IT IS MY BIRTHDAY; HERE IS SOME SELF-INDULGENT FIC
So, um, this is the thing I've been writing in the last couple of months when I am in a bad mood and need something to make me smile. It is non-AU fic where Jared and Jensen cuddle. And then eventually they have sex, only I had to cut most of the sex because I wrote it today and it was crap. So mostly they cuddle.
Title: Spooning is a gateway drug
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17 for schmoopy, self-indulgent mostly softcore smut
Summary: Post season 4, Jared is wiped. Jensen decides he needs cuddling. Then there is 4000 words of cuddling. And some sexytimes.
Notes: Unbetaed. I wrote this for my own dorky amusement because at heart I REALLY JUST WANT SOMEONE TO SPOON WITH OKAY. I make no promises that it is ANY GOOD.
Jensen slips into bed behind Jared and slides an arm around his waist, as if he can be the big spoon in this friendship, as if he can hold Jared together right now the way Jared’s always done for him. When Jared’s arm comes up, Jensen says, “Hey, it’s me,” as if that will change how fast Jared’s going to kick him out of his bed.
But Jared just acknowledges him with an, “Mm-hm,” and slips his hand around Jensen’s, shifting until they’re touching elbow to fingertip.
Jensen isn’t even sure why he’s doing it, except that Jared looked wrecked when he got back to Vancouver, and Jensen, high off two days of sleeping and doing nothing after filming his last scene, hurt just looking at him, this ache in his chest he doesn’t want to analyze too deeply. Back at the house, Jensen fed him pizza and bad TV and an extra day’s worth of on-set gossip, and Jared started to look a little more like himself. Only drained.
So maybe that’s why Jensen followed him to bed, tiptoed past the curious dogs on their pillows, and now he’s got his nose buried in his best friend’s hair, his lips a breath away from the back of Jared’s neck. All he knows is Jared’s holding his hand, Jared wants him there, and Jensen stays straight through ‘til morning.
***
If he’d thought about it beforehand, Jensen probably would have worried about waking up alone and disoriented in Jared’s bed. And the possible mortification might have kept him in his own room last night. But Jared’s exhausted, so actually Jensen wakes up with his arm numb and useless under Jared’s, and a cold, wet nose shoving into the small of his back. He doesn’t regret it.
Jensen walks the dogs, spills kibble into their bowls like he’s done for the last three mornings, and goes back upstairs to find Jared still curled on his side like he’s been waiting for Jensen’s return. Jensen hesitates before slipping into bed behind him, wrapping his arm around Jared’s waist again, tugging Jared’s t-shirt so his fingers won’t hit bare skin. That would be… something else, Jensen thinks, something Jared would need to be awake for.
***
The next time he wakes up, the sun is high in the sky, and as Jensen stretches his toes towards the end of the bed, Jared says, “Do you want to go for bagels?” in a startlingly normal voice.
“Um, yeah,” Jensen replies, sure Jared can feel his heart pounding where they’re pressed together chest to back.
Jared slides from under Jensen’s arm, and Jensen flexes his fingers, pretty sure that a second ago, they were wrapped around Jared’s, twined in between them. But that might have been a dream.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” Jared announces. “Move your lazy ass before they stop serving breakfast.”
“They serve breakfast all day,” Jensen yells at the closed bathroom door. Then he goes to put his contacts in and find some pants.
***
Jensen doesn’t have a moment of gay panic, slipping into bed behind Jared again that night. He feels entitled to one - he’s had to protest, “No, seriously, I’m straight,” to agents, fans, and guys at bars too many times to be quite secure in his heterosexuality - but Jared’s still got these ugly dark circles under his eyes like somebody punched him in the nose, and Jensen likes to feel as though there’s something he can do. Jared slurs, “Hi, Jensen,” into the pillow when Jensen’s arm slides around his waist, and a minute later, he starts to snore.
“Hi, Jared,” Jensen replies, quietly into his hair, which smells like the hippie sandalwood shampoo Megan bought him for Christmas. He relaxes into the heat of Jared’s body, familiar and safe, and when he wakes up in the morning, Jared is definitely holding his hand, thumb circling in the center of Jensen’s palm.
Jensen stretches to cover the quick scooting he does to get his morning wood away from Jared’s butt. But Jared just pauses and then keeps circling, tracing every curve and dip of Jensen’s palm. “Good morning,” he says after a while.
“Morning,” Jensen replies, and watches the soft hair at the back of Jared’s neck dance in the wake of his breath.
“Is there any reason to get up today?” Jared asks, and Jensen wonders if that means Jared wants him to stay. But as if on cue, Harley noses his way around the bedroom door and whines pathetically. And that puts an end to that line of thought.
***
Jensen hesitates that night after brushing his teeth, contemplating the length of the stairs to Jared’s room. But he doesn’t go up this time, settles into his cool, comfortable bed, which smells like his soap, instead of like dog hair and Jared. It’s quiet, and he can hear the dogs tip-tapping around in the living room, and then, as he’s almost asleep, the soft click of the door opening. Jared doesn’t say anything, but Jensen can feel him there, hovering, making a decision. Jensen relaxes every tensed muscle in his body one by one, keeping his eyes shut because he wants Jared to climb into bed with him, and what does that mean?
The bed dips and the covers lift as Jared settles in behind him. Jensen’s breath catches as Jared loops one long arm around his belly. He radiates heat everywhere they’re touching, almost touching, Jared’s chest to Jensen’s shoulder blades, and Jensen feels small in his arms. He thinks of saying, “Hi,” thinks he should say something, but then Jared’s lips brush the back of his neck, and Jensen’s breath comes out in a little squeak. Because that is not part of the best friend cuddling routine. But he doesn’t want Jared to stop. Jared’s fingers slide under the hem of his t-shirt, tracing rough patterns on Jensen’s skin, and God, he doesn’t want Jared to stop.
Jensen squeezes his eyes tighter shut and holds in a moan as Jared’s mouth opens against his nape, an unmistakable kiss. Jensen’s dick swells, and he lets Jared keep kissing him, little damp trails over his skin, down to his shoulder and up to the lobe of his ear. After a while, Jared’s grip slackens, and his breath slows against Jensen’s hair. Jensen aches with the desire to touch himself, but the thought of leaving Jared in order to jerk off in the bathroom is even more painful. It seems like hours before he falls asleep.
***
Jensen’s meeting Tom in the morning for the first hiatus golf game of the year, and he wiggles out from under Jared’s restraining arm when his alarm goes off at eight. Jared grumbles and turns onto his front, burying his nose in Jensen’s pillow. He doesn’t say good morning, and starts snoring softly after a moment. Jensen curls his fingers against the urge to stroke the tangle of Jared’s hair, and goes into the bathroom to try and scrub away his confusion.
“How’s Jared?” asks Tom.
“Tired,” says Jensen, after a moment of consideration.
Tom nods sympathetically. “Aren’t we all?”
“Does Superman get tired?”
Tom whacks him in the shin with his putter. “Come talk to me after your eighth season, asshole.”
Jensen shakes his head. “No way we’ll last that long.” Jensen never wanted to anyway, but now he thinks ahead a year, to the end of the supposed Final Season, and imagines what he and Jared will say to each other as they pack up the house and prepare to go back to their real lives in LA. It feels like a fist squeezing around his heart.
***
Jensen comes home after lunch to find Jared sprawled on the big sofa playing Mario Kart, something that Jensen knows from experience he does when he’s feeling insecure. It reminds him of his sister. But he’s got the dogs with him, and he sounds cheerful enough as he tells Jensen, “I keep thinking I’m going to go for groceries.” Mario zooms over the edge of the track.
“Do we need groceries?”
“There’s nothing left in the kitchen but dog food and old saltines. You want to try making a meal out of that?” Jared reaches a hand down, and Harley licks his palm.
“Guess not,” Jensen decides, sinking onto the other sofa. He ignores the tingle at the back of his neck, where Jared’s mouth rested last night. He figures if Jared wanted to talk about it, he wouldn’t be playing Mario Kart.
But then Jared tosses away the controller and gets to his feet, making Harley look worriedly upward. “Want to come with me?”
“Sure,” says Jensen, thinking much too hard about a simple errand. They talk about Jared’s evolving golf swing in the car, easy, familiar territory.
“We should go down to Oregon again soon,” Jared suggests. “That was fun. We could golf all day, hang out in a hotel for the night, order lots of room service.”
Jensen scratches his head nervously, hates that the image that springs to his mind is of Jared kissing the back of his neck in an anonymously nice hotel bed. “That was fun,” he agrees quietly, and Jared shoots him a careful sideways look from the driver’s seat. But they don’t talk about it.
***
Jensen’s asleep when Jared climbs into bed beside him that night, deeply enough asleep that Jared’s body folding around his, heavy and warm, seems like a dream. Jared’s hand slides over his hip, curling against his belly, and Jensen lets himself settle into Jared’s arms, curve himself into the space left for him by Jared’s body. He wants this - it’s easy to admit in a dream - and Jared is giving it to him, smiling against the back of Jensen’s neck, a tangible tilt to his mouth. Then Jared’s breath tickles against the top of his spine, and Jensen freezes, knowing he’s not asleep, that Jared’s really there, holding him and breathing at him. Questions rise up in his throat, but he swallows them again. Because he still wants Jared’s arms and Jared’s breath and the soft, open press of Jared’s lips. And that much he can admit to himself right now, even if he tamps down every encouraging movement he wants to make, every little helpless sound, everything that might tell Jared he’s awake and aware.
It’s not as if he really thinks Jared doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he doesn’t want to invite conversation, has no clue where he’d begin if Jared asked, “Why do you let me?” Jared’s teeth graze the side of his neck, and Jensen’s breath stutters with the kind of desperate hope he hasn’t felt since high school, when getting to second base seemed like an epic journey. He wants Jared to keep touching him, to touch him on every aching, pining inch of his skin, to cup his flattened palm around Jensen’s throbbing dick and rub him until he comes. But Jared just keeps kissing his neck and holding him, making Jensen wonder if he’ll wake up sticky and embarrassed tomorrow, his body taking what Jared won’t give him, what he can’t make himself ask for.
***
It goes like that for a few more days, and then they’re packing for Australia and everything’s weird and rushed anyway. Jensen feels too raw for fans, unready after a week of just Jared and the dogs and no particular place to be. There’s a door between their rooms in the hotel in Sydney, and with a lurch of hope he doesn’t examine too closely, Jensen unlocks his side and leaves it that way while he goes to scrub the airplane off his skin.
Jared’s on his bed when he comes out, flipping through the TV channels with his feet crossed and his newly washed hair soaking Jensen’s pillow. Jensen’s glad he had the forethought to bring his clothes in with him because he’s not sure what he’d do if he was naked right now. “Your TV not work?” Jensen asks, lying down next to him, near enough that their elbows touch.
“Your face doesn’t work,” Jared replies easily. “I hate how TV’s six months old by the time it gets over here.”
“You don’t even watch TV when we’re home.”
Jared shrugs, his shoulder brushing Jensen’s. “This side of the world confuses the hell out of me,” he sighs. “It’s still morning, isn’t it?”
“Probably.”
Jared clicks through a few more channels. “We could nap.” There’s something in the way Jared says “we” that makes Jensen pause to look at him, but Jared’s face is tired and cheerful and giving nothing away.
“Yeah,” Jensen agrees, and Jared turns off the TV and settles himself down farther in Jensen’s bed, shutting his eyes before Jensen can point out that Jared has a bed of his own, a room of his own. He lies back in his clean, fresh clothes, and wraps a tentative hand around Jared’s wrist, maintaining contact. Jared turns his arm in Jensen’s grip until they meet hand to hand, fingers falling together.
***
Jared stays surprisingly aloof for the rest of the weekend. His touches are public and emphatic, and Jensen’s skin begins to ache for the press of Jared’s body aligned with his as he sleeps. But Jared sticks to his own room, keeps his door locked after that first morning, which Jensen tries not to feel as a rejection. He is a grown-up, and Jared is his best friend, and while the cuddling is nice, it’s not essential. There is more to them. They smile and laugh and crack jokes and let Misha steal the show when he can. He looks at them backstage like he thinks something’s off, but he can’t know, and he doesn’t say anything.
***
Jared falls asleep on him on the plane home, his chin tucked into the curve of Jensen’s shoulder at an angle that doesn’t look like it can be comfortable. Jensen locks his elbow and bends his cheek to touch the top of Jared’s head, then glances quickly around as if there’s a woman with a camera just waiting to pop up and snap a picture. But their fellow passengers are ignoring the small-time American celebrities in their midst. So Jensen sits very still until his whole left arm is pins and needles, and then a little bit longer. He knows how much Jared needs the sleep. He watches Marley and Me again with the sound off, and tears up for the second time as he thinks of Jared’s dogs at home. Possibly, he could use a little sleep, too.
***
Jensen finds Jared in the kitchen at 2am the night they get back, Harley circling sharklike around his legs, whining for scraps. Jared looks from his sandwich to the dog and says reasonably, “There’s kibble in your bowl.”
Jensen pauses in the doorway as Harley whuffs in response, and Jared wraps a hand over his muzzle. “No bark. You wake up Jensen and there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Hell,” Jensen echoes ominously, and Jared’s face lights up in a grin. His eyes are puffy and his hair fluffs out like a bird’s nest on his head. He looks like he just woke up. “You know, eating in the middle of the night isn’t good for your girlish figure,” Jensen points out.
Jared pulls up his t-shirt and pokes at his rock solid abs. “Huh,” he says, and stuffs half his sandwich in his mouth at once. “Wanna bite?” he adds, chewing happily.
“I’ll pass,” says Jensen, thinking how close he’d have to be to taste Jared’s sandwich, how close and face-to-face and in his underwear he’d have to be. It’s not pretty. He grabs the bottle of water he came for out of the fridge and shuffles back to his room with a careless, “Goodnight,” over his shoulder.
Jensen takes his water back to bed and sips it thoughtfully, waits for the sound of Jared going upstairs. When he hears the thump of footsteps, Jared doing exactly that, he slides down into bed and swallows the disappointment in his throat. He takes deep breaths and wills himself to sleep, listens to the click of Harley’s toenails and the chirp of bugs outside.
The next thing he’s aware of is the weight of Jared’s body prying under his back, rolling him onto his side so that Jared can spoon around him. Jensen’s breath catches, and he lets Jared move him, leans back into Jared’s chest and soaks in his warmth. Jared doesn’t say anything, but he wouldn’t, curling his hand against Jensen’s belly, warm skin on warm skin. Jensen’s just in his boxers tonight, since it was hot when they got back, and he feels vulnerable and immediately turned on. He wants Jared to spread his fingers, dip them lower. But Jared just smoothes slow, wet kisses down the back of Jensen’s neck, grazes his teeth against Jensen’s shoulder. Jensen takes deep breaths and shuts his eyes tight as Jared just keeps going, kissing lower, along the curve of Jensen’s shoulder blade. He shifts, and Jensen can suddenly feel the weight of Jared’s cock against his ass, hard and unapologetic and huge. Jensen thinks again that if he were going to have a gay crisis, this would be the moment for it, but he just feels hot and dazed and he wants to know more about the swell of Jared’s hard-on. He wants to test the shape of it with his palm, feel the heat of it against his skin. He wants Jared to want the same things he does.
But he keeps still, just like always, and pretends that this is just like every other night, even though he feels ready to crawl out of his skin by the time Jared gives a gusty little sigh and settles down to sleep in the crook of Jensen’s shoulder.
***
The next night Jensen sleeps in a t-shirt and sweats in spite of the heat, not wanting to deal with any extra temptation Jared might throw at him. But that night Jared stays in his own bed, leaving Jensen to the rough pleasure of his own palm. It’s both comforting and disappointing. Jensen feels the phantom burn of Jared’s stubble against his shoulders, lets himself imagine Jared’s mouth as he comes, his cock sliding between Jared’s slickly parted lips. They haven’t talked all day. Jared was out on errands when Jensen got up, and Jensen stayed out of the house in the evening to avoid the inevitably awkward moment of looking in Jared’s eyes and seeing something ugly and unwanted. But as he falls asleep alone and sticky, he knows avoidance isn’t something he can keep up.
***
Jared makes pancakes. His smile is broad and guileless, and his hair is still sleep-tangled when Jensen stumbles into the kitchen looking for coffee. Jared chatters on about some new trick he thought Harley was finally getting the hang of, although when he tries to demonstrate, Harley wanders out into the hallway and doesn’t come back, which doesn’t look like a trick.
Jensen burns his tongue on his first sip of coffee and soothes it against the roof of his mouth, testing the roughness of his own taste buds. He watches Jared flip pancakes with smooth efficiency. “Can you make bacon?” Jared asks, so Jensen does. He feels like he’s waiting, but he doesn’t know what for, as they sit at the table and he watches Jared pick his bacon apart with his fingers before eating it. It’s almost normal, apart from the weird edge to Jared’s chatter, the way his hands never stop moving.
***
Jared slips into bed behind him almost as soon as Jensen falls asleep that night. His mouth is insistent around the collar of Jensen’s t-shirt, and his hand presses and clutches against Jensen’s belly. It feels different already, heady and dangerous and new, and tension bubbles up Jensen’s spine. And then Jared’s fingers slip under the waistband of Jensen’s boxers, and Jensen lets out a helpless little gasp as they brush so close to the base of his cock, which is swollen hard and hot already.
“Jensen,” Jared whispers urgently, and Jensen burns with the shock of hearing his voice. Jared presses closer, rocking his own cock into Jensen’s ass, and Jensen manages a grunt in response. “Jen, seriously, I know it’s… I just need you to, like, consent. I need to know it’s not just me.”
Jensen’s breath catches. “It’s not,” he whispers, and turns his head until he can see a little of Jared’s face, the curve of his cheekbone highlighted by the moon through the window. His first try at kissing Jared is sloppy and imperfect, their mouths off-center and uncertain. But then Jensen leans a little and Jared bends a little, and it feels as scary and necessary as any first kiss could. Jared’s lips part, and his hand finds purchase in Jensen’s hair. Jensen strains his neck, turning into the kiss, and then Jared is breaking away, pushing him onto his back and leaning over him, kissing him deeper, hungrier as his fingers slide down to wrap Jensen’s dick. It’s different from his own hand, different from any girl he’s ever been with. Jared’s palm engulfs him, wide and warm, and Jensen thinks he might come from the pressure alone, keyed up on weeks of not enough touch. He moans into Jared’s mouth, bucks his hips towards Jared’s hand. Jared moans right back, ruts his own dick into Jensen’s hip, and Jensen reaches blindly towards it, breathless and willing.
He feels heat first, burning through Jared’s boxers, and then his hand is digging inside, touching thin skin and rubbery veins, learning the texture of Jared’s shaft, the rougher place just below the head. He twists into the same rhythm Jared’s using on him, listens as their breathing falls into time. Jared mumbles out curses against his lips, and Jensen loves the sound of his voice, hoarse and cracking with desperation. He can’t tell when Jared’s close, can’t feel it from the inside like jerking off, but as his own orgasm rolls through him in waves, he squeezes up the length of Jared’s dick, and apparently that’s what it takes. Jared comes slick and hot over Jensen’s fingers, and Jensen keeps stroking until Jared rocks his hips away, his own hand still cupped around Jensen’s dick.
Jensen opens his eyes, unsure when he’d squeezed them closed, and looks up into Jared’s face. Jared’s cheeks are flushed, and he’s holding himself up on one elbow, his eyes flickering uncertainly over Jensen’s face. Jensen holds his breath, waiting for Jared to say something that will tell him what just happened, frame it for him. But Jared just kisses him again, pulls his messy hand out of Jensen’s boxers, and rolls off the bed. He’s out the door and shutting it behind him before Jensen can even react.
He lies in bed, heart pounding, all the lazy post-orgasmic feelings draining out of him. Jensen’s not as vain as he might be, but he’s never had someone run out on him before, and it’s more than a little upsetting. He stays carefully still until he hears the shuffle of feet in the hallway again, then the rustle of something being pushed under his door. He squints, but with the lights off and without his glasses, he has no idea what it is. His legs are shaky as he stumbles out of bed, kneeling to grab a piece of paper wedged against the doorjamb. An eviction notice, for all he knows, although Jared probably can’t do that when Jensen’s name is on the mortgage.
He turns on the bedside lamp to read it, one hastily scrawled sentence and two crooked checkboxes. “Do you like me like me?” it says, and under that, “yes” and “no.” Jensen wrenches open the door to find Jared sitting on the stairs, Sadie sprawled curiously beside him.
“Are you in third grade?” Jensen asks, in as normal a voice as he can manage.
Jared cocks his head. “Did you answer the question?”
“I don’t have a pen.”
“You could sign it in blood.” But he tosses a pen at Jensen’s head, and Jensen fumbles to catch it.
He stares at the page for a minute before checking a box and handing it over the railing. “You already know the answer,” Jensen says.
“I’m not sure I know anything anymore,” Jared replies pitifully.
“Stop being a drama queen.”
“You checked yes.”
“I’ve been letting you spoon me for weeks, Padalecki. I could have stopped it. And I didn’t. But it’s not as though there wasn’t time.”
“I didn’t know what you thought,” Jared tells him, still looking at the paper in his hands. “I figured maybe you just liked spooning a lot.”
“You’re not that stupid.”
A smile catches at the corner of Jared’s mouth. “You didn’t say anything.”
“Neither did you.”
Jared glances up, meets Jensen’s eyes, dark and blatant with invitation. “Come to bed with me,” he says, almost an order, and Jensen’s stomach twists in this weird, good, scary way.
“No more checkboxes?” he bargains. “No more talking?”
Jared hums noncommittally, and holds out a hand. Jensen sighs and follows him up the stairs. He hesitates at Jared’s door, feeling suddenly shy, but Jared waves the paper at him and says, “This is a binding agreement, Ackles. Don’t think I won’t sue your pretty ass.” And Jensen walks in after him.
Jared’s bed is bigger because the master bedroom is the only one that can realistically fit a California king, but when Jensen lies down on it, it seems to narrow to the space between his body and Jared’s. Why the hell should he be nervous now? After kissing Jared and rubbing against him and coming into his hand. Climbing back into bed with him should be the easy part. It isn’t.
He shuts his eyes and waits for Jared’s next move, twitches when Jared’s lips press at his temple, Jared’s hand fisting in the thin material of Jensen’s t-shirt, right above his pounding heart. Jared kisses down the side of his face until his mouth meets Jensen’s, hot and slick and slow, like Jared’s learning every inch of his mouth by taste. Jensen kisses back, fingers tentative at the back of Jared’s neck, holding him in place, then pulling him deeper. There are things to get used to about kissing a man, he notices now, the rasp of stubble along Jared’s jaw, the shape of his face when Jensen cups it between his hands, turning the kiss deeper, hungrier.
Jared starts to pull at his t-shirt, quick, see-saw motions tugging it up his chest until he can get his fingers on Jensen’s nipples, rolling them in a way Jensen had never bothered to consider would feel so good. Jared pulls back from the kiss, nuzzling down the side of Jensen’s neck, and Jensen moves restlessly under him, arching towards Jared’s mouth. “Want you naked,” Jared murmurs, and Jensen thought he knew every nuance of Jared’s voice before this moment, but the growl under the words is something new. “Want to put my mouth on every fucking inch of you. I wanna just lap you up.”
Jensen feels stunned, a growing buzz in his ears because whatever other kinky shit he’s done in his thirty-one years, dirtytalking is not it. No one has ever talked to him in Jared’s low, intimate growl, mouth slick on his skin. He wouldn’t even know how to begin to reply. “You don’t have to say anything,” Jared tells him, like he knows exactly what the tension locking Jensen’s spine means. “You know I just like to talk.”
So Jensen lets him, lets the words wash over him, feels the heat of them pulling low in his belly. Jared practically talks him hard again, breath hot against Jensen’s ear as he pulls at Jensen’s clothes, then his own. Jensen feels nervous sweat drying in the dip of his spine, cooling under Jared’s ceiling fan. He finds himself rocking into Jared’s hip, pushing up against miles of naked skin. He looks at Jared’s cock, the wet head striping his belly with precome, and for a jittery moment it’s too much, looking at his best friend and his best friend’s dick, and having that all come together in his head. His heart races and he wants to run, wants to go back to pretending this is nothing that matters. But then Jared is kissing him again, licking into his mouth, gentle and persistent, and Jensen can’t be anywhere but here and now. He checked “yes” and he’s following through.
♥ ♥ ♥
ETA: Now some extra porn to follow this story can be found here!
Title: Spooning is a gateway drug
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17 for schmoopy, self-indulgent mostly softcore smut
Summary: Post season 4, Jared is wiped. Jensen decides he needs cuddling. Then there is 4000 words of cuddling. And some sexytimes.
Notes: Unbetaed. I wrote this for my own dorky amusement because at heart I REALLY JUST WANT SOMEONE TO SPOON WITH OKAY. I make no promises that it is ANY GOOD.
Jensen slips into bed behind Jared and slides an arm around his waist, as if he can be the big spoon in this friendship, as if he can hold Jared together right now the way Jared’s always done for him. When Jared’s arm comes up, Jensen says, “Hey, it’s me,” as if that will change how fast Jared’s going to kick him out of his bed.
But Jared just acknowledges him with an, “Mm-hm,” and slips his hand around Jensen’s, shifting until they’re touching elbow to fingertip.
Jensen isn’t even sure why he’s doing it, except that Jared looked wrecked when he got back to Vancouver, and Jensen, high off two days of sleeping and doing nothing after filming his last scene, hurt just looking at him, this ache in his chest he doesn’t want to analyze too deeply. Back at the house, Jensen fed him pizza and bad TV and an extra day’s worth of on-set gossip, and Jared started to look a little more like himself. Only drained.
So maybe that’s why Jensen followed him to bed, tiptoed past the curious dogs on their pillows, and now he’s got his nose buried in his best friend’s hair, his lips a breath away from the back of Jared’s neck. All he knows is Jared’s holding his hand, Jared wants him there, and Jensen stays straight through ‘til morning.
***
If he’d thought about it beforehand, Jensen probably would have worried about waking up alone and disoriented in Jared’s bed. And the possible mortification might have kept him in his own room last night. But Jared’s exhausted, so actually Jensen wakes up with his arm numb and useless under Jared’s, and a cold, wet nose shoving into the small of his back. He doesn’t regret it.
Jensen walks the dogs, spills kibble into their bowls like he’s done for the last three mornings, and goes back upstairs to find Jared still curled on his side like he’s been waiting for Jensen’s return. Jensen hesitates before slipping into bed behind him, wrapping his arm around Jared’s waist again, tugging Jared’s t-shirt so his fingers won’t hit bare skin. That would be… something else, Jensen thinks, something Jared would need to be awake for.
***
The next time he wakes up, the sun is high in the sky, and as Jensen stretches his toes towards the end of the bed, Jared says, “Do you want to go for bagels?” in a startlingly normal voice.
“Um, yeah,” Jensen replies, sure Jared can feel his heart pounding where they’re pressed together chest to back.
Jared slides from under Jensen’s arm, and Jensen flexes his fingers, pretty sure that a second ago, they were wrapped around Jared’s, twined in between them. But that might have been a dream.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” Jared announces. “Move your lazy ass before they stop serving breakfast.”
“They serve breakfast all day,” Jensen yells at the closed bathroom door. Then he goes to put his contacts in and find some pants.
***
Jensen doesn’t have a moment of gay panic, slipping into bed behind Jared again that night. He feels entitled to one - he’s had to protest, “No, seriously, I’m straight,” to agents, fans, and guys at bars too many times to be quite secure in his heterosexuality - but Jared’s still got these ugly dark circles under his eyes like somebody punched him in the nose, and Jensen likes to feel as though there’s something he can do. Jared slurs, “Hi, Jensen,” into the pillow when Jensen’s arm slides around his waist, and a minute later, he starts to snore.
“Hi, Jared,” Jensen replies, quietly into his hair, which smells like the hippie sandalwood shampoo Megan bought him for Christmas. He relaxes into the heat of Jared’s body, familiar and safe, and when he wakes up in the morning, Jared is definitely holding his hand, thumb circling in the center of Jensen’s palm.
Jensen stretches to cover the quick scooting he does to get his morning wood away from Jared’s butt. But Jared just pauses and then keeps circling, tracing every curve and dip of Jensen’s palm. “Good morning,” he says after a while.
“Morning,” Jensen replies, and watches the soft hair at the back of Jared’s neck dance in the wake of his breath.
“Is there any reason to get up today?” Jared asks, and Jensen wonders if that means Jared wants him to stay. But as if on cue, Harley noses his way around the bedroom door and whines pathetically. And that puts an end to that line of thought.
***
Jensen hesitates that night after brushing his teeth, contemplating the length of the stairs to Jared’s room. But he doesn’t go up this time, settles into his cool, comfortable bed, which smells like his soap, instead of like dog hair and Jared. It’s quiet, and he can hear the dogs tip-tapping around in the living room, and then, as he’s almost asleep, the soft click of the door opening. Jared doesn’t say anything, but Jensen can feel him there, hovering, making a decision. Jensen relaxes every tensed muscle in his body one by one, keeping his eyes shut because he wants Jared to climb into bed with him, and what does that mean?
The bed dips and the covers lift as Jared settles in behind him. Jensen’s breath catches as Jared loops one long arm around his belly. He radiates heat everywhere they’re touching, almost touching, Jared’s chest to Jensen’s shoulder blades, and Jensen feels small in his arms. He thinks of saying, “Hi,” thinks he should say something, but then Jared’s lips brush the back of his neck, and Jensen’s breath comes out in a little squeak. Because that is not part of the best friend cuddling routine. But he doesn’t want Jared to stop. Jared’s fingers slide under the hem of his t-shirt, tracing rough patterns on Jensen’s skin, and God, he doesn’t want Jared to stop.
Jensen squeezes his eyes tighter shut and holds in a moan as Jared’s mouth opens against his nape, an unmistakable kiss. Jensen’s dick swells, and he lets Jared keep kissing him, little damp trails over his skin, down to his shoulder and up to the lobe of his ear. After a while, Jared’s grip slackens, and his breath slows against Jensen’s hair. Jensen aches with the desire to touch himself, but the thought of leaving Jared in order to jerk off in the bathroom is even more painful. It seems like hours before he falls asleep.
***
Jensen’s meeting Tom in the morning for the first hiatus golf game of the year, and he wiggles out from under Jared’s restraining arm when his alarm goes off at eight. Jared grumbles and turns onto his front, burying his nose in Jensen’s pillow. He doesn’t say good morning, and starts snoring softly after a moment. Jensen curls his fingers against the urge to stroke the tangle of Jared’s hair, and goes into the bathroom to try and scrub away his confusion.
“How’s Jared?” asks Tom.
“Tired,” says Jensen, after a moment of consideration.
Tom nods sympathetically. “Aren’t we all?”
“Does Superman get tired?”
Tom whacks him in the shin with his putter. “Come talk to me after your eighth season, asshole.”
Jensen shakes his head. “No way we’ll last that long.” Jensen never wanted to anyway, but now he thinks ahead a year, to the end of the supposed Final Season, and imagines what he and Jared will say to each other as they pack up the house and prepare to go back to their real lives in LA. It feels like a fist squeezing around his heart.
***
Jensen comes home after lunch to find Jared sprawled on the big sofa playing Mario Kart, something that Jensen knows from experience he does when he’s feeling insecure. It reminds him of his sister. But he’s got the dogs with him, and he sounds cheerful enough as he tells Jensen, “I keep thinking I’m going to go for groceries.” Mario zooms over the edge of the track.
“Do we need groceries?”
“There’s nothing left in the kitchen but dog food and old saltines. You want to try making a meal out of that?” Jared reaches a hand down, and Harley licks his palm.
“Guess not,” Jensen decides, sinking onto the other sofa. He ignores the tingle at the back of his neck, where Jared’s mouth rested last night. He figures if Jared wanted to talk about it, he wouldn’t be playing Mario Kart.
But then Jared tosses away the controller and gets to his feet, making Harley look worriedly upward. “Want to come with me?”
“Sure,” says Jensen, thinking much too hard about a simple errand. They talk about Jared’s evolving golf swing in the car, easy, familiar territory.
“We should go down to Oregon again soon,” Jared suggests. “That was fun. We could golf all day, hang out in a hotel for the night, order lots of room service.”
Jensen scratches his head nervously, hates that the image that springs to his mind is of Jared kissing the back of his neck in an anonymously nice hotel bed. “That was fun,” he agrees quietly, and Jared shoots him a careful sideways look from the driver’s seat. But they don’t talk about it.
***
Jensen’s asleep when Jared climbs into bed beside him that night, deeply enough asleep that Jared’s body folding around his, heavy and warm, seems like a dream. Jared’s hand slides over his hip, curling against his belly, and Jensen lets himself settle into Jared’s arms, curve himself into the space left for him by Jared’s body. He wants this - it’s easy to admit in a dream - and Jared is giving it to him, smiling against the back of Jensen’s neck, a tangible tilt to his mouth. Then Jared’s breath tickles against the top of his spine, and Jensen freezes, knowing he’s not asleep, that Jared’s really there, holding him and breathing at him. Questions rise up in his throat, but he swallows them again. Because he still wants Jared’s arms and Jared’s breath and the soft, open press of Jared’s lips. And that much he can admit to himself right now, even if he tamps down every encouraging movement he wants to make, every little helpless sound, everything that might tell Jared he’s awake and aware.
It’s not as if he really thinks Jared doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he doesn’t want to invite conversation, has no clue where he’d begin if Jared asked, “Why do you let me?” Jared’s teeth graze the side of his neck, and Jensen’s breath stutters with the kind of desperate hope he hasn’t felt since high school, when getting to second base seemed like an epic journey. He wants Jared to keep touching him, to touch him on every aching, pining inch of his skin, to cup his flattened palm around Jensen’s throbbing dick and rub him until he comes. But Jared just keeps kissing his neck and holding him, making Jensen wonder if he’ll wake up sticky and embarrassed tomorrow, his body taking what Jared won’t give him, what he can’t make himself ask for.
***
It goes like that for a few more days, and then they’re packing for Australia and everything’s weird and rushed anyway. Jensen feels too raw for fans, unready after a week of just Jared and the dogs and no particular place to be. There’s a door between their rooms in the hotel in Sydney, and with a lurch of hope he doesn’t examine too closely, Jensen unlocks his side and leaves it that way while he goes to scrub the airplane off his skin.
Jared’s on his bed when he comes out, flipping through the TV channels with his feet crossed and his newly washed hair soaking Jensen’s pillow. Jensen’s glad he had the forethought to bring his clothes in with him because he’s not sure what he’d do if he was naked right now. “Your TV not work?” Jensen asks, lying down next to him, near enough that their elbows touch.
“Your face doesn’t work,” Jared replies easily. “I hate how TV’s six months old by the time it gets over here.”
“You don’t even watch TV when we’re home.”
Jared shrugs, his shoulder brushing Jensen’s. “This side of the world confuses the hell out of me,” he sighs. “It’s still morning, isn’t it?”
“Probably.”
Jared clicks through a few more channels. “We could nap.” There’s something in the way Jared says “we” that makes Jensen pause to look at him, but Jared’s face is tired and cheerful and giving nothing away.
“Yeah,” Jensen agrees, and Jared turns off the TV and settles himself down farther in Jensen’s bed, shutting his eyes before Jensen can point out that Jared has a bed of his own, a room of his own. He lies back in his clean, fresh clothes, and wraps a tentative hand around Jared’s wrist, maintaining contact. Jared turns his arm in Jensen’s grip until they meet hand to hand, fingers falling together.
***
Jared stays surprisingly aloof for the rest of the weekend. His touches are public and emphatic, and Jensen’s skin begins to ache for the press of Jared’s body aligned with his as he sleeps. But Jared sticks to his own room, keeps his door locked after that first morning, which Jensen tries not to feel as a rejection. He is a grown-up, and Jared is his best friend, and while the cuddling is nice, it’s not essential. There is more to them. They smile and laugh and crack jokes and let Misha steal the show when he can. He looks at them backstage like he thinks something’s off, but he can’t know, and he doesn’t say anything.
***
Jared falls asleep on him on the plane home, his chin tucked into the curve of Jensen’s shoulder at an angle that doesn’t look like it can be comfortable. Jensen locks his elbow and bends his cheek to touch the top of Jared’s head, then glances quickly around as if there’s a woman with a camera just waiting to pop up and snap a picture. But their fellow passengers are ignoring the small-time American celebrities in their midst. So Jensen sits very still until his whole left arm is pins and needles, and then a little bit longer. He knows how much Jared needs the sleep. He watches Marley and Me again with the sound off, and tears up for the second time as he thinks of Jared’s dogs at home. Possibly, he could use a little sleep, too.
***
Jensen finds Jared in the kitchen at 2am the night they get back, Harley circling sharklike around his legs, whining for scraps. Jared looks from his sandwich to the dog and says reasonably, “There’s kibble in your bowl.”
Jensen pauses in the doorway as Harley whuffs in response, and Jared wraps a hand over his muzzle. “No bark. You wake up Jensen and there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Hell,” Jensen echoes ominously, and Jared’s face lights up in a grin. His eyes are puffy and his hair fluffs out like a bird’s nest on his head. He looks like he just woke up. “You know, eating in the middle of the night isn’t good for your girlish figure,” Jensen points out.
Jared pulls up his t-shirt and pokes at his rock solid abs. “Huh,” he says, and stuffs half his sandwich in his mouth at once. “Wanna bite?” he adds, chewing happily.
“I’ll pass,” says Jensen, thinking how close he’d have to be to taste Jared’s sandwich, how close and face-to-face and in his underwear he’d have to be. It’s not pretty. He grabs the bottle of water he came for out of the fridge and shuffles back to his room with a careless, “Goodnight,” over his shoulder.
Jensen takes his water back to bed and sips it thoughtfully, waits for the sound of Jared going upstairs. When he hears the thump of footsteps, Jared doing exactly that, he slides down into bed and swallows the disappointment in his throat. He takes deep breaths and wills himself to sleep, listens to the click of Harley’s toenails and the chirp of bugs outside.
The next thing he’s aware of is the weight of Jared’s body prying under his back, rolling him onto his side so that Jared can spoon around him. Jensen’s breath catches, and he lets Jared move him, leans back into Jared’s chest and soaks in his warmth. Jared doesn’t say anything, but he wouldn’t, curling his hand against Jensen’s belly, warm skin on warm skin. Jensen’s just in his boxers tonight, since it was hot when they got back, and he feels vulnerable and immediately turned on. He wants Jared to spread his fingers, dip them lower. But Jared just smoothes slow, wet kisses down the back of Jensen’s neck, grazes his teeth against Jensen’s shoulder. Jensen takes deep breaths and shuts his eyes tight as Jared just keeps going, kissing lower, along the curve of Jensen’s shoulder blade. He shifts, and Jensen can suddenly feel the weight of Jared’s cock against his ass, hard and unapologetic and huge. Jensen thinks again that if he were going to have a gay crisis, this would be the moment for it, but he just feels hot and dazed and he wants to know more about the swell of Jared’s hard-on. He wants to test the shape of it with his palm, feel the heat of it against his skin. He wants Jared to want the same things he does.
But he keeps still, just like always, and pretends that this is just like every other night, even though he feels ready to crawl out of his skin by the time Jared gives a gusty little sigh and settles down to sleep in the crook of Jensen’s shoulder.
***
The next night Jensen sleeps in a t-shirt and sweats in spite of the heat, not wanting to deal with any extra temptation Jared might throw at him. But that night Jared stays in his own bed, leaving Jensen to the rough pleasure of his own palm. It’s both comforting and disappointing. Jensen feels the phantom burn of Jared’s stubble against his shoulders, lets himself imagine Jared’s mouth as he comes, his cock sliding between Jared’s slickly parted lips. They haven’t talked all day. Jared was out on errands when Jensen got up, and Jensen stayed out of the house in the evening to avoid the inevitably awkward moment of looking in Jared’s eyes and seeing something ugly and unwanted. But as he falls asleep alone and sticky, he knows avoidance isn’t something he can keep up.
***
Jared makes pancakes. His smile is broad and guileless, and his hair is still sleep-tangled when Jensen stumbles into the kitchen looking for coffee. Jared chatters on about some new trick he thought Harley was finally getting the hang of, although when he tries to demonstrate, Harley wanders out into the hallway and doesn’t come back, which doesn’t look like a trick.
Jensen burns his tongue on his first sip of coffee and soothes it against the roof of his mouth, testing the roughness of his own taste buds. He watches Jared flip pancakes with smooth efficiency. “Can you make bacon?” Jared asks, so Jensen does. He feels like he’s waiting, but he doesn’t know what for, as they sit at the table and he watches Jared pick his bacon apart with his fingers before eating it. It’s almost normal, apart from the weird edge to Jared’s chatter, the way his hands never stop moving.
***
Jared slips into bed behind him almost as soon as Jensen falls asleep that night. His mouth is insistent around the collar of Jensen’s t-shirt, and his hand presses and clutches against Jensen’s belly. It feels different already, heady and dangerous and new, and tension bubbles up Jensen’s spine. And then Jared’s fingers slip under the waistband of Jensen’s boxers, and Jensen lets out a helpless little gasp as they brush so close to the base of his cock, which is swollen hard and hot already.
“Jensen,” Jared whispers urgently, and Jensen burns with the shock of hearing his voice. Jared presses closer, rocking his own cock into Jensen’s ass, and Jensen manages a grunt in response. “Jen, seriously, I know it’s… I just need you to, like, consent. I need to know it’s not just me.”
Jensen’s breath catches. “It’s not,” he whispers, and turns his head until he can see a little of Jared’s face, the curve of his cheekbone highlighted by the moon through the window. His first try at kissing Jared is sloppy and imperfect, their mouths off-center and uncertain. But then Jensen leans a little and Jared bends a little, and it feels as scary and necessary as any first kiss could. Jared’s lips part, and his hand finds purchase in Jensen’s hair. Jensen strains his neck, turning into the kiss, and then Jared is breaking away, pushing him onto his back and leaning over him, kissing him deeper, hungrier as his fingers slide down to wrap Jensen’s dick. It’s different from his own hand, different from any girl he’s ever been with. Jared’s palm engulfs him, wide and warm, and Jensen thinks he might come from the pressure alone, keyed up on weeks of not enough touch. He moans into Jared’s mouth, bucks his hips towards Jared’s hand. Jared moans right back, ruts his own dick into Jensen’s hip, and Jensen reaches blindly towards it, breathless and willing.
He feels heat first, burning through Jared’s boxers, and then his hand is digging inside, touching thin skin and rubbery veins, learning the texture of Jared’s shaft, the rougher place just below the head. He twists into the same rhythm Jared’s using on him, listens as their breathing falls into time. Jared mumbles out curses against his lips, and Jensen loves the sound of his voice, hoarse and cracking with desperation. He can’t tell when Jared’s close, can’t feel it from the inside like jerking off, but as his own orgasm rolls through him in waves, he squeezes up the length of Jared’s dick, and apparently that’s what it takes. Jared comes slick and hot over Jensen’s fingers, and Jensen keeps stroking until Jared rocks his hips away, his own hand still cupped around Jensen’s dick.
Jensen opens his eyes, unsure when he’d squeezed them closed, and looks up into Jared’s face. Jared’s cheeks are flushed, and he’s holding himself up on one elbow, his eyes flickering uncertainly over Jensen’s face. Jensen holds his breath, waiting for Jared to say something that will tell him what just happened, frame it for him. But Jared just kisses him again, pulls his messy hand out of Jensen’s boxers, and rolls off the bed. He’s out the door and shutting it behind him before Jensen can even react.
He lies in bed, heart pounding, all the lazy post-orgasmic feelings draining out of him. Jensen’s not as vain as he might be, but he’s never had someone run out on him before, and it’s more than a little upsetting. He stays carefully still until he hears the shuffle of feet in the hallway again, then the rustle of something being pushed under his door. He squints, but with the lights off and without his glasses, he has no idea what it is. His legs are shaky as he stumbles out of bed, kneeling to grab a piece of paper wedged against the doorjamb. An eviction notice, for all he knows, although Jared probably can’t do that when Jensen’s name is on the mortgage.
He turns on the bedside lamp to read it, one hastily scrawled sentence and two crooked checkboxes. “Do you like me like me?” it says, and under that, “yes” and “no.” Jensen wrenches open the door to find Jared sitting on the stairs, Sadie sprawled curiously beside him.
“Are you in third grade?” Jensen asks, in as normal a voice as he can manage.
Jared cocks his head. “Did you answer the question?”
“I don’t have a pen.”
“You could sign it in blood.” But he tosses a pen at Jensen’s head, and Jensen fumbles to catch it.
He stares at the page for a minute before checking a box and handing it over the railing. “You already know the answer,” Jensen says.
“I’m not sure I know anything anymore,” Jared replies pitifully.
“Stop being a drama queen.”
“You checked yes.”
“I’ve been letting you spoon me for weeks, Padalecki. I could have stopped it. And I didn’t. But it’s not as though there wasn’t time.”
“I didn’t know what you thought,” Jared tells him, still looking at the paper in his hands. “I figured maybe you just liked spooning a lot.”
“You’re not that stupid.”
A smile catches at the corner of Jared’s mouth. “You didn’t say anything.”
“Neither did you.”
Jared glances up, meets Jensen’s eyes, dark and blatant with invitation. “Come to bed with me,” he says, almost an order, and Jensen’s stomach twists in this weird, good, scary way.
“No more checkboxes?” he bargains. “No more talking?”
Jared hums noncommittally, and holds out a hand. Jensen sighs and follows him up the stairs. He hesitates at Jared’s door, feeling suddenly shy, but Jared waves the paper at him and says, “This is a binding agreement, Ackles. Don’t think I won’t sue your pretty ass.” And Jensen walks in after him.
Jared’s bed is bigger because the master bedroom is the only one that can realistically fit a California king, but when Jensen lies down on it, it seems to narrow to the space between his body and Jared’s. Why the hell should he be nervous now? After kissing Jared and rubbing against him and coming into his hand. Climbing back into bed with him should be the easy part. It isn’t.
He shuts his eyes and waits for Jared’s next move, twitches when Jared’s lips press at his temple, Jared’s hand fisting in the thin material of Jensen’s t-shirt, right above his pounding heart. Jared kisses down the side of his face until his mouth meets Jensen’s, hot and slick and slow, like Jared’s learning every inch of his mouth by taste. Jensen kisses back, fingers tentative at the back of Jared’s neck, holding him in place, then pulling him deeper. There are things to get used to about kissing a man, he notices now, the rasp of stubble along Jared’s jaw, the shape of his face when Jensen cups it between his hands, turning the kiss deeper, hungrier.
Jared starts to pull at his t-shirt, quick, see-saw motions tugging it up his chest until he can get his fingers on Jensen’s nipples, rolling them in a way Jensen had never bothered to consider would feel so good. Jared pulls back from the kiss, nuzzling down the side of Jensen’s neck, and Jensen moves restlessly under him, arching towards Jared’s mouth. “Want you naked,” Jared murmurs, and Jensen thought he knew every nuance of Jared’s voice before this moment, but the growl under the words is something new. “Want to put my mouth on every fucking inch of you. I wanna just lap you up.”
Jensen feels stunned, a growing buzz in his ears because whatever other kinky shit he’s done in his thirty-one years, dirtytalking is not it. No one has ever talked to him in Jared’s low, intimate growl, mouth slick on his skin. He wouldn’t even know how to begin to reply. “You don’t have to say anything,” Jared tells him, like he knows exactly what the tension locking Jensen’s spine means. “You know I just like to talk.”
So Jensen lets him, lets the words wash over him, feels the heat of them pulling low in his belly. Jared practically talks him hard again, breath hot against Jensen’s ear as he pulls at Jensen’s clothes, then his own. Jensen feels nervous sweat drying in the dip of his spine, cooling under Jared’s ceiling fan. He finds himself rocking into Jared’s hip, pushing up against miles of naked skin. He looks at Jared’s cock, the wet head striping his belly with precome, and for a jittery moment it’s too much, looking at his best friend and his best friend’s dick, and having that all come together in his head. His heart races and he wants to run, wants to go back to pretending this is nothing that matters. But then Jared is kissing him again, licking into his mouth, gentle and persistent, and Jensen can’t be anywhere but here and now. He checked “yes” and he’s following through.
♥ ♥ ♥
ETA: Now some extra porn to follow this story can be found here!