Jared and the Undead Bartender 5/5
J2 RPS AU
NC-17
Part 5 of 5
Master post
Art
They drive up to the pepper farm the next night, Jensen having called ahead to let Alona the pepper farmer know they're coming. They park in the visitor's lot, next to the tiny farm store, where she's waiting for them with two other women who turn out to be friends from Albuquerque - Genevieve, who owns an arts and crafts gallery, and Gal, who works as a personal chef with a side business making spice blends. Gal has a friend from culinary school who now lives in Boston, but neither Jared nor Jensen has ever heard of him or the restaurant where he cooks.
“It's a big city,” Gal says, unconcerned.
“Sometimes it feels like a very small town,” Jensen tells her, causing Jared to elbow him in the side. “What?”
“That's because you never leave the house,” Jared says.
“Do you want to meet the peppers?” Alona asks. “They're still not as hot as I want, but you can taste one if you're careful.”
The five of them head away from the store and the parking lot, through a fence, and into the pepper fields, rows and rows of leafy plants starting to produce red and green fruit.
“Don't touch them,” Gal warns. “I burned my nose.”
“I told you to wear gloves,” Alona counters. “She was handling the glories and had to scratch her nose. Terrible idea. You'd think she'd know.” She grins at Gal, who rolls her eyes. Jared guesses this is a conversation they have a lot.
“Which ones are the glories?” Jensen asks.
“The Socorro glory, my first attempt to breed a fire-breather. They're close to the hottest habaneros, chocolates or red savinas, about 450 or 500,000 SHUs. They hurt, but they shouldn't land you in the hospital. The Socorro devil should be upwards of 2.3 or 2.4 million. Those are the ones you came to see.”
“She's so preoccupied with whether or not she can,” Genevieve comments, “that she hasn't stopped to think about whether or not she should.”
“Thank you, Dr Malcolm,” Alona says drily. “When the devils get loose and start eating people, then you can say 'I told you so'.”
She leads them down an aisle between plants until they reach a shed. It contains miscellaneous farming tools Jared can't identify, racks of lights, and stacks and stacks of green plastic containers that Alona explains are for germinating her peppers before they're ready to be planted in the ground. There is also a long metal table on which she seems to have laid out a snack - covered plates that, once uncovered, reveal roasted green chile peppers rolled around pieces of white cheese, balls of another kind of cheese, rounds of baguette, a container of some kind of spread, and slices of red pepper. There's also a large thermos and a short stack of little plastic cups. There are no chairs, so everyone has to stand.
“The green peppers with the cheese are Hatch chiles,” Alona says. “They're sandias, so they're hot, but it's a hot that people can handle. New Mexico is great for growing chile peppers. The symmetrical slices are the Socorro glories, and the ugly ones are the devils. I tried to take out all the ribs and seeds, but please be careful. They're still not as hot as I want, but there's a reason I cut them thin. The spread is Gal's experiment - mild cheese spread perked up with bits of Socorro glory.”
“'Perked up' is a shorter way of saying 'Hot enough to impress your friends but not hot enough to kill you',” Genevieve says.
Jared notes that there are only four slices of Socorro devil.
Alona passes around plastic forks and they all start off with the chiles with cheese, except for Jensen who goes straight to a piece of the hottest pepper on offer. He pops it in his mouth, chews, swallows, and only then realizes that the women are staring at him in astonishment.
“That was good,” he says conversationally.
“You're not catching fire,” Genevieve says.
The thermos contains milk, as Jared discovers when Alona hurriedly fills one of the little cups and hands it to Jensen. “Are you okay? I warned you.”
“I'm good,” he says. He licks his lips. “It's almost as hot as the reaper.”
Jared can hear the laughter behind Jensen's voice and knows that his boyfriend (and it's still weird to think of him that way) is enjoying freaking out the pepper farmer and her friends.
“Stop that,” he hisses.
“What?” Jensen asks, looking innocent. “I have a very high heat tolerance,” he explains to Alona, as if that alone will reassure her that he isn't about to expire from hybrid hot pepper.
Gal has draped one of the slices of Socorro glory over a cheese ball and bites into it. “The cheese mitigates it some,” she tells Alona, “but the burn is very good.” She pours herself some milk as well.
Jensen takes a cheese ball and does the same with another slice of Socorro devil. He eats this one more slowly. Jared tries one of the pieces of Socorro glory, which does indeed burn, but in a way he recognizes and can enjoy. He's not sure he's brave enough to try one of Alona's hybrid superhots.
“You told me you're growing reapers in your kitchen?” Alona asks Jensen. He nods and swallows. “How is that working?”
“I wanted to ask you,” he says. “I don't get a lot of fruit. Am I doing something wrong? The pot's big enough, I have grow lights, in the dead of winter I use a heating pad, I think I'm watering them enough, but I never get many.”
“You might need to water them more. You get hotter peppers if you water less, but you also get fewer and smaller peppers. How big is the container? Do you fertilize?”
“Five gallons, and I use compost.”
“Organic, I assume.”
“I own a bar. My compost is made from kitchen scraps. Lettuce, tomatoes, jalapenos, lemon and lime rinds, potato peels, coffee grounds, that kind of thing.”
“Isn't fertilizing peppers with peppers cannibalism?” Genevieve asks, but Alona isn't paying attention.
“Hm.” She spreads a round of baguette with some of Gal's cheese spread. “Have you tried Epsom salts?”
“Why?” Jensen asks.
“For the magnesium. Your fertilizer should be lower in nitrogen. Try the Epsom salts and maybe water your plants a little bit more and see what happens. How long have you been growing them?”
“About two years.” He pokes two slices of Socorro glory onto his fork and pops them in his mouth.
“I've never met anyone who could eat those plain,” Genevieve says. Jared notes that she's been sticking to the green-chiles-and-cheese and the spread on bread. He himself has eaten a couple of the glories on cheese balls and with the spread, and thinks he might be ready to brave a devil. There's only one left, which makes him wonder if Jensen ate a third while no one was looking.
“There's one piece of devil left,” Gal says, as if reading his mind. She uses her fork to delicately cover a cheese ball with it and nudge it in Jared's direction. “Your friend is going to need some company in the toilet later.”
“I forgot to mention that,” Alona says. “You might feel some, um, discomfort. I want to apologize in advance, but I did warn you, and you did come to me.”
Jared spears the cheese ball with his fork and takes a very small bite of pepper. His tongue tingles. He takes another slightly bigger bite, and now his lips tingle as well. A third bite, with the rest of the cheese, and despite the mitigating factor of a ball of solid dairy, the pepper is so hot he can't taste anything else. His throat burns as he swallows. He can feel his eyes watering.
“Shit,” he chokes out, swallowing another ball of cheese almost without chewing. A little cup full of milk appears in front of him and he downs it like a shot.
“Are you okay?” Alona asks cautiously.
“The cheese spread was good,” he manages. He feels as if he needs to be complimentary about something. Gal looks pleased.
“At least you didn't eat it all at once like your crazy friend here,” Genevieve says.
“Have some more milk,” Alona says. Jared does. He'll be fine. Eventually.
“Tell them where the name came from,” Gal says to Alona. “It's a good story,” she tells Jared and Jensen.
“It's a local legend,” Alona says. “About a hundred and forty, hundred and fifty years ago, there was a silver mine not too far away. Of course there was also a little town. One day one of the men in the town disappeared. A search party went out, but when they failed to find him, the townspeople gave him up for dead. But his best friend refused to believe it, and went off to look by himself. He was gone for months and months, and when he finally returned to town, with the missing man in tow, he said the devil had stolen him away.”
“The Socorro Devil,” Gal adds in an ominous voice, spoiling the effect somewhat by giggling.
Soon the rest of the snacks have been eaten and Gal announces that she should go home. The five of them walk back through the pepper plants to the visitor parking lot. Gal drives off. Genevieve, it seems, is staying the night.
“None of the current crop is ready,” Alona tells Jensen, almost apologetically, “so I can't send you home with any peppers.”
“So what did we just eat?” Jared asks.
“Test peppers. I have a greenhouse for the green chiles out of season, so I've been growing some of the superhots there.” She slaps her forehead. “I'm an idiot. You can take a couple of devils from the greenhouse, on the condition that you don't plant the seeds. I know I can get them hotter, and when I do, I'll send you some seeds.”
“Thank you,” Jensen says. In the light of the parking lot he looks surprised and touched. “I brought you something too.” He holds out his hand towards Jared. Jared looks at it. “Keys.”
Jared unlocks the camper. Jensen vanishes inside for a minute, returning with a bottle of what Jared knows is his reaper-infused vodka. He hands it to Alona, who looks at it dubiously.
“Reaper vodka,” he says, beaming. “I said I owned a bar, didn't I?”
“Do you sell this to customers?” she asks.
“Sometimes. It goes fast. People want to try it. Sometimes they even try it twice.”
“Thank you. Wait here and I'll get you a pepper.” She walks off, leaving Jared and Jensen standing next to the camper, feeling a little abandoned.
“That was fun,” Jensen says. “I'm glad we came.”
“You scared her when you stuck that whole slice of pepper in your mouth,” Jared says. “You ate three of them, didn't you.”
“When she comes back, should I eat a whole one?” He grins.
“I think you'll give her a heart attack. Wait until we're alone.” He holds up his hand. “But don't kiss me after.”
“That's not what I was thinking.” Jensen grins wider. Jared lets his mind run away with ideas and has just hit on what is probably a very painful one when Alona returns with a small plastic container.
“Two Socorro devils,” she says proudly, handing Jensen the container. “Not as hot as the reaper, but getting there. Please be careful with them.”
“I know, use gloves, have milk.”
“Yes. Thank you for coming. No one has ever come out to see me in the off-season, just to talk about my superhots. If you have any more questions about growing reapers, email me. If the devils hit 2.4 million, I promise to send you one. Where are you going next?”
“Tucson,” Jared says.
“That's a long drive.”
“I think we'll be okay.” He's definitely awake now, that's for sure. If nothing else, his experience with the Socorro devil woke him right up.
“Thanks again,” Jensen says. “It was really fun.”
“Come back any time.” Alona waves goodnight and heads in the direction of what Jared assumes is her house. He and Jensen get back in the van, and there they are again - the strings of ghostly peppers that Jared first saw in Jensen's kitchen, now hanging across the opening to the cubby over the front seats. They fade away to nothing as he stares.
He nudges Jensen. “Did you just see a string of chile peppers?” he asks, almost whispering.
“No.” Jensen looks at him curiously. “Are you hallucinating peppers?”
“I don't know. I saw them before, in your kitchen, that night I got so hammered you had to bring me upstairs. Well, the day after. I thought I was just hungover.”
Jensen pats his arm. “Maybe they're the ghosts of Alona's failed superhots,” he says. Jared wouldn't have thought that was even possible, but maybe that's his life now - ghosts of things that were never alive, and a bloodsucker explaining their existence.
They pull out of the parking lot and turn towards Tucson. Jared doesn't know how far they can get before the sun starts to rise, but he's pretty sure they can get close.
Jensen eats one of the peppers Alona gave him. Jared watches out of the corner of his eye, curious if vampires are affected by terrifically hot chile peppers the way humans are. From Jensen's lack of reaction, he'd have to say they aren't.
“I was thinking,” Jensen says, as they reach the highway.
“I thought I smelled smoke.”
“Jerk. You don't have any freelance work lined up yet, do you?”
“No.”
“What do you think about working part-time in a bar, to help make ends meet?”
“You mean for you?” Jared risks a glance away from the road to see Jensen's face. He's smiling a little.
“Yeah. I mean for me. So I can open earlier, during daylight hours.”
“Are you sure you're ready to do that? You might have to leave your cave like a normal person.”
“Funny man. I think it's time I start acting more like a normal person. First thing is to keep Abigail's open like a normal bar. And if I can't be there when the sun's out, I'll just hire someone who can.”
But Jared actually likes the fact that the posted hours are “Sunset to sunrise” in all seasons. It gives the bar character.
“I've never bartended before,” is what he says.
“I'll train you. You don't have to answer me now. But think about it.”
Jared thinks about it until they find a campground a little over an hour from Tuscon. It's the middle of the night and he can't show up on Chad's doorstep at this hour. Besides, he and Jensen probably need some time to talk things out.
Well, when Jensen's mouth is free, anyway.
“Ohh fuck,” Jared breathes, his cock stinging as Jensen's chile-pepper-stained lips and tongue surround it. Jensen sucks harder. Jared bites his lip. The remains of hot pepper oils in Jensen's mouth make Jared's skin tingle in a way both painful and arousing. He can't imagine what it would feel like if Jensen were to go down on him immediately after eating one of those hot, hot peppers.
Jensen pauses, lifting his head as if he's about to say something. Jared pushes his head back down. Jensen obligingly finishes. Once Jared catches his breath, he returns the favor.
“I can't wait to fuck you in an actual bed,” he says, after they've both rearranged themselves on the camper's barely-big-enough bed. “On an actual mattress.”
“Who says you're going to do the fucking?” Jensen asks, chuckling.
“You know you want it.”
“Yeah, I do.” Jensen kisses him. “You're very smart.” Jared just kisses back.
If it wasn't for the vague sense of confinement that the camper is starting to give him, Jared could get used to this - him and Jensen stretched out as much as they can be, casually kissing, occasionally touching, with nowhere to be and nothing to do until the sun has risen and set again. He knows in the back of his head that they'll have to go back to Boston soon, and once there he'll have to start over with new work and a new boyfriend and in some ways a new life, but for now, he can lie here and make out with that very boyfriend and not have to think about very much.
“So what do you think?” Jensen asks, interrupting his non-thoughts.
“About what?”
“Working behind the bar. At Abigail's.”
“Ask me in a week.”
“When we get back?”
“When we get back.”
Jensen rolls over and stretches. Jared smacks his ass.
“Fet rumpe,” he says appreciatively.
“What does that mean?” Jensen says.
“Those Norwegian guys told me it literally means 'fat ass', but you say it about a nice-looking ass, not necessarily a fat one.”
“You think I have a nice ass?” Jensen twists around, trying to see his own butt.
“Eh. It's okay.” He yawns. Jensen pats him on the head.
“You're cute. Go to sleep.”
Jared doesn't think he's that tired, but not ten minutes later Jensen is shaking him and telling him “Opriţi sforaiti.”
“Huh?” he mumbles. He didn't even realized he'd fallen asleep.
“Stop snoring.”
“I wasn't snoring.”
“Of course not.”
Jared produces an exaggeratedly loud snore. Jensen snickers and kisses his forehead.
“I'll do it,” he says. He probably hasn't thought this through, despite all his attempts to stop rushing into things, but for once he doesn't think that will be a problem.
“Do what?”
“Tend your bar part-time. I'll need the money.”
“Good. We can talk about the details later. Go back to sleep.”
Jared is happy to oblige. They'll lie next to each other in the dark camper, an hour or so from Tuscon, and they'll sleep, and they'll dream, and tomorrow Jared will drive them to Chad's and the end of their vacation.
And in a week, when they're back home, things will be different, and better.
* * *
The bar is still called Abigail's, but the hours, as posted, are now merely “Open at 4”. It's still dim and quiet, it still closes at two despite the lack of posted closing hours, and even though Jared doesn't really need a beer, he wants to see Jensen, so he goes in.
There's something country-rock flavored that he doesn't recognize playing on the stereo. It's the middle of October, pumpkin beer season. The regular hours have apparently gotten the bar a few regular drinkers, and a couple of them are currently sitting at a booth with cocktails and a plate of hummus and pita chips. Jensen is leaning on the bar, doing a crossword. He looks up as Jared sits on a stool and slides down the counter.
“You're just in time,” he says. “'Red sticks, abbreviation.' Three letters, second letter's N. Or 'indeterminate power,' three letters, nothing yet.” He looks expectant. Jared turns the newspaper so he can see the puzzle.
“TNT,” he says. “'Ann-blank' is 'Margret' and you should know that.”
“You're right, I should.” Jensen spins the paper back around and scribbles answers. “You want something?”
“Nah. I just came to say hi. So, hi.” He grins. Jensen grins back. Jared wishes the bar counter wasn't so deep, so he could lean over and kiss his boyfriend on the mouth. Well, it's not as if he'll never get another chance. “What's the music?”
“They're called Oklahoma Ford, out of Nashville. You sure you don't want a beer?”
“Are you trying to get rid of something?”
Jensen grabs a glass and fills it halfway from a tap marked “Copper Legend”. He hands it over the counter. “Vicky tried this yesterday and now she won't shut up about it.” He shakes his head. “She's turning into Misha. It's tragic.”
Jared considers the beer in the glass. They just got the Copper Legend a few days ago and he hasn't tasted it yet. He doesn't even know that much about it. “What kind of beer is it?”
“Malty, apparently. Just try it so I can tell her you did.”
Jared hasn't seen Vicky in a couple of weeks, although he just talked to Misha two days ago. Misha's charity is finally off and running. Jared puts in volunteer hours as needed, and it turns out that he really likes it. He likes freelancing too. He misses having a reliable paycheck and being able to easily budget from month to month, but he thinks he's learning more this way, and if it always feels as if he's coming into a contract job in the middle, and always has to catch himself up, at least he's getting good at trusting his gut when it comes to on-the-spot decisions.
And he's working at the bar in his in-between hours, although usually only once or twice a week now. Learning the ropes wasn't difficult, but the thing he likes best is getting to talk to strangers and getting to know the regulars. Sometimes he still can't believe how isolated he was his first few months in Boston, how few people he knew until he met Jensen, and how hard it was to make friends. Not that he has so many more friends now, but he's certainly talked to a lot more people.
It still makes him smile to think that he's part of the reason Jensen can open his bar during daylight hours. It makes him smile to think he's the reason Jensen even thought to do it in the first place. He sips the Copper Legend, which is pretty good. Much better than the Kiwi Rising, their other Jack's Abby seasonal, which is intensely hoppy and not his thing.
He and Jensen finish the crossword while he finishes the beer. Three people come in together, sit at a front booth, and confer before one of them comes up to the bar and orders three Sam Adams Oktoberfests, a plate of chili fries, and an order of hummus and chips. The chili fries were Jared's idea, after he managed to wheedle the chili recipe out of his roommate.
“So you're here tomorrow night,” Jensen says conversationally.
“I'm here tomorrow night.” Jared can't help but grin. They have this exchange a lot. It's part of the routine now.
“I'll put out your toothbrush and hide the blood.”
“I'll try not to snore.”
He'll be so tired after his shift that all he's going to want to do is sleep, but after he wakes up, sometime the following afternoon, he and Jensen might mess up the sheets before he gets started on his current IT project. Jensen came to Jared's house once, when Jared's roommate was out of town and Danneel was tending bar, but it's much easier for Jared to come to him. For one thing, Jared won't burst into flame if he's coming and going when the sun is out.
It still amazes him sometimes that he's making a relationship work with a man who has to drink blood to survive, who can't go outside during the day, who can only taste the hottest of chile peppers and the most terrifying of kimchis and the most incendiary of hot sauces. Jared has never told anyone Jensen's secret. He tells people other things - how Jensen can't drive so Jared took them to New Mexico and back in a camper, how he's testing other liquors besides vodka to infuse with the Carolina reapers he's growing in his kitchen, how he loves his bar and hates the traffic noise and has no opinion on the occasional tourist, how he treats his tenants and how they treat their rentals, how he never uses the crossword puzzle dictionary Jared bought him, how he's a walking repository of obscure historical Boston trivia, how the two of them have a standing date night every Tuesday, when Danneel watches the bar and Jared brings his own dinner and he and Jensen sit on Jensen's couch and eat popcorn and watch movies. They're working their way through various “best of” and “100 movies you need to see before you die” lists. Jensen is keeping track.
Jensen still doesn't talk about his past much unless prompted. Jared feels as if he himself is an open book, and it's only fair that Jensen is too, but he's adapting to the fact that as comfortable as Jensen is with him, and as willing as Jensen is to talk about most things, there's always going to be something he's going to want to keep to himself.
“You're good for each other,” Misha told Jared at his Labor Day barbecue. “You get him out of the house and he makes you happy.”
“I hope I make him happy too,” Jared said.
“You can't tell?”
And later that night, after Jared went over to Abigail's, Jensen said of course Jared made him happy, did he think it was a secret?
“I've been saying that for months,” Chad complained, when Jared repeated what Misha had said. “I could tell even before you two started fucking, when you thought you were still just friends.”
“You're very perceptive,” Jared said.
“I am.” Jared could hear Chad preening over the phone.
Now Chad just wants to know if they're still in the honeymoon phase and is the sex still good. Jared has given up trying to deflect and instead treats Chad to as many sticky details as he can before Chad cackles with glee and says he needs to remember all that for the next time he gets laid, and he's glad Jared found someone worthy of his dorky sense of humor and sincere enthusiasm.
Chad's a good friend, for all that. Jared feels lucky to have him.
Not as lucky as he feels to have found Jensen, but Chad won't wear him out in the same way, and he has no desire to learn what Chad tastes like.
“Hang out a little longer,” Jensen says now, taking Jared's empty glass and folding up the paper. “It's been quiet.”
The two people who were there when Jared walked in get up, put on their jackets, pay for their cocktails and hummus, and leave. Jared could eat, so Jensen makes him a burger and pours him a Coke, and they chat for a while until Jared finishes his food, the three people with the Sam Adams order some dinner, and the sun sets into the river behind the buildings across the street.
“I'll see you tomorrow,” Jared says, putting some cash on the bar to cover his burger.
“I'll be here.”
Jared collects his stuff and walks down to the far end of the bar, where the counter flips up so the bartender can walk around the place. Jensen comes out from behind the counter to kiss him goodnight - first glancing around to make sure no one is watching - and Jared goes home.
He starts whistling on the way to the T station. He's full of burger and soda, he's gotten to hang out with his boyfriend for a while, he's doing work that interests him, and he doesn't even mind that his current assignment is ending in a week and a half and he'll have to find something else. Misha has been a great help in that regard.
It's dark out and getting cold, and Jared's life is so much better than it was ten months ago, all because of the night he walked into a bar on a whim, and met - and then fell in love with - the good-looking undead bartender.
Author's note!
NC-17
Part 5 of 5
Master post
Art
They drive up to the pepper farm the next night, Jensen having called ahead to let Alona the pepper farmer know they're coming. They park in the visitor's lot, next to the tiny farm store, where she's waiting for them with two other women who turn out to be friends from Albuquerque - Genevieve, who owns an arts and crafts gallery, and Gal, who works as a personal chef with a side business making spice blends. Gal has a friend from culinary school who now lives in Boston, but neither Jared nor Jensen has ever heard of him or the restaurant where he cooks.
“It's a big city,” Gal says, unconcerned.
“Sometimes it feels like a very small town,” Jensen tells her, causing Jared to elbow him in the side. “What?”
“That's because you never leave the house,” Jared says.
“Do you want to meet the peppers?” Alona asks. “They're still not as hot as I want, but you can taste one if you're careful.”
The five of them head away from the store and the parking lot, through a fence, and into the pepper fields, rows and rows of leafy plants starting to produce red and green fruit.
“Don't touch them,” Gal warns. “I burned my nose.”
“I told you to wear gloves,” Alona counters. “She was handling the glories and had to scratch her nose. Terrible idea. You'd think she'd know.” She grins at Gal, who rolls her eyes. Jared guesses this is a conversation they have a lot.
“Which ones are the glories?” Jensen asks.
“The Socorro glory, my first attempt to breed a fire-breather. They're close to the hottest habaneros, chocolates or red savinas, about 450 or 500,000 SHUs. They hurt, but they shouldn't land you in the hospital. The Socorro devil should be upwards of 2.3 or 2.4 million. Those are the ones you came to see.”
“She's so preoccupied with whether or not she can,” Genevieve comments, “that she hasn't stopped to think about whether or not she should.”
“Thank you, Dr Malcolm,” Alona says drily. “When the devils get loose and start eating people, then you can say 'I told you so'.”
She leads them down an aisle between plants until they reach a shed. It contains miscellaneous farming tools Jared can't identify, racks of lights, and stacks and stacks of green plastic containers that Alona explains are for germinating her peppers before they're ready to be planted in the ground. There is also a long metal table on which she seems to have laid out a snack - covered plates that, once uncovered, reveal roasted green chile peppers rolled around pieces of white cheese, balls of another kind of cheese, rounds of baguette, a container of some kind of spread, and slices of red pepper. There's also a large thermos and a short stack of little plastic cups. There are no chairs, so everyone has to stand.
“The green peppers with the cheese are Hatch chiles,” Alona says. “They're sandias, so they're hot, but it's a hot that people can handle. New Mexico is great for growing chile peppers. The symmetrical slices are the Socorro glories, and the ugly ones are the devils. I tried to take out all the ribs and seeds, but please be careful. They're still not as hot as I want, but there's a reason I cut them thin. The spread is Gal's experiment - mild cheese spread perked up with bits of Socorro glory.”
“'Perked up' is a shorter way of saying 'Hot enough to impress your friends but not hot enough to kill you',” Genevieve says.
Jared notes that there are only four slices of Socorro devil.
Alona passes around plastic forks and they all start off with the chiles with cheese, except for Jensen who goes straight to a piece of the hottest pepper on offer. He pops it in his mouth, chews, swallows, and only then realizes that the women are staring at him in astonishment.
“That was good,” he says conversationally.
“You're not catching fire,” Genevieve says.
The thermos contains milk, as Jared discovers when Alona hurriedly fills one of the little cups and hands it to Jensen. “Are you okay? I warned you.”
“I'm good,” he says. He licks his lips. “It's almost as hot as the reaper.”
Jared can hear the laughter behind Jensen's voice and knows that his boyfriend (and it's still weird to think of him that way) is enjoying freaking out the pepper farmer and her friends.
“Stop that,” he hisses.
“What?” Jensen asks, looking innocent. “I have a very high heat tolerance,” he explains to Alona, as if that alone will reassure her that he isn't about to expire from hybrid hot pepper.
Gal has draped one of the slices of Socorro glory over a cheese ball and bites into it. “The cheese mitigates it some,” she tells Alona, “but the burn is very good.” She pours herself some milk as well.
Jensen takes a cheese ball and does the same with another slice of Socorro devil. He eats this one more slowly. Jared tries one of the pieces of Socorro glory, which does indeed burn, but in a way he recognizes and can enjoy. He's not sure he's brave enough to try one of Alona's hybrid superhots.
“You told me you're growing reapers in your kitchen?” Alona asks Jensen. He nods and swallows. “How is that working?”
“I wanted to ask you,” he says. “I don't get a lot of fruit. Am I doing something wrong? The pot's big enough, I have grow lights, in the dead of winter I use a heating pad, I think I'm watering them enough, but I never get many.”
“You might need to water them more. You get hotter peppers if you water less, but you also get fewer and smaller peppers. How big is the container? Do you fertilize?”
“Five gallons, and I use compost.”
“Organic, I assume.”
“I own a bar. My compost is made from kitchen scraps. Lettuce, tomatoes, jalapenos, lemon and lime rinds, potato peels, coffee grounds, that kind of thing.”
“Isn't fertilizing peppers with peppers cannibalism?” Genevieve asks, but Alona isn't paying attention.
“Hm.” She spreads a round of baguette with some of Gal's cheese spread. “Have you tried Epsom salts?”
“Why?” Jensen asks.
“For the magnesium. Your fertilizer should be lower in nitrogen. Try the Epsom salts and maybe water your plants a little bit more and see what happens. How long have you been growing them?”
“About two years.” He pokes two slices of Socorro glory onto his fork and pops them in his mouth.
“I've never met anyone who could eat those plain,” Genevieve says. Jared notes that she's been sticking to the green-chiles-and-cheese and the spread on bread. He himself has eaten a couple of the glories on cheese balls and with the spread, and thinks he might be ready to brave a devil. There's only one left, which makes him wonder if Jensen ate a third while no one was looking.
“There's one piece of devil left,” Gal says, as if reading his mind. She uses her fork to delicately cover a cheese ball with it and nudge it in Jared's direction. “Your friend is going to need some company in the toilet later.”
“I forgot to mention that,” Alona says. “You might feel some, um, discomfort. I want to apologize in advance, but I did warn you, and you did come to me.”
Jared spears the cheese ball with his fork and takes a very small bite of pepper. His tongue tingles. He takes another slightly bigger bite, and now his lips tingle as well. A third bite, with the rest of the cheese, and despite the mitigating factor of a ball of solid dairy, the pepper is so hot he can't taste anything else. His throat burns as he swallows. He can feel his eyes watering.
“Shit,” he chokes out, swallowing another ball of cheese almost without chewing. A little cup full of milk appears in front of him and he downs it like a shot.
“Are you okay?” Alona asks cautiously.
“The cheese spread was good,” he manages. He feels as if he needs to be complimentary about something. Gal looks pleased.
“At least you didn't eat it all at once like your crazy friend here,” Genevieve says.
“Have some more milk,” Alona says. Jared does. He'll be fine. Eventually.
“Tell them where the name came from,” Gal says to Alona. “It's a good story,” she tells Jared and Jensen.
“It's a local legend,” Alona says. “About a hundred and forty, hundred and fifty years ago, there was a silver mine not too far away. Of course there was also a little town. One day one of the men in the town disappeared. A search party went out, but when they failed to find him, the townspeople gave him up for dead. But his best friend refused to believe it, and went off to look by himself. He was gone for months and months, and when he finally returned to town, with the missing man in tow, he said the devil had stolen him away.”
“The Socorro Devil,” Gal adds in an ominous voice, spoiling the effect somewhat by giggling.
Soon the rest of the snacks have been eaten and Gal announces that she should go home. The five of them walk back through the pepper plants to the visitor parking lot. Gal drives off. Genevieve, it seems, is staying the night.
“None of the current crop is ready,” Alona tells Jensen, almost apologetically, “so I can't send you home with any peppers.”
“So what did we just eat?” Jared asks.
“Test peppers. I have a greenhouse for the green chiles out of season, so I've been growing some of the superhots there.” She slaps her forehead. “I'm an idiot. You can take a couple of devils from the greenhouse, on the condition that you don't plant the seeds. I know I can get them hotter, and when I do, I'll send you some seeds.”
“Thank you,” Jensen says. In the light of the parking lot he looks surprised and touched. “I brought you something too.” He holds out his hand towards Jared. Jared looks at it. “Keys.”
Jared unlocks the camper. Jensen vanishes inside for a minute, returning with a bottle of what Jared knows is his reaper-infused vodka. He hands it to Alona, who looks at it dubiously.
“Reaper vodka,” he says, beaming. “I said I owned a bar, didn't I?”
“Do you sell this to customers?” she asks.
“Sometimes. It goes fast. People want to try it. Sometimes they even try it twice.”
“Thank you. Wait here and I'll get you a pepper.” She walks off, leaving Jared and Jensen standing next to the camper, feeling a little abandoned.
“That was fun,” Jensen says. “I'm glad we came.”
“You scared her when you stuck that whole slice of pepper in your mouth,” Jared says. “You ate three of them, didn't you.”
“When she comes back, should I eat a whole one?” He grins.
“I think you'll give her a heart attack. Wait until we're alone.” He holds up his hand. “But don't kiss me after.”
“That's not what I was thinking.” Jensen grins wider. Jared lets his mind run away with ideas and has just hit on what is probably a very painful one when Alona returns with a small plastic container.
“Two Socorro devils,” she says proudly, handing Jensen the container. “Not as hot as the reaper, but getting there. Please be careful with them.”
“I know, use gloves, have milk.”
“Yes. Thank you for coming. No one has ever come out to see me in the off-season, just to talk about my superhots. If you have any more questions about growing reapers, email me. If the devils hit 2.4 million, I promise to send you one. Where are you going next?”
“Tucson,” Jared says.
“That's a long drive.”
“I think we'll be okay.” He's definitely awake now, that's for sure. If nothing else, his experience with the Socorro devil woke him right up.
“Thanks again,” Jensen says. “It was really fun.”
“Come back any time.” Alona waves goodnight and heads in the direction of what Jared assumes is her house. He and Jensen get back in the van, and there they are again - the strings of ghostly peppers that Jared first saw in Jensen's kitchen, now hanging across the opening to the cubby over the front seats. They fade away to nothing as he stares.
He nudges Jensen. “Did you just see a string of chile peppers?” he asks, almost whispering.
“No.” Jensen looks at him curiously. “Are you hallucinating peppers?”
“I don't know. I saw them before, in your kitchen, that night I got so hammered you had to bring me upstairs. Well, the day after. I thought I was just hungover.”
Jensen pats his arm. “Maybe they're the ghosts of Alona's failed superhots,” he says. Jared wouldn't have thought that was even possible, but maybe that's his life now - ghosts of things that were never alive, and a bloodsucker explaining their existence.
They pull out of the parking lot and turn towards Tucson. Jared doesn't know how far they can get before the sun starts to rise, but he's pretty sure they can get close.
Jensen eats one of the peppers Alona gave him. Jared watches out of the corner of his eye, curious if vampires are affected by terrifically hot chile peppers the way humans are. From Jensen's lack of reaction, he'd have to say they aren't.
“I was thinking,” Jensen says, as they reach the highway.
“I thought I smelled smoke.”
“Jerk. You don't have any freelance work lined up yet, do you?”
“No.”
“What do you think about working part-time in a bar, to help make ends meet?”
“You mean for you?” Jared risks a glance away from the road to see Jensen's face. He's smiling a little.
“Yeah. I mean for me. So I can open earlier, during daylight hours.”
“Are you sure you're ready to do that? You might have to leave your cave like a normal person.”
“Funny man. I think it's time I start acting more like a normal person. First thing is to keep Abigail's open like a normal bar. And if I can't be there when the sun's out, I'll just hire someone who can.”
But Jared actually likes the fact that the posted hours are “Sunset to sunrise” in all seasons. It gives the bar character.
“I've never bartended before,” is what he says.
“I'll train you. You don't have to answer me now. But think about it.”
Jared thinks about it until they find a campground a little over an hour from Tuscon. It's the middle of the night and he can't show up on Chad's doorstep at this hour. Besides, he and Jensen probably need some time to talk things out.
Well, when Jensen's mouth is free, anyway.
“Ohh fuck,” Jared breathes, his cock stinging as Jensen's chile-pepper-stained lips and tongue surround it. Jensen sucks harder. Jared bites his lip. The remains of hot pepper oils in Jensen's mouth make Jared's skin tingle in a way both painful and arousing. He can't imagine what it would feel like if Jensen were to go down on him immediately after eating one of those hot, hot peppers.
Jensen pauses, lifting his head as if he's about to say something. Jared pushes his head back down. Jensen obligingly finishes. Once Jared catches his breath, he returns the favor.
“I can't wait to fuck you in an actual bed,” he says, after they've both rearranged themselves on the camper's barely-big-enough bed. “On an actual mattress.”
“Who says you're going to do the fucking?” Jensen asks, chuckling.
“You know you want it.”
“Yeah, I do.” Jensen kisses him. “You're very smart.” Jared just kisses back.
If it wasn't for the vague sense of confinement that the camper is starting to give him, Jared could get used to this - him and Jensen stretched out as much as they can be, casually kissing, occasionally touching, with nowhere to be and nothing to do until the sun has risen and set again. He knows in the back of his head that they'll have to go back to Boston soon, and once there he'll have to start over with new work and a new boyfriend and in some ways a new life, but for now, he can lie here and make out with that very boyfriend and not have to think about very much.
“So what do you think?” Jensen asks, interrupting his non-thoughts.
“About what?”
“Working behind the bar. At Abigail's.”
“Ask me in a week.”
“When we get back?”
“When we get back.”
Jensen rolls over and stretches. Jared smacks his ass.
“Fet rumpe,” he says appreciatively.
“What does that mean?” Jensen says.
“Those Norwegian guys told me it literally means 'fat ass', but you say it about a nice-looking ass, not necessarily a fat one.”
“You think I have a nice ass?” Jensen twists around, trying to see his own butt.
“Eh. It's okay.” He yawns. Jensen pats him on the head.
“You're cute. Go to sleep.”
Jared doesn't think he's that tired, but not ten minutes later Jensen is shaking him and telling him “Opriţi sforaiti.”
“Huh?” he mumbles. He didn't even realized he'd fallen asleep.
“Stop snoring.”
“I wasn't snoring.”
“Of course not.”
Jared produces an exaggeratedly loud snore. Jensen snickers and kisses his forehead.
“I'll do it,” he says. He probably hasn't thought this through, despite all his attempts to stop rushing into things, but for once he doesn't think that will be a problem.
“Do what?”
“Tend your bar part-time. I'll need the money.”
“Good. We can talk about the details later. Go back to sleep.”
Jared is happy to oblige. They'll lie next to each other in the dark camper, an hour or so from Tuscon, and they'll sleep, and they'll dream, and tomorrow Jared will drive them to Chad's and the end of their vacation.
And in a week, when they're back home, things will be different, and better.
* * *
The bar is still called Abigail's, but the hours, as posted, are now merely “Open at 4”. It's still dim and quiet, it still closes at two despite the lack of posted closing hours, and even though Jared doesn't really need a beer, he wants to see Jensen, so he goes in.
There's something country-rock flavored that he doesn't recognize playing on the stereo. It's the middle of October, pumpkin beer season. The regular hours have apparently gotten the bar a few regular drinkers, and a couple of them are currently sitting at a booth with cocktails and a plate of hummus and pita chips. Jensen is leaning on the bar, doing a crossword. He looks up as Jared sits on a stool and slides down the counter.
“You're just in time,” he says. “'Red sticks, abbreviation.' Three letters, second letter's N. Or 'indeterminate power,' three letters, nothing yet.” He looks expectant. Jared turns the newspaper so he can see the puzzle.
“TNT,” he says. “'Ann-blank' is 'Margret' and you should know that.”
“You're right, I should.” Jensen spins the paper back around and scribbles answers. “You want something?”
“Nah. I just came to say hi. So, hi.” He grins. Jensen grins back. Jared wishes the bar counter wasn't so deep, so he could lean over and kiss his boyfriend on the mouth. Well, it's not as if he'll never get another chance. “What's the music?”
“They're called Oklahoma Ford, out of Nashville. You sure you don't want a beer?”
“Are you trying to get rid of something?”
Jensen grabs a glass and fills it halfway from a tap marked “Copper Legend”. He hands it over the counter. “Vicky tried this yesterday and now she won't shut up about it.” He shakes his head. “She's turning into Misha. It's tragic.”
Jared considers the beer in the glass. They just got the Copper Legend a few days ago and he hasn't tasted it yet. He doesn't even know that much about it. “What kind of beer is it?”
“Malty, apparently. Just try it so I can tell her you did.”
Jared hasn't seen Vicky in a couple of weeks, although he just talked to Misha two days ago. Misha's charity is finally off and running. Jared puts in volunteer hours as needed, and it turns out that he really likes it. He likes freelancing too. He misses having a reliable paycheck and being able to easily budget from month to month, but he thinks he's learning more this way, and if it always feels as if he's coming into a contract job in the middle, and always has to catch himself up, at least he's getting good at trusting his gut when it comes to on-the-spot decisions.
And he's working at the bar in his in-between hours, although usually only once or twice a week now. Learning the ropes wasn't difficult, but the thing he likes best is getting to talk to strangers and getting to know the regulars. Sometimes he still can't believe how isolated he was his first few months in Boston, how few people he knew until he met Jensen, and how hard it was to make friends. Not that he has so many more friends now, but he's certainly talked to a lot more people.
It still makes him smile to think that he's part of the reason Jensen can open his bar during daylight hours. It makes him smile to think he's the reason Jensen even thought to do it in the first place. He sips the Copper Legend, which is pretty good. Much better than the Kiwi Rising, their other Jack's Abby seasonal, which is intensely hoppy and not his thing.
He and Jensen finish the crossword while he finishes the beer. Three people come in together, sit at a front booth, and confer before one of them comes up to the bar and orders three Sam Adams Oktoberfests, a plate of chili fries, and an order of hummus and chips. The chili fries were Jared's idea, after he managed to wheedle the chili recipe out of his roommate.
“So you're here tomorrow night,” Jensen says conversationally.
“I'm here tomorrow night.” Jared can't help but grin. They have this exchange a lot. It's part of the routine now.
“I'll put out your toothbrush and hide the blood.”
“I'll try not to snore.”
He'll be so tired after his shift that all he's going to want to do is sleep, but after he wakes up, sometime the following afternoon, he and Jensen might mess up the sheets before he gets started on his current IT project. Jensen came to Jared's house once, when Jared's roommate was out of town and Danneel was tending bar, but it's much easier for Jared to come to him. For one thing, Jared won't burst into flame if he's coming and going when the sun is out.
It still amazes him sometimes that he's making a relationship work with a man who has to drink blood to survive, who can't go outside during the day, who can only taste the hottest of chile peppers and the most terrifying of kimchis and the most incendiary of hot sauces. Jared has never told anyone Jensen's secret. He tells people other things - how Jensen can't drive so Jared took them to New Mexico and back in a camper, how he's testing other liquors besides vodka to infuse with the Carolina reapers he's growing in his kitchen, how he loves his bar and hates the traffic noise and has no opinion on the occasional tourist, how he treats his tenants and how they treat their rentals, how he never uses the crossword puzzle dictionary Jared bought him, how he's a walking repository of obscure historical Boston trivia, how the two of them have a standing date night every Tuesday, when Danneel watches the bar and Jared brings his own dinner and he and Jensen sit on Jensen's couch and eat popcorn and watch movies. They're working their way through various “best of” and “100 movies you need to see before you die” lists. Jensen is keeping track.
Jensen still doesn't talk about his past much unless prompted. Jared feels as if he himself is an open book, and it's only fair that Jensen is too, but he's adapting to the fact that as comfortable as Jensen is with him, and as willing as Jensen is to talk about most things, there's always going to be something he's going to want to keep to himself.
“You're good for each other,” Misha told Jared at his Labor Day barbecue. “You get him out of the house and he makes you happy.”
“I hope I make him happy too,” Jared said.
“You can't tell?”
And later that night, after Jared went over to Abigail's, Jensen said of course Jared made him happy, did he think it was a secret?
“I've been saying that for months,” Chad complained, when Jared repeated what Misha had said. “I could tell even before you two started fucking, when you thought you were still just friends.”
“You're very perceptive,” Jared said.
“I am.” Jared could hear Chad preening over the phone.
Now Chad just wants to know if they're still in the honeymoon phase and is the sex still good. Jared has given up trying to deflect and instead treats Chad to as many sticky details as he can before Chad cackles with glee and says he needs to remember all that for the next time he gets laid, and he's glad Jared found someone worthy of his dorky sense of humor and sincere enthusiasm.
Chad's a good friend, for all that. Jared feels lucky to have him.
Not as lucky as he feels to have found Jensen, but Chad won't wear him out in the same way, and he has no desire to learn what Chad tastes like.
“Hang out a little longer,” Jensen says now, taking Jared's empty glass and folding up the paper. “It's been quiet.”
The two people who were there when Jared walked in get up, put on their jackets, pay for their cocktails and hummus, and leave. Jared could eat, so Jensen makes him a burger and pours him a Coke, and they chat for a while until Jared finishes his food, the three people with the Sam Adams order some dinner, and the sun sets into the river behind the buildings across the street.
“I'll see you tomorrow,” Jared says, putting some cash on the bar to cover his burger.
“I'll be here.”
Jared collects his stuff and walks down to the far end of the bar, where the counter flips up so the bartender can walk around the place. Jensen comes out from behind the counter to kiss him goodnight - first glancing around to make sure no one is watching - and Jared goes home.
He starts whistling on the way to the T station. He's full of burger and soda, he's gotten to hang out with his boyfriend for a while, he's doing work that interests him, and he doesn't even mind that his current assignment is ending in a week and a half and he'll have to find something else. Misha has been a great help in that regard.
It's dark out and getting cold, and Jared's life is so much better than it was ten months ago, all because of the night he walked into a bar on a whim, and met - and then fell in love with - the good-looking undead bartender.
Author's note!