the sudden deepening colour of Jared's face, lip disappearing as he sucks it in with a breath.
If this was a one night stand, Jensen would be asking questions. What do you want? How? Top or bottom? It's stupid to think that he should just know with Jared, but Jared does that to him. Luckily Jared appears to have picked up all the brain cells Jensen's dropped, because he's asking it instead, with his body if not his mouth, pulling his fingers out of Jensen's grasp, and heading straight for his first target, folding those long fingers that Jensen's never properly appreciated up until this moment around Jensen's dick and jerking him off, a double manoeuvre given that he's still lazily tugging at himself, and Jesus he must be ambidextrous.
"Fuck me?" Jared asks, straight into Jensen's ear, and he shivers at the feel of it, feels every nerve come alive, as Jared's fingers work on making him utterly incapable of speech, and most of Jensen wants Jared to stop or they're both going to be disappointed.
"Yeah," he says, "yeah," because at this moment Jared could probably ask him for anything and he'd say yes, and fucking Jared is the easiest sell anyone has ever made in the history of ever. Jared grins, kisses him again, and makes lube appear as though with magic, and Jensen looks at it. "You rifled my drawers, didn't you?" he accuses weakly.
"Of course," Jared says without shame. "Jonathan Franzen, Jensen? I'm disappointed. Tell it was jerk off material, not reading."
Jensen laughs at the absurdity, and shudders in the warm grip of Jared's fingers. "That's not any better. It was a present, okay."
He wriggles free of Jared's hand and sits back on his haunches, ready to get on with it. Another time he wants to take Jared apart, slowly and carefully, get to know every inch of the body that Jared's worked so hard to make, but there's no chance of that happening tonight for either of them. Jared has plans of his own, though, grasps Jensen's with thighs that are more like steel than putty now, and flips them over, or at least tries to - Jensen goes half way over from sheer shock, but Jared forgot the upper part of his body, and it degenerates into a mess of arms and legs, and an unfortunate collision with the squeezy lube bottle. None of this is anywhere close to ruining the mood, until there's an ominous creak and the bottom right corner of the bed goes down, first with a creak and then a crash, and Jared's laughing as though he can't stop.
"Did we just break your bed?" he says, practically into Jensen's mouth, but Jared's very slowly sliding towards the broken slope of the bed himself, and Jensen can feel the tremble on the other side. "I mean, before we had sex, even."
"Yes," Jensen says, and the funny side of it hits him then, because they're mostly disentangled, which means there's nothing to arrest Jared sliding away with a shocked look on his face, and it's the most hideous mixture of aroused to the point of violence, and hilarity that he's ever felt. "This is your fault," Jensen says, as he rolls off his side and surveys the mess of his room, hand over his dick, as Jared picks himself up, more difficult than it looks as he's tangled himself in a blanket. "My bed has never collapsed before."
"You weren't using it right," Jared says. He looks as stupid as Jensen does, hair messed up and wild, dick still hard, sagging against the weight of gravity now, and perhaps stupid isn't exactly the word Jensen's looking for. It takes both of them to pull the remains of the frame away, until the mattress can sit on the floor, and Jared pushes Jensen back onto it, but more carefully as though they haven't already done the worst they can do between them. "Sit tight," he says, and Jensen's cock, which maybe had softened a little, has a sudden resurgence of interest. Jared's eyes are darkened, and he's not grinning any more, though there's still a hint of it at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe I should fuck you instead," he says softly, scanning Jensen's face, "seeing that the other way wasn't working out."
Jensen feels a flash of heat go through him, low sizzle of it in his spine. If he can only vaguely remember the last time he got a blowjob, he can name almost to the day the last time he got fucked. When it happens, he likes it from people big enough to pin him down, to shoulder aside the restless jerks of his hips, hold down his thighs until he stops moving. He's not sure Jared's strong enough to make it good for him, but the thought still makes him hot, because it's been more years than he'd care to remember since the last time someone tried. He moves his head, unsure for the first time since he kissed Jared today. He wants that from Jared, he does, but it's a fucking tangle of things he can't explain, not like this, spread out and bare already. What he wants right now is to fuck Jared, until Jared can't remember his own name, and then perhaps he'll promise to stay, so sometime Jensen can tell him.
Jared gets it, because Jared embarrassingly gets half the things Jensen doesn't say, and can make a good guess at the rest. "Another time," he says, like a promise, just between them. "I've been waiting for you to fuck me. It was pretty much all I thought about that first damn session, wanting you to look at me, to see me. I've had more dirty thoughts about that bench than I can actually count, and it's all your fault." He says it affectionately, and Jensen doesn't know why this is making him even harder, but it is. There's something about the thought of Jared watching him, imagining Jensen fucking him, wanting it that bad, that gets all the way into his gut.
It wouldn't mean the same thing if he said it back, even though every word of it's true, so he does what he's always done best, and uses his body to say it. Pulls Jared down on top of him, wants the heavy weight of Jared's cock in his mouth, to impale him with his fingers or push him down and rim the hell out of him, until Jared's shaking under his hands, his mouth, and eventually his cock. Takes what he can get, brief taste of Jared's dick, sucks him back to hardness in seconds, ragged pulse of Jared's breaths above him, until Jared shifts back and gets busy.
Jensen runs a hand down the visible muscle of Jared's thigh, watches him spread himself a little further apart, thick weight of his dick shiny from Jensen's mouth, as Jared fucks himself with his own fingers. Jensen can't see them, but he can imagine, the dip first of one and then two, pushing inside Jared, can trace the progression from the look on Jared's face, all shyness cast aside, all doubts about himself, about Jensen, lost in the moment, wrenching himself open for Jensen to see in. Jensen just watches, hardly breathing, slides his hands down the tenseness of Jared's stomach, the narrowness of his waist, follows the curve of his ass round, feels the minute shiver of Jared under his hand.
It takes seconds for Jared to fumble a condom on Jensen, fingers slippery and sure, seconds for him to brace himself against Jensen, and Jensen wants to know where Jared learnt all this, how Jared can be so sure here and so unsure outside, hopes he's got time to hear that story. Then none of it matters any longer, just the strong brace of Jared, breath held in, as he takes Jensen in, an inch at a time, so slow that Jensen has to fight the wretched impulse to pull him down faster, fist his hands into the disheveled bedsheets to stop himself from even trying. Jared's brow is contracted, wrinkled, and he's staring down as though he can't believe it either, slow incremental rocking as he shifts down until they meet.
Jared's started breathing by the end, slow inhaled gulps of air, and there's a fine tremor running through him, matched by Jensen, a sweat breaking out across his face and chest, glossy and shiny, until it feels like Jensen’s surrounded - by Jared’s body, hands, the sight and smell of him, and instead of making him feel stifled and trapped, it’s almost comforting.
Even more comforting is the grip of Jared around him, the sheer strength in Jared as he rides Jensen, cock heavy between them, and Jensen can’t keep his hands away, jerks Jared off as Jared braces himself and rocks on Jensen, slow and hot. There have been times, Jensen would have been embarrassed by how fast he comes, but he doesn’t imagine there’s a single person who could blame him, at the sight of Jared watching his face, grinding on down and inching up, until Jensen has no choice but to let go and just come helplessly apart.
Jared’s batted Jensen’s hand away and is jerking himself off now, fast and precise, thighs clenching around Jensen, ass still rocking against his dick, until he comes with one hand shoved in his mouth to stifle any noise, biting down so hard that Jensen can see the marks, eyes wide and fixed as he rides his way through it, and then falls down so heavy and hard that Jensen thinks he might suffocate, like a too thick electric blanket, and Jensen almost sinks his teeth into Jared’s shoulder to hide his own moan as he slips out of Jared, condom already wilting. That seems to be Jared’s cue to roll off, though.
The ceiling seems further away than usual as Jensen stares up, rolling the condom off, until he remembers that they’re on the floor more or less. A tissue or two later, and they’re lying side by side, Jared’s breath still irregular between them. “Need to work on cardio,” Jared says into the air.
“Squats have paid off, though,” Jensen says on the automatic, and Jared thumps him on the chest with an outflung fist, which Jensen considers harsh, since it’s the truth after all. He doesn’t exactly mean to fall asleep like that, between one breath and the next, but apparently he does, because the next thing he knows, he’s waking up to a dark room (Jared had clearly remained conscious enough to turn off the lights) and the steady breathing of someone beside him, something rare enough to jolt him out of the haze of half-sleep. He can just about see the tilt of Jared’s jaw in the light from outside, the shaded hollow of his cheek, and it almost terrifies him. He hadn’t bargained for this bit.
He gets out of bed quietly and pads on through to the kitchen to get some water. His right side where he’s been mostly pushed up against Jared is now uncomfortably cool. On the side in the kitchen, as he runs himself a glass and drains it, he sees the box of books, sitting there innocuously in the dark. Suddenly the miniature freakout he was just getting ready for seems stupid and beside the point. Flopping back down next to Jared, and feeling Jared kick out in a futile attempt to grab more space seems a much better idea, and for once he follows that instinct.
Comments/crit always appreciated and loved