Follicularity - SPN - J2 - R
First J2 fic. Well, first actually finished and posted. Of course, kinda nervous about this. Nervous about posting period.
TITLE: Follicularity
AUTHOR: anansay
FANDOM: Supernatural
CHARACTERS/PAIRING:Jared/Jensen aka J2, a bit of Kripke tossed in because he simply would NOT allow this to proceed without his bit of input, as well as mention of Sandy and Danneel.
RATING: R - swearing, non-explicit sex
GENRE: RPS, humour, first-time
WORD COUNT: 5,500
WARNINGS: non-explicit m/m action, smoking, fluff (because it, too, demanded presence. and YES, it does qualify as a warning!)
SPOILERS: If you haven't seen the second season yet well there's some tiny mention of some scenes.
DISCLAIMER: These are real people with their own lives and this most likely certainly did NOT happen. Unfortunately. It'd be nice, but, you know. A girl can dream about hot sexy men getting it on with each other, right? Of course!
BETA: None. All mistakes, plot holes and various idiotic miscellanea are mine.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: So I read "Jared's hair" somewhere in somebody's fic (I mean, how many writer's mention Jared's hair, right?) and it suddenly got me thinking about, well, Jared's hair. And how much people like it. In that vein, this story just might be considered something of a horror-fic, if you so lean that way. Oh yeah, and this was written between the hours of midnight and 3am with a big glass of undiluted Bailey's as a locksmith to my creativity. It was finished two nights later, post-midnight, with the obligatory Bailey's as company. (The only thing I hate about Bailey's is its high fat content.)
Btw, this has NOTHING to do with Halloween.
SUMMARY: Something horrible happens on set one day which sends Jensen tumbling through a nether world of what he'd believed to be the impossible. He has a bit of trouble regaining his momentum. Jared enjoys the show.
~*~
Follicularity
by Anansay
October 31, 2007
~*~
The moment Jensen arrived on set he knew something was wrong. Something was very terribly wrong. People were walking faster, talking louder, gesticulating more violently. Some outright avoided Jensen after making only the briefest of eye contact, dropping their gazes and then their heads as they hurried on by. He tried to catch a PA but she ducked, mumbled something, and scurried around a corner. When he finally found Kripke, he had to quickly side-step an airborne cup of still-steaming coffee. "Eric?"
Eric spun around and Jensen took a step back. Gone was the ordinarily, mostly calm, man. In his place was this manic, eye-popping, wheezing, hopping man. The only thing that was the same was the receding hairline. And the quick-as-ants-dancing speech.
"Oh my god Jensen I'm so glad you're here you won't believe what that gigantor of an asshole sasquatch idiot did I cannot believe it I don't know what to do now all the big wigs are shitting down my throat and it tastes like fucking crap and feels like fucking hair balls from very sick cats and OH MY FUCKING GOD JENSEN!"
Of course it certainly didn't sound as clearly as it's written here. Nothing whatsoever said in the extremely agitated state that Eric was in could possibly sound in any way coherent. So Jensen was left ;floundering for some errant meaning in Eric's manic babble. Something about Jared; the 'gigantor' and the 'sasquatch' comment definitely pointed in that sole direction. Jensen held up his hands and closed his eyes. Anything to stop Eric's stream of verbal diarrhea and near-homicidal physical rantings. "Something about Jared," he said. "What'd he do now?"
Of course Jensen was expecting something along the lines of the now-infamous Padalecki Pranks-now-known-as-the-Padackles-Pranks. Something Jensen could sink his teeth into himself and perhaps continue with his own brand of deadpan humour. He so loved stringing people along, releasing them, and watching them flounder for footage. What he certainly did not expect, not in a million years, not EVER, was Eric's response.
"He fucking cut his hair."
Jensen fell against the wall. And then slid to the floor. His body was thrumming like wild fire as it quickly lost all oxygen, his lungs having collapsed in his body, his brain imploding in his head and leaking out his ears, his eyeballs wanting to play marbles with the funky tiles on the floor. He wanted to ask, to demand, to inquire, to force the fucking truth from Kripke's own reddening face, but his mouth couldn't work without a brain. Eric looked like he was going to explode himself, send bits of himself flying all over the place and Jensen sorta wished he wouldn't 'cause his office was a fucking palace and it really shouldn't have body parts decorating from it. I mean, sure, the show was Supernatural and he knew the CG guys just loved to push the envelope in the gore department but, dammit, reality had to remain reality.
"He did what?" Jensen finally got out.
Eric's hand was flying over his own head, faster and faster. "BUZZED IT! He fucking buzzed his fucking head!"
Jensen had heard from various sources that Eric had a 'bad mouth', but when his 'bad mouth' became something that even sailors would tsk-tsk, those same people had advised Jensen to steer very clear of him. Of course Jensen couldn't even move, let alone flee the scene of a potential self-massacre, probably with an accompanying unintentional homicide which, of course, Jensen wanted absolutely no part in thank you very much.
Eric's words rebounded in his head. "He-he did what? He-" but he couldn't say it. Couldn't make the words form. To form them was to give them life, and those words really did not need to be anywhere NEAR anything alive. They needed to be shoved somewhere deep and dark and motherfucking cold to prevent them from ever even thinking of enjoying the glorious sun that had woken him up that morning. And then the images came, and they came hard and fast and without mercy. They resembled Jared, but the Jared from when they filmed Something Wicked after he pulled himself from the pool, his hair sticking to his head: flat. No bounce. No fly-away sides. No bangs. Just a smear of brown on his head and down the back of his neck. Only these images assaulting Jensen's now-delicate psyche were of Jared without that smear of brown. They were of Jared with a smear of freaking BLOND. Or, you know, flesh-coloured hair, if that were even possible.
Suddenly Jensen's legs were twitching and bouncing and he jumped up and fled. Walked as fast as his little bowed legs could take him. It felt too close to how a gay man would walk, his cute tight little behind doing a tiny little jiggle in between the quick steps. But he kept on walking, power-walking, really. Straight to his trailer.
At the last moment he veered and came to Jared's trailer. He completely skipped the three steps and landed his full body against Jared's trailer door, fists doing a medley of percussions as he tried not to fall backward. When the door opened he threw himself in, landing in a perfectly ungainly sprawl on the floor. "Jensen? What-" Hands were on him, under his arms, around his chest, and hauling him up. Even doing a little dusting on his chest until Jensen slapped those hands away. He dusted himself off. Including his jeans. And then he fixed his hair. It was only then that he realized he was doing everything he could think of not look at Jared and know whether or not Eric was telling the truth, or if Eric had finally lost it, having succumbed to his show's very own surreality.
Jensen stopped fiddling with himself, having noticed Jared's dancing feet, and he looked up.
And almost passed out, again.
He opened his mouth and this time sound came out only it sounded something like his nephew had done a few weeks ago when he'd tried to speak and eat and chew on his toy at the same time. It was unseemly then and it was terribly unseemly now, seeing as Jensen was far from being eight months old. He closed his mouth, and winced as his jaw snapped.
"Jensen?"
And maybe it was his name said in that voice with that particular inflection of curiosity mixed with a hint of self-assertion that finally unblocked Jensen's vocal chords. What came from Jensen's mouth was certainly words, and they were certainly in their correct order. Only Jensen couldn't even understand himself, and judging by Jared's deepening scowl, neither could he.
"It's about the hair, right?" Jared said.
So Jared spoke first, mentioned that now-horrible word and Jensen was free to speak properly again. "You're damned right it's about the fucking hair, dude! What gives? Why the fuck would you chop it off? You had- It was- I had-" Jensen snapped his mouth shut, again. He stood his ground, nostrils flaring, chest thrust out, stance wide, fists clenching, only to have his mind thrust at him all that he had almost said. Then he deflated, scooted around Jared and flopped onto the couch, feeling not a wit of give with the uber-stuffed, supposedly comfortable, piece of furniture.
Jared just stood and stared. "So I got tired of it," he said.
"You got tired of it?" Jensen wasn't liking the way his normally bass voice was quickly reaching levels he'd only been able to reach during his adolescence.
"Yeah, I got tired of it. I mean, especially when Sandy would, you know . . ."
Jensen eyeballed his best friend. "You mean . . . oh god . . . I- I really do not need to know that, man." He rose and made for the door. Only there was suddenly this huge human wall blocking his way. A huge human wall that smelled delicious.
"So I was getting tired to being fucking led around by my hair when we'd . . . you know." Jared did a seriously disturbing flick-thing with his tongue that had parts of Jensen simply screaming in glee.
"JARED!" Jensen yelled and shut his eyes. "Please, dude, the images!"
"But we talk about girls all the time, Jensen. I talk about Sandy all the time. You talk about Danneel. What-" Jared stopped talking.
Jensen finally understood the meaning behind 'the silence was deafening'. Not only could he feel his heartbeat hammering away at his chest, he could hear it like a toll bell ringing his imminent demise.
"Jensen? What did you have?" Jared was speaking slowly, almost like Jensen really had lost his mind somewhere in Kripke's office. "You were going to say something before . . ."
His hammering heart took an extended break and dropped off somewhere in his left foot. And then it geysered all of its blood into Jensen's head as his senses flooded with everything that could possibly go wrong in this situation. Jared was standing in front of him, barring his exit, his head shaved down to a five-day stubble. Now Jensen could see Jared's face, all of it, every single emotion that flittered and floated by, some staying for a bit of fun, others playing hide-and-seek. It wasn't fair. Jensen was supposed to have the monopoly on the crew-cut look. But that wasn't all of it.
"Jensen?"
"Dammit Jared, you're stealing my fire man. Your hair's what stood us apart."
"Is that all?"
"What?" Jensen looked up, and froze. Jared was staring down at him, his normally clear and twinkling eyes now a darkened forest before a storm. Jensen's heart whomped back up to lodge in his throat.
"You were going to say something, and you cut yourself off. You were going to say that you had something and I don't think it was a monopoly on the whole short-hair thing so don't bother." Jensen had to wonder if this was a whole anti-Samson thing, where the lack of hair had given Jared some sort of queer insight into Jensen's head. Of course, the 'Samson' thing was a bit curious too and Jensen couldn't hold back a giggle.
"What's so funny?"
"Samson."
"Samson? Dude, I play SAM."
"No, it's-forget it. It's nothing."
"But the hair is. So spill. Everybody else is freaking out, sure. The girls are having fits. Eric's having coronaries in his office. But you, man, I don't get. It's just hair, dude."
"No! It's not just hair! It's your hair! You're Jared-of-the-hair-and-the-height!
Jared's eyebrow popped up and Jensen could actually see it now so very clearly and it was disturbing not to have to look through a veil of hair. To see things-Jared-so clearly. It was wrong. On so many levels. "Well, I'm not getting any shorter, Jensen. In fact-" Jared went to the mirror on the door of the bathroom, "-I think I'm still growing." He turned and preened, hauled himself to his full height complete with chest out, then sagged and slumped and turned around again. "What do you think?"
Jensen could only stare at his co-star and best friend as Jared openly admired his butt in the mirror. "Dude, you'll always be freakishly tall. But you're supposed to be freakishly tall with hair!"
"Oh, back to the hair. Or lack of it." Jared grinned.
Jensen slumped. He was stuck and he knew it. Jared was on the war path and when Jared was on a war path there was no derailing him and Jensen had set in motion this particular path when he pounded on Jared's door demanding an explanation. He got his, and now Jared wanted his own. And there was absolutely no derailing Jared. Jensen sighed. "Why did you cut it, Jared? Why? I liked it. I liked . . . thinking about it."
There was that eyebrow again. "You think about my hair Jensen?"
"Yes."
"What do you think about-about my hair? I mean, what about my hair is it that you think about?"
Jensen sat down again, leaning forward, hands held between his legs, looking down. "I think about . . . touching it."
"You wanna touch my hair? Well I kept it. Do you wanna see it? I have it in a bag, I'll go get it-"
"Jared! That's-that's not the kind of touching I mean."
"Oh. Well then, what kind of touching do you- . . . Oh. THAT kind of touching."
"Yeah, 'that' kind of touching. And now I can't. Not anymore. Plus, now I'll get rug burn on my hands next time Kripke has Dean saving Sam and having to hold his bleeding head."
Jared sat down beside Jensen. "So you wanted to touch my hair . . ."
This wasn't fair, not by a long shot. Jensen couldn't understand how his morning had gotten so turned inside out. Almost like he was in some alternate universe in which it was safe to confess his deeper, more-than-friendship feelings to one of his best friends. He groaned into his hands. "I wanted to know . . . what it would feel like to . . . um . . ."
"Hold my hair while I deep-throated you?"
Jensen's head popped up so fast his neck cracked, he choked on suddenly inhaled saliva, his brain hurt, his ears began ringing, and his jaw felt permanently unhinged from his skull. When he'd gotten the choking down to manic gulping, a very undignified sound came out of his throat, probably due to all available blood being summarily rerouted in a southerly direction and robbing his vocal chords of needed elasticity and lubrication.
Lubrication. Oh how his dick loved THAT word. As surreptitiously as he could, Jensen pressed a palm into his crotch and sternly told his dick to settle the fuck DOWN. Of course, that OTHER brain had taken over, having gotten the majority of the blood in his body. It was mutiny, pure and simple. His entire body was mutinying against that one, still-loyal thought bouncing about its lonely self in his empty skull.
Jared was looking at him, eyes twinkling, mouth twitching, body fairly bounding off the couch. And all Jensen wanted to do was pounce on him and hold him down so he'd quit that damned perpetual movement! He'd downed him before, pinned Jared to the floor, the wall, the Impala, whenever Jared got too excited and couldn't seem to stop himself from going down a one-way street to self-annihilation through molecular over-stimulation. Before it was just two buddies rough-housing. Nothing to it. Until the dreams had started. And then everything changed, took on new nuances. Every word, every movement, every thing was suddenly different. Of course Jensen hid it well; he was an actor after all and a damned good one to boot, even if the dickwads of the CW wouldn't acknowledge that little fact. So Jensen had kept his feelings under wraps, skirted potentially dangerous situations with aplomb. It'd become second nature to Jensen to just let things slide and not look twice, to ignore the double entendres Jared so loved to drop on Jensen-and everybody else-at any given opportunity.
But this one took the fucking cake AND the icing AND the platter and Jensen was choking on the sheer, absolute horror of Jared's latest trick. Deep-throat Jensen's cock. As if.
Only Jared was still looking at Jensen, and his eyes were doing some seriously freaky muscle work as they kept shifting from Jensen's eyes to his lips and back. Jared had mastered the art of the facial expressions this season, going from serious, to seriously disturbed, to comical, to anger and mad, to cold fury. So, really, seeing Jared do something like that now, with his eyes, should not have disturbed Jensen as much as it was doing. And specifically the WHERE it was disturbing Jensen.
And holy shit Jared caught on to what Jensen had been trying covertly to do-tame his raging hard-on that was threatening to tear through his jeans, as powerfully hard as it felt already.
"Jensen?" Dammit, Jared should never EVER sound like that around Jensen, especially when Jensen was sporting the erection to rival the biggest porn star's. Totally not fair. So Jensen did the only sane thing his lone brain cell was capable of offering up as solution. He ran to the door, and left.
Of course one doesn't just run out of Jared Padalecki's trailer (or any of Jared's domiciles, really) with a very visible raging hard-on and expect to actually make it home and be safe. Jensen was in the bathroom, just freeing his dick, when the pounding began. He stared at his almost-purple and weeping dick, looked at the door, considered locking it and just continuing, pounding and all. But, really, the pounding was sure to wake his neighbors and that would just never do. NO ONE wanted to be quizzed the next morning by their kindly, if not a little daft, Mrs Kingston-with-the-cane-and-the-yappy-terrier about last night's ruckus. That woman would make any torture artist proud to call her his Mother. So Jensen zipped back up, left the bathroom, and yanked open the front door.
Only the front door met Jensen on its way open and he stumbled back, hand to his face, nose screaming, hard-on on extended vacation. His legs met his couch and he fell backward, hand still to his face, the other trying to brace his fall. When he finally stopped moving, he lay there with his eyes closed, his legs sprawled wide open, his nose still screaming and now warm and wet with blood. He heard the tell-tale sounds of someone in the kitchen running water. That 'someone' was also cursing quietly, and then there was a very cold cloth against the hand on his face and the quietly stern admonition to "let me see". When he opened his eyes, Jared was bending over him, face inches away, dripping cloth in one hand, a bag of ice in the other. "Oh god I'm so sorry Jensen," he said. "Here, wipe away the blood and then put this ice on it." He was helping Jensen to sit up. "Put your head back and breathe through your mouth." Jensen wanted to tell him this wasn't his first nose-bleed and to please just fuck off so he could deal with- Right. Hard-on left as soon as nose started spurting. Dammit, he'd wanted this dick to spurt!
Jared was still talking, apologizing, saying stupidly inane things that Jensen just shuffled off to that little corner of his mind that held all of Jared's little nonsensical monologues. Until Jared said those five little words that made everything stop. Except, of course, for the bleeding nose.
"I'm sorry about the hair."
Jensen opened his eyes and stared through the pain at Jared. "Yor shorry?"
Jared's lips twitched just before he ducked his head and Jensen just knew he'd sounded like a dork. "Yeah, Jensen, I'm sorry. I-I kinda knew but... you weren't doing anything so I, sorta..."
Jensen took away the ice. "Wait, you knew? Knew what?" He quickly put the ice back when he felt the warmth dribbling into his mouth again. "Jair!"
"I saw... saw you looking... at me..." Jared said with his head still down. "Saw you watching when I'd run my hand through my hair."
If it weren't for the nose bleed and the awful pain radiating to the back of his head, Jensen doesn't know what he would have done. It might have had something to do with leaning forward and sucking the very life energy from Jared through his lips. As it was, kissing was out of the question. So he contended himself with simply staring at Jared, and placing a finger beneath his chin to raise his head. "You knew." Jared nodded. "And this is what you do to get my attention? You cut off the very thing that-" And dammit this not being able to finish one's sentences due to inadvertent near-blathering of Very Personal Things was beginning to get on Jensen's nerves. He used to be so good with choosing his words, not blurting out the first thing that came to him only to stop in the middle because it had needed more thought before being allowed voice.
"That what?"
And THAT was the very reason, because people like Jared NEVER let those half-sentences die a peaceful death. People like Jared seemed to LOVE resurrecting them and making them dance a merry gig until only THEY were satisfied with the words' intended existence. So Jensen swallowed hard against the upsurge of his ire in the face of one of THOSE people, closed his eyes, and said, very quietly, "The very thing I fell for."
He held the bag of ice to his face knowing the bleeding had stopped but at least it was now acting in a second capacity of something to hide behind.
"You fell for my hair?"
Jensen nodded slowly, not wanting the bleeding to start all over again.
"What-what would you have done with my hair?"
Jensen groaned as the images came back, full colour and exquisitely detailed. It so wasn't fair. He took away the ice bag, used the cloth to wipe away the blood. "I would have, um, you know..."
"That whole 'deep throat' thing?"
Now Jensen's groan was quite a bit louder. "Jared... jesus... do you have to?"
"Do you want me to?"
"I-" Jensen looked up finally, and met Jared's eyes. Jared's very expressive, very honest, and right now very darkly aroused eyes. His mouth was parted and his tongue was just barely making an appearance though it was just enough to welcome back Jensen's hard-on.
"'Cause I really want to, Jensen." Jared backed up his words with his hands on Jensen's thighs, sliding them slowly upward and then coming back down. Rubbing his thighs, and each time getting closer and closer to their intended target. Jensen wanted to grab those hands with those fingers and place them exactly where he knew they'd end up, 'cause 'eventually' needed to be 'right now'. "I do."
"Oh god Jared... I- I just... this is so weird." He glanced up at Jared's near-bald head.
Jared's hands stopped moving. "You don't want me anymore because I have no more hair?"
Jensen trapped Jared's hands with his, keeping them there on his thighs, feeling their heat now through both his legs and his hands. "No! I just mean... I mean you have Sandy, right? And I have Danneel and-and we're best friends and-and I have no idea what I'm doing anymore."
Jared's hand began moving beneath Jensen's. "If it's any consolation, Jensen, I've never done anything like this before. Never felt like it either. But you're . . . different. I can't explain it."
"Me too." Lame, Jensen knew, but he said it anyway. All other words had gone AWOL. Only Jared's hands on his thighs, pushing past Jensen's, made sense now. So Jensen moved his hands and let Jared increase the circle, coming closer and closer.
"So . . . you'll let me?" Jared said and his hands were so freaking close, their heat fairly singeing their way through Jensen's jeans to mark their trail and leave something of an indelible mark on Jensen.
"Christ Jared just . . . yeah." The last word squeaked out of Jensen's mouth, somewhat because of what Jared was offering, but more because Jared's hands had finally reached their destination and Jensen let himself fall back onto the couch, effectively leaving his crotch wide-open for giant hands to make friends with erect dicks. Intimate friends. There was no way Jensen could have been capable of saying anything other than 'yeah'. Well, there were the inevitable 'yes's and 'god's' and other such trivial little nonsensical words and sounds that came from having that most delicate part of your body suddenly surrounded by moist heat of a very curiously queer nature. And when suction was added to the mix it was the perfect recipe for a complete brain implosion of the most enjoyable variety.
It was only a slight hiccup in Jensen's brain when his hands encountered stubble instead of thick hair but the ghost of his brain informed him that this stubble was actually quite soft and dewy and therefore very enjoyable to run his hands over while Jared's head bobbed along his cock. So he traced figures on Jared's scalp, circles and lines and-
Oh My Fucking GOD where had Jared learned to do that with his tongue? Jensen nearly bucked Jared right off him and his hands splayed themselves over Jared's scalp and he grabbed ears. Ears. His brain-ghost tried to show him the utter idiocy of that move but he couldn't listen, couldn't make heads or tails out of grabbing the guy's ears as Jared did indeed deep throat Jensen's cock. Even the subsequent gagging and coughing and sputtering did nothing to quell the need for more. And Jared seemed more than happy to try again, taking in Jensen's cock in one suck-and-swallow, this time holding his breath and Jensen felt the squeeze and pulse of Jared's throat and it was too much. With a cry-and a rather strong jerk on the ears-Jensen came hard down Jared's throat. He refuses, to this day, to wonder if Jared swallowed because he wanted to, or because he'd preferred to keep his ears attached to his head.
Jensen was boneless. Yes, that is a corny phrase but that is exactly what went through Jensen's mind as he lay limp on his couch, Jared's head resting on his naked thigh next to his, also, limp dick. Boneless. Not a feeling anywhere in his body except for something resembling melting plastic. Oh yeah, and bliss. Complete and total bliss, something even better than a joint. Jensen was blissfully boneless.
"Dude . . ." Jared mumbled from his squashed-face position against Jensen's thigh. "I never thought deep-throating would be so . . . difficult."
Jensen rested a hand on Jared's head. "You did good, man. Real good." Then a thought: "You need practice?"
Jared lifted his head and Jensen looked down to see a pair of eyes the most beautiful shade of deep green staring at him like he were some god. "What I need is . . . a shower." He stood up then, pushing on Jensen's knees before coming to a wobbly upright position. Jensen thought for a moment he might end up with a lap-full of six-foot-four sasquatch as Jared teetered to the right, then tottered to the left, before he finally tripped down the hall to Jensen's bathroom, hitting the wall no less than three times.
With the sound of the water running, Jensen pulled himself together, put himself back in his jeans, and stood up. He grinned as he found his footing much faster than his gigantor friend had. And then it was on to coffee. Coffee was good anytime of day or night. And with coffee-and mind-fucking-blowing blow jobs-there needed to be the obligatory cigarette. So he fished through his drawers and pulled out a tattered and misshapen red box and pulled out a dented cigarette. He retreated to his balcony, lit, and dragged.
The smell of percolating coffee mixed with Jared's own unique scent (now tinted with Jensen's soap) came wafting through the patio doors and Jensen turned around and took the coffee mug from Jared. "Just the way you like it," Jared said. Jensen thanked him. "So you smoke after . . . sex?"
"Sometimes. When it's good and my body feels like it won't ever reinflate itself."
Jared snorted. "So the hair's not so bad then?"
Jensen grinned. "Naw." He reached up. "I have the ears, after all."
Jared swatted Jensen's hand away. "Dude, you nearly tore them off! What'd Eric do if I had no hair and no ears! Not to mention Sandy-"
Whatever satiety had settled over Jensen was summarily blown away when his own reality came tumbling down around him. "Shit."
"Fuck."
"Well..."
Jared looked at Jensen. "That's it? Just 'well'?"
Jensen took a drag. "What else is there to say?"
"Dude! You freaked out because I shaved my head and now, after . . ." he flailed his arm behind him, ". . . that and all you have to say is 'well'?!"
Jensen put his coffee mug down on the railing and turned to Jared. "That," he gestured weakly toward the living room, "was the best orgasm I ever had. And, trust me, I've had many to compare it to. Danneel is good but . . . she doesn't deep throat... like that. Christ even your throat is uber-long!"
And we present the Jared-eyebrow! "So, what you're saying is, my deep-throating abilities would . . . cause you to leave Danneel?"
"Hey, a man's gotta have some kind of guarantee of good head, you know."
"So you'd stay with me as long as I gave you 'good' head?"
"Would you leave Sandy to give me head on a regular basis, Jared?"
Jared's mouth worked but nothing came out. "I don't believe you . . ."
Jensen pulled one last drag from his cigarette then bent to squash it into a can of sand. "I've been thinking about your hair since the first time I met you, since we did that fight scene in the Pilot and I held you down. Since we did Tall Tales and the bed. Since a whole lot times, Jared. All my girlfriends have had long hair but . . . after three years of knowing you, the hair became just a bonus. Something I could focus on to keep my mind from really screwing with my head-if that makes any sense. Because, Jared, you're hair was only the beginning."
"The beginning?"
"The beginning," Jensen said. "After that everything else started coming in until you were just 'Jared' in my head. Tall, gigantic hands, puppy-fucking-eyes, manic glee at just being alive." He stepped closer, put his hand on Jared's chest, right on his heart. "I couldn't have done all this without you there with me, Jared. You showed me it was okay to let loose once in a while and not worry about the public so much. You let me be more than what I was and nobody can dare take that credit but you."
"Geez Jensen, this sounds like the most messed-up declaration of love I've ever heard!"
Jensen swallowed and forced himself to look up. "It is."
"Jesus..."
Jensen left his hand there, enjoying the feeling of Jared's heart tip-tapping its way to a quick staccato. And below that, the tell-tale sign of other things speeding up. "There it is, man. Take it over leave it."
Jared put his hand atop Jensen's and then pulled him closer with a hand on Jensen's back and that was all it took for Jensen's dick to take renewed interest in the possibilities. "I am so taking, Jensen. You are mine from here on out." And for a final point, Jared pressed his groin into Jensen's and ground down hard.
Jensen licked a trail along Jared's neck. "This is my new fetish-your throat."
"Guess I'd better hope never to get sick, huh?"
And then Jared sneezed.
~*~
THE END
TITLE: Follicularity
AUTHOR: anansay
FANDOM: Supernatural
CHARACTERS/PAIRING:Jared/Jensen aka J2, a bit of Kripke tossed in because he simply would NOT allow this to proceed without his bit of input, as well as mention of Sandy and Danneel.
RATING: R - swearing, non-explicit sex
GENRE: RPS, humour, first-time
WORD COUNT: 5,500
WARNINGS: non-explicit m/m action, smoking, fluff (because it, too, demanded presence. and YES, it does qualify as a warning!)
SPOILERS: If you haven't seen the second season yet well there's some tiny mention of some scenes.
DISCLAIMER: These are real people with their own lives and this most likely certainly did NOT happen. Unfortunately. It'd be nice, but, you know. A girl can dream about hot sexy men getting it on with each other, right? Of course!
BETA: None. All mistakes, plot holes and various idiotic miscellanea are mine.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: So I read "Jared's hair" somewhere in somebody's fic (I mean, how many writer's mention Jared's hair, right?) and it suddenly got me thinking about, well, Jared's hair. And how much people like it. In that vein, this story just might be considered something of a horror-fic, if you so lean that way. Oh yeah, and this was written between the hours of midnight and 3am with a big glass of undiluted Bailey's as a locksmith to my creativity. It was finished two nights later, post-midnight, with the obligatory Bailey's as company. (The only thing I hate about Bailey's is its high fat content.)
Btw, this has NOTHING to do with Halloween.
SUMMARY: Something horrible happens on set one day which sends Jensen tumbling through a nether world of what he'd believed to be the impossible. He has a bit of trouble regaining his momentum. Jared enjoys the show.
~*~
Follicularity
by Anansay
October 31, 2007
~*~
The moment Jensen arrived on set he knew something was wrong. Something was very terribly wrong. People were walking faster, talking louder, gesticulating more violently. Some outright avoided Jensen after making only the briefest of eye contact, dropping their gazes and then their heads as they hurried on by. He tried to catch a PA but she ducked, mumbled something, and scurried around a corner. When he finally found Kripke, he had to quickly side-step an airborne cup of still-steaming coffee. "Eric?"
Eric spun around and Jensen took a step back. Gone was the ordinarily, mostly calm, man. In his place was this manic, eye-popping, wheezing, hopping man. The only thing that was the same was the receding hairline. And the quick-as-ants-dancing speech.
"Oh my god Jensen I'm so glad you're here you won't believe what that gigantor of an asshole sasquatch idiot did I cannot believe it I don't know what to do now all the big wigs are shitting down my throat and it tastes like fucking crap and feels like fucking hair balls from very sick cats and OH MY FUCKING GOD JENSEN!"
Of course it certainly didn't sound as clearly as it's written here. Nothing whatsoever said in the extremely agitated state that Eric was in could possibly sound in any way coherent. So Jensen was left ;floundering for some errant meaning in Eric's manic babble. Something about Jared; the 'gigantor' and the 'sasquatch' comment definitely pointed in that sole direction. Jensen held up his hands and closed his eyes. Anything to stop Eric's stream of verbal diarrhea and near-homicidal physical rantings. "Something about Jared," he said. "What'd he do now?"
Of course Jensen was expecting something along the lines of the now-infamous Padalecki Pranks-now-known-as-the-Padackles-Pranks. Something Jensen could sink his teeth into himself and perhaps continue with his own brand of deadpan humour. He so loved stringing people along, releasing them, and watching them flounder for footage. What he certainly did not expect, not in a million years, not EVER, was Eric's response.
"He fucking cut his hair."
Jensen fell against the wall. And then slid to the floor. His body was thrumming like wild fire as it quickly lost all oxygen, his lungs having collapsed in his body, his brain imploding in his head and leaking out his ears, his eyeballs wanting to play marbles with the funky tiles on the floor. He wanted to ask, to demand, to inquire, to force the fucking truth from Kripke's own reddening face, but his mouth couldn't work without a brain. Eric looked like he was going to explode himself, send bits of himself flying all over the place and Jensen sorta wished he wouldn't 'cause his office was a fucking palace and it really shouldn't have body parts decorating from it. I mean, sure, the show was Supernatural and he knew the CG guys just loved to push the envelope in the gore department but, dammit, reality had to remain reality.
"He did what?" Jensen finally got out.
Eric's hand was flying over his own head, faster and faster. "BUZZED IT! He fucking buzzed his fucking head!"
Jensen had heard from various sources that Eric had a 'bad mouth', but when his 'bad mouth' became something that even sailors would tsk-tsk, those same people had advised Jensen to steer very clear of him. Of course Jensen couldn't even move, let alone flee the scene of a potential self-massacre, probably with an accompanying unintentional homicide which, of course, Jensen wanted absolutely no part in thank you very much.
Eric's words rebounded in his head. "He-he did what? He-" but he couldn't say it. Couldn't make the words form. To form them was to give them life, and those words really did not need to be anywhere NEAR anything alive. They needed to be shoved somewhere deep and dark and motherfucking cold to prevent them from ever even thinking of enjoying the glorious sun that had woken him up that morning. And then the images came, and they came hard and fast and without mercy. They resembled Jared, but the Jared from when they filmed Something Wicked after he pulled himself from the pool, his hair sticking to his head: flat. No bounce. No fly-away sides. No bangs. Just a smear of brown on his head and down the back of his neck. Only these images assaulting Jensen's now-delicate psyche were of Jared without that smear of brown. They were of Jared with a smear of freaking BLOND. Or, you know, flesh-coloured hair, if that were even possible.
Suddenly Jensen's legs were twitching and bouncing and he jumped up and fled. Walked as fast as his little bowed legs could take him. It felt too close to how a gay man would walk, his cute tight little behind doing a tiny little jiggle in between the quick steps. But he kept on walking, power-walking, really. Straight to his trailer.
At the last moment he veered and came to Jared's trailer. He completely skipped the three steps and landed his full body against Jared's trailer door, fists doing a medley of percussions as he tried not to fall backward. When the door opened he threw himself in, landing in a perfectly ungainly sprawl on the floor. "Jensen? What-" Hands were on him, under his arms, around his chest, and hauling him up. Even doing a little dusting on his chest until Jensen slapped those hands away. He dusted himself off. Including his jeans. And then he fixed his hair. It was only then that he realized he was doing everything he could think of not look at Jared and know whether or not Eric was telling the truth, or if Eric had finally lost it, having succumbed to his show's very own surreality.
Jensen stopped fiddling with himself, having noticed Jared's dancing feet, and he looked up.
And almost passed out, again.
He opened his mouth and this time sound came out only it sounded something like his nephew had done a few weeks ago when he'd tried to speak and eat and chew on his toy at the same time. It was unseemly then and it was terribly unseemly now, seeing as Jensen was far from being eight months old. He closed his mouth, and winced as his jaw snapped.
"Jensen?"
And maybe it was his name said in that voice with that particular inflection of curiosity mixed with a hint of self-assertion that finally unblocked Jensen's vocal chords. What came from Jensen's mouth was certainly words, and they were certainly in their correct order. Only Jensen couldn't even understand himself, and judging by Jared's deepening scowl, neither could he.
"It's about the hair, right?" Jared said.
So Jared spoke first, mentioned that now-horrible word and Jensen was free to speak properly again. "You're damned right it's about the fucking hair, dude! What gives? Why the fuck would you chop it off? You had- It was- I had-" Jensen snapped his mouth shut, again. He stood his ground, nostrils flaring, chest thrust out, stance wide, fists clenching, only to have his mind thrust at him all that he had almost said. Then he deflated, scooted around Jared and flopped onto the couch, feeling not a wit of give with the uber-stuffed, supposedly comfortable, piece of furniture.
Jared just stood and stared. "So I got tired of it," he said.
"You got tired of it?" Jensen wasn't liking the way his normally bass voice was quickly reaching levels he'd only been able to reach during his adolescence.
"Yeah, I got tired of it. I mean, especially when Sandy would, you know . . ."
Jensen eyeballed his best friend. "You mean . . . oh god . . . I- I really do not need to know that, man." He rose and made for the door. Only there was suddenly this huge human wall blocking his way. A huge human wall that smelled delicious.
"So I was getting tired to being fucking led around by my hair when we'd . . . you know." Jared did a seriously disturbing flick-thing with his tongue that had parts of Jensen simply screaming in glee.
"JARED!" Jensen yelled and shut his eyes. "Please, dude, the images!"
"But we talk about girls all the time, Jensen. I talk about Sandy all the time. You talk about Danneel. What-" Jared stopped talking.
Jensen finally understood the meaning behind 'the silence was deafening'. Not only could he feel his heartbeat hammering away at his chest, he could hear it like a toll bell ringing his imminent demise.
"Jensen? What did you have?" Jared was speaking slowly, almost like Jensen really had lost his mind somewhere in Kripke's office. "You were going to say something before . . ."
His hammering heart took an extended break and dropped off somewhere in his left foot. And then it geysered all of its blood into Jensen's head as his senses flooded with everything that could possibly go wrong in this situation. Jared was standing in front of him, barring his exit, his head shaved down to a five-day stubble. Now Jensen could see Jared's face, all of it, every single emotion that flittered and floated by, some staying for a bit of fun, others playing hide-and-seek. It wasn't fair. Jensen was supposed to have the monopoly on the crew-cut look. But that wasn't all of it.
"Jensen?"
"Dammit Jared, you're stealing my fire man. Your hair's what stood us apart."
"Is that all?"
"What?" Jensen looked up, and froze. Jared was staring down at him, his normally clear and twinkling eyes now a darkened forest before a storm. Jensen's heart whomped back up to lodge in his throat.
"You were going to say something, and you cut yourself off. You were going to say that you had something and I don't think it was a monopoly on the whole short-hair thing so don't bother." Jensen had to wonder if this was a whole anti-Samson thing, where the lack of hair had given Jared some sort of queer insight into Jensen's head. Of course, the 'Samson' thing was a bit curious too and Jensen couldn't hold back a giggle.
"What's so funny?"
"Samson."
"Samson? Dude, I play SAM."
"No, it's-forget it. It's nothing."
"But the hair is. So spill. Everybody else is freaking out, sure. The girls are having fits. Eric's having coronaries in his office. But you, man, I don't get. It's just hair, dude."
"No! It's not just hair! It's your hair! You're Jared-of-the-hair-and-the-height!
Jared's eyebrow popped up and Jensen could actually see it now so very clearly and it was disturbing not to have to look through a veil of hair. To see things-Jared-so clearly. It was wrong. On so many levels. "Well, I'm not getting any shorter, Jensen. In fact-" Jared went to the mirror on the door of the bathroom, "-I think I'm still growing." He turned and preened, hauled himself to his full height complete with chest out, then sagged and slumped and turned around again. "What do you think?"
Jensen could only stare at his co-star and best friend as Jared openly admired his butt in the mirror. "Dude, you'll always be freakishly tall. But you're supposed to be freakishly tall with hair!"
"Oh, back to the hair. Or lack of it." Jared grinned.
Jensen slumped. He was stuck and he knew it. Jared was on the war path and when Jared was on a war path there was no derailing him and Jensen had set in motion this particular path when he pounded on Jared's door demanding an explanation. He got his, and now Jared wanted his own. And there was absolutely no derailing Jared. Jensen sighed. "Why did you cut it, Jared? Why? I liked it. I liked . . . thinking about it."
There was that eyebrow again. "You think about my hair Jensen?"
"Yes."
"What do you think about-about my hair? I mean, what about my hair is it that you think about?"
Jensen sat down again, leaning forward, hands held between his legs, looking down. "I think about . . . touching it."
"You wanna touch my hair? Well I kept it. Do you wanna see it? I have it in a bag, I'll go get it-"
"Jared! That's-that's not the kind of touching I mean."
"Oh. Well then, what kind of touching do you- . . . Oh. THAT kind of touching."
"Yeah, 'that' kind of touching. And now I can't. Not anymore. Plus, now I'll get rug burn on my hands next time Kripke has Dean saving Sam and having to hold his bleeding head."
Jared sat down beside Jensen. "So you wanted to touch my hair . . ."
This wasn't fair, not by a long shot. Jensen couldn't understand how his morning had gotten so turned inside out. Almost like he was in some alternate universe in which it was safe to confess his deeper, more-than-friendship feelings to one of his best friends. He groaned into his hands. "I wanted to know . . . what it would feel like to . . . um . . ."
"Hold my hair while I deep-throated you?"
Jensen's head popped up so fast his neck cracked, he choked on suddenly inhaled saliva, his brain hurt, his ears began ringing, and his jaw felt permanently unhinged from his skull. When he'd gotten the choking down to manic gulping, a very undignified sound came out of his throat, probably due to all available blood being summarily rerouted in a southerly direction and robbing his vocal chords of needed elasticity and lubrication.
Lubrication. Oh how his dick loved THAT word. As surreptitiously as he could, Jensen pressed a palm into his crotch and sternly told his dick to settle the fuck DOWN. Of course, that OTHER brain had taken over, having gotten the majority of the blood in his body. It was mutiny, pure and simple. His entire body was mutinying against that one, still-loyal thought bouncing about its lonely self in his empty skull.
Jared was looking at him, eyes twinkling, mouth twitching, body fairly bounding off the couch. And all Jensen wanted to do was pounce on him and hold him down so he'd quit that damned perpetual movement! He'd downed him before, pinned Jared to the floor, the wall, the Impala, whenever Jared got too excited and couldn't seem to stop himself from going down a one-way street to self-annihilation through molecular over-stimulation. Before it was just two buddies rough-housing. Nothing to it. Until the dreams had started. And then everything changed, took on new nuances. Every word, every movement, every thing was suddenly different. Of course Jensen hid it well; he was an actor after all and a damned good one to boot, even if the dickwads of the CW wouldn't acknowledge that little fact. So Jensen had kept his feelings under wraps, skirted potentially dangerous situations with aplomb. It'd become second nature to Jensen to just let things slide and not look twice, to ignore the double entendres Jared so loved to drop on Jensen-and everybody else-at any given opportunity.
But this one took the fucking cake AND the icing AND the platter and Jensen was choking on the sheer, absolute horror of Jared's latest trick. Deep-throat Jensen's cock. As if.
Only Jared was still looking at Jensen, and his eyes were doing some seriously freaky muscle work as they kept shifting from Jensen's eyes to his lips and back. Jared had mastered the art of the facial expressions this season, going from serious, to seriously disturbed, to comical, to anger and mad, to cold fury. So, really, seeing Jared do something like that now, with his eyes, should not have disturbed Jensen as much as it was doing. And specifically the WHERE it was disturbing Jensen.
And holy shit Jared caught on to what Jensen had been trying covertly to do-tame his raging hard-on that was threatening to tear through his jeans, as powerfully hard as it felt already.
"Jensen?" Dammit, Jared should never EVER sound like that around Jensen, especially when Jensen was sporting the erection to rival the biggest porn star's. Totally not fair. So Jensen did the only sane thing his lone brain cell was capable of offering up as solution. He ran to the door, and left.
Of course one doesn't just run out of Jared Padalecki's trailer (or any of Jared's domiciles, really) with a very visible raging hard-on and expect to actually make it home and be safe. Jensen was in the bathroom, just freeing his dick, when the pounding began. He stared at his almost-purple and weeping dick, looked at the door, considered locking it and just continuing, pounding and all. But, really, the pounding was sure to wake his neighbors and that would just never do. NO ONE wanted to be quizzed the next morning by their kindly, if not a little daft, Mrs Kingston-with-the-cane-and-the-yappy-terrier about last night's ruckus. That woman would make any torture artist proud to call her his Mother. So Jensen zipped back up, left the bathroom, and yanked open the front door.
Only the front door met Jensen on its way open and he stumbled back, hand to his face, nose screaming, hard-on on extended vacation. His legs met his couch and he fell backward, hand still to his face, the other trying to brace his fall. When he finally stopped moving, he lay there with his eyes closed, his legs sprawled wide open, his nose still screaming and now warm and wet with blood. He heard the tell-tale sounds of someone in the kitchen running water. That 'someone' was also cursing quietly, and then there was a very cold cloth against the hand on his face and the quietly stern admonition to "let me see". When he opened his eyes, Jared was bending over him, face inches away, dripping cloth in one hand, a bag of ice in the other. "Oh god I'm so sorry Jensen," he said. "Here, wipe away the blood and then put this ice on it." He was helping Jensen to sit up. "Put your head back and breathe through your mouth." Jensen wanted to tell him this wasn't his first nose-bleed and to please just fuck off so he could deal with- Right. Hard-on left as soon as nose started spurting. Dammit, he'd wanted this dick to spurt!
Jared was still talking, apologizing, saying stupidly inane things that Jensen just shuffled off to that little corner of his mind that held all of Jared's little nonsensical monologues. Until Jared said those five little words that made everything stop. Except, of course, for the bleeding nose.
"I'm sorry about the hair."
Jensen opened his eyes and stared through the pain at Jared. "Yor shorry?"
Jared's lips twitched just before he ducked his head and Jensen just knew he'd sounded like a dork. "Yeah, Jensen, I'm sorry. I-I kinda knew but... you weren't doing anything so I, sorta..."
Jensen took away the ice. "Wait, you knew? Knew what?" He quickly put the ice back when he felt the warmth dribbling into his mouth again. "Jair!"
"I saw... saw you looking... at me..." Jared said with his head still down. "Saw you watching when I'd run my hand through my hair."
If it weren't for the nose bleed and the awful pain radiating to the back of his head, Jensen doesn't know what he would have done. It might have had something to do with leaning forward and sucking the very life energy from Jared through his lips. As it was, kissing was out of the question. So he contended himself with simply staring at Jared, and placing a finger beneath his chin to raise his head. "You knew." Jared nodded. "And this is what you do to get my attention? You cut off the very thing that-" And dammit this not being able to finish one's sentences due to inadvertent near-blathering of Very Personal Things was beginning to get on Jensen's nerves. He used to be so good with choosing his words, not blurting out the first thing that came to him only to stop in the middle because it had needed more thought before being allowed voice.
"That what?"
And THAT was the very reason, because people like Jared NEVER let those half-sentences die a peaceful death. People like Jared seemed to LOVE resurrecting them and making them dance a merry gig until only THEY were satisfied with the words' intended existence. So Jensen swallowed hard against the upsurge of his ire in the face of one of THOSE people, closed his eyes, and said, very quietly, "The very thing I fell for."
He held the bag of ice to his face knowing the bleeding had stopped but at least it was now acting in a second capacity of something to hide behind.
"You fell for my hair?"
Jensen nodded slowly, not wanting the bleeding to start all over again.
"What-what would you have done with my hair?"
Jensen groaned as the images came back, full colour and exquisitely detailed. It so wasn't fair. He took away the ice bag, used the cloth to wipe away the blood. "I would have, um, you know..."
"That whole 'deep throat' thing?"
Now Jensen's groan was quite a bit louder. "Jared... jesus... do you have to?"
"Do you want me to?"
"I-" Jensen looked up finally, and met Jared's eyes. Jared's very expressive, very honest, and right now very darkly aroused eyes. His mouth was parted and his tongue was just barely making an appearance though it was just enough to welcome back Jensen's hard-on.
"'Cause I really want to, Jensen." Jared backed up his words with his hands on Jensen's thighs, sliding them slowly upward and then coming back down. Rubbing his thighs, and each time getting closer and closer to their intended target. Jensen wanted to grab those hands with those fingers and place them exactly where he knew they'd end up, 'cause 'eventually' needed to be 'right now'. "I do."
"Oh god Jared... I- I just... this is so weird." He glanced up at Jared's near-bald head.
Jared's hands stopped moving. "You don't want me anymore because I have no more hair?"
Jensen trapped Jared's hands with his, keeping them there on his thighs, feeling their heat now through both his legs and his hands. "No! I just mean... I mean you have Sandy, right? And I have Danneel and-and we're best friends and-and I have no idea what I'm doing anymore."
Jared's hand began moving beneath Jensen's. "If it's any consolation, Jensen, I've never done anything like this before. Never felt like it either. But you're . . . different. I can't explain it."
"Me too." Lame, Jensen knew, but he said it anyway. All other words had gone AWOL. Only Jared's hands on his thighs, pushing past Jensen's, made sense now. So Jensen moved his hands and let Jared increase the circle, coming closer and closer.
"So . . . you'll let me?" Jared said and his hands were so freaking close, their heat fairly singeing their way through Jensen's jeans to mark their trail and leave something of an indelible mark on Jensen.
"Christ Jared just . . . yeah." The last word squeaked out of Jensen's mouth, somewhat because of what Jared was offering, but more because Jared's hands had finally reached their destination and Jensen let himself fall back onto the couch, effectively leaving his crotch wide-open for giant hands to make friends with erect dicks. Intimate friends. There was no way Jensen could have been capable of saying anything other than 'yeah'. Well, there were the inevitable 'yes's and 'god's' and other such trivial little nonsensical words and sounds that came from having that most delicate part of your body suddenly surrounded by moist heat of a very curiously queer nature. And when suction was added to the mix it was the perfect recipe for a complete brain implosion of the most enjoyable variety.
It was only a slight hiccup in Jensen's brain when his hands encountered stubble instead of thick hair but the ghost of his brain informed him that this stubble was actually quite soft and dewy and therefore very enjoyable to run his hands over while Jared's head bobbed along his cock. So he traced figures on Jared's scalp, circles and lines and-
Oh My Fucking GOD where had Jared learned to do that with his tongue? Jensen nearly bucked Jared right off him and his hands splayed themselves over Jared's scalp and he grabbed ears. Ears. His brain-ghost tried to show him the utter idiocy of that move but he couldn't listen, couldn't make heads or tails out of grabbing the guy's ears as Jared did indeed deep throat Jensen's cock. Even the subsequent gagging and coughing and sputtering did nothing to quell the need for more. And Jared seemed more than happy to try again, taking in Jensen's cock in one suck-and-swallow, this time holding his breath and Jensen felt the squeeze and pulse of Jared's throat and it was too much. With a cry-and a rather strong jerk on the ears-Jensen came hard down Jared's throat. He refuses, to this day, to wonder if Jared swallowed because he wanted to, or because he'd preferred to keep his ears attached to his head.
Jensen was boneless. Yes, that is a corny phrase but that is exactly what went through Jensen's mind as he lay limp on his couch, Jared's head resting on his naked thigh next to his, also, limp dick. Boneless. Not a feeling anywhere in his body except for something resembling melting plastic. Oh yeah, and bliss. Complete and total bliss, something even better than a joint. Jensen was blissfully boneless.
"Dude . . ." Jared mumbled from his squashed-face position against Jensen's thigh. "I never thought deep-throating would be so . . . difficult."
Jensen rested a hand on Jared's head. "You did good, man. Real good." Then a thought: "You need practice?"
Jared lifted his head and Jensen looked down to see a pair of eyes the most beautiful shade of deep green staring at him like he were some god. "What I need is . . . a shower." He stood up then, pushing on Jensen's knees before coming to a wobbly upright position. Jensen thought for a moment he might end up with a lap-full of six-foot-four sasquatch as Jared teetered to the right, then tottered to the left, before he finally tripped down the hall to Jensen's bathroom, hitting the wall no less than three times.
With the sound of the water running, Jensen pulled himself together, put himself back in his jeans, and stood up. He grinned as he found his footing much faster than his gigantor friend had. And then it was on to coffee. Coffee was good anytime of day or night. And with coffee-and mind-fucking-blowing blow jobs-there needed to be the obligatory cigarette. So he fished through his drawers and pulled out a tattered and misshapen red box and pulled out a dented cigarette. He retreated to his balcony, lit, and dragged.
The smell of percolating coffee mixed with Jared's own unique scent (now tinted with Jensen's soap) came wafting through the patio doors and Jensen turned around and took the coffee mug from Jared. "Just the way you like it," Jared said. Jensen thanked him. "So you smoke after . . . sex?"
"Sometimes. When it's good and my body feels like it won't ever reinflate itself."
Jared snorted. "So the hair's not so bad then?"
Jensen grinned. "Naw." He reached up. "I have the ears, after all."
Jared swatted Jensen's hand away. "Dude, you nearly tore them off! What'd Eric do if I had no hair and no ears! Not to mention Sandy-"
Whatever satiety had settled over Jensen was summarily blown away when his own reality came tumbling down around him. "Shit."
"Fuck."
"Well..."
Jared looked at Jensen. "That's it? Just 'well'?"
Jensen took a drag. "What else is there to say?"
"Dude! You freaked out because I shaved my head and now, after . . ." he flailed his arm behind him, ". . . that and all you have to say is 'well'?!"
Jensen put his coffee mug down on the railing and turned to Jared. "That," he gestured weakly toward the living room, "was the best orgasm I ever had. And, trust me, I've had many to compare it to. Danneel is good but . . . she doesn't deep throat... like that. Christ even your throat is uber-long!"
And we present the Jared-eyebrow! "So, what you're saying is, my deep-throating abilities would . . . cause you to leave Danneel?"
"Hey, a man's gotta have some kind of guarantee of good head, you know."
"So you'd stay with me as long as I gave you 'good' head?"
"Would you leave Sandy to give me head on a regular basis, Jared?"
Jared's mouth worked but nothing came out. "I don't believe you . . ."
Jensen pulled one last drag from his cigarette then bent to squash it into a can of sand. "I've been thinking about your hair since the first time I met you, since we did that fight scene in the Pilot and I held you down. Since we did Tall Tales and the bed. Since a whole lot times, Jared. All my girlfriends have had long hair but . . . after three years of knowing you, the hair became just a bonus. Something I could focus on to keep my mind from really screwing with my head-if that makes any sense. Because, Jared, you're hair was only the beginning."
"The beginning?"
"The beginning," Jensen said. "After that everything else started coming in until you were just 'Jared' in my head. Tall, gigantic hands, puppy-fucking-eyes, manic glee at just being alive." He stepped closer, put his hand on Jared's chest, right on his heart. "I couldn't have done all this without you there with me, Jared. You showed me it was okay to let loose once in a while and not worry about the public so much. You let me be more than what I was and nobody can dare take that credit but you."
"Geez Jensen, this sounds like the most messed-up declaration of love I've ever heard!"
Jensen swallowed and forced himself to look up. "It is."
"Jesus..."
Jensen left his hand there, enjoying the feeling of Jared's heart tip-tapping its way to a quick staccato. And below that, the tell-tale sign of other things speeding up. "There it is, man. Take it over leave it."
Jared put his hand atop Jensen's and then pulled him closer with a hand on Jensen's back and that was all it took for Jensen's dick to take renewed interest in the possibilities. "I am so taking, Jensen. You are mine from here on out." And for a final point, Jared pressed his groin into Jensen's and ground down hard.
Jensen licked a trail along Jared's neck. "This is my new fetish-your throat."
"Guess I'd better hope never to get sick, huh?"
And then Jared sneezed.
~*~
THE END