RPS Fic: Something Borrowed, Something Blue (J2, NC-17) 1/5
Title: Something Borrowed, Something Blue
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Summary: When Jared desperately needs a date for his brother's wedding, he hires an escort. Jensen's the perfect fake boyfriend, except pretty soon things get a little too real. Based on The Wedding Date.
Notes: Written for abouttwoboys . Thanks to setissma and causeways for running such an awesome challenge!
Warnings: I made Chad the bad guy. I feel really bad about it, if that helps. Also, I suppose this is technically hooker!fic, though it's pretty mild.
Word count: ~ 38,000
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened.
(cover art by the awesome seschat)
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
(and thanks to
too_rational, pdf version here!)
The invitation arrives on a Wednesday. Jared slits open the envelope and lets his eyes skim over the ornate lettering and delicate onionskin paper. He’s known about the wedding for ages - his mother had called him right after Jeff proposed, and his brother had called later himself - but it’s still strange to see it spelled out like that, curvy script and fancy phrases and full names. A reply card is tucked in the invitation, three sets of empty lines waiting for his decision.
The first line is easy. He digs a pen out of a drawer and fills in his name, checking ‘will attend.’ The next line takes a little more thought - the choice of an entrée is not something to be made lightly - but he goes with chicken, since salmon never looks very appealing on a plate. Something to do with the color, maybe, or the fact that the bottom is always discolored from the skin, and you have to scrape it off with a fork. Jared’s never actually given this much thought to salmon before, or any kind of fish, but there’s something about that last blank line that makes his mind skitter away to the nearest distraction.
His mom had been ecstatic on the phone, full of gossipy news about the proposal and wedding plans, and Jared had listened to as many details about locations and receptions and dresses as he could handle before laughing and asking her to take a breath. “I’m just so happy for them,” she’d gushed, and Jared knew what she meant - Jeff and Rachel had been dating for three years, so the entire family already loved her and knew just how perfect they were for each other. It was actually a little sickening, how crazy they were about each other. But Jared just said, “Me too,” which was the truth, before saying goodbye.
Jeff had called an hour later, thankfully much more laid back about the whole affair. He accepted Jared’s congratulations, then confessed that he’d researched romantic proposals on the Internet and polled his female friends on the sly in order to get it right. They joked around for a few minutes, arguing over whether Jeff was a wuss for stalling so long, or just waiting for the perfect moment, then traded the usual insults about intelligence, manliness, and who got the better looks. Then Jeff said, “Hey, listen. I was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind being a groomsman.”
The question caught Jared off-guard, but after a second of surprise, he said, “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He hadn’t even thought about it, but brothers did usually do that for each other, and it was nice to be asked.
“I’d ask you to be the best man, but Chad’s already claimed it,” Jeff went on apologetically. “And I’d tell him no, but I think he might cry. He’s planning stuff already.”
“Chad?” Jared repeated, the smile freezing on his face.
“Yeah, Chad. You know, the guy that’s only been my best friend since we were in third grade? Tall, blond hair, perpetually squinty expression?”
Yeah, Jared knew who Chad was. He knew better than Jeff, in some ways, but that wasn’t something he wanted to think about that at the moment. He hadn’t even considered Chad being at the wedding, much less being the best man, and now it felt as if he’d swallowed something cold and slimy. He hadn’t seen Chad for nearly six years, not since his brother’s college graduation, and even that amount of time wasn’t long enough for him to hear Chad’s name without an accompanying rush of anger.
“Jared.” His brother’s voice was cautious. “Is this a problem?” Jeff didn’t know about what had happened with Chad; he probably thought Jared was being a jerk about getting pushed aside as best man.
“No, no,” Jared replied quickly. “No, man, that’s totally fine.” He shook himself, shoving the thoughts about Chad to the back of his mind. “Chad’s your best friend. And I’m all the way out here in L.A., so it makes more sense for him to do it anyway.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Jeff said, sounding relieved. “Okay. So, you bringing some hot new girlfriend along?”
Jared had laughed weakly. “Uh, we’ll see, I guess.”
“Come on, you’ve got to uphold the family honor,” Jeff urged. “She can’t be hotter than Rachel, of course, but you’d better put some effort into it. I’m counting on you, little brother.”
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Jared had replied, and that’s what has him staring at the last line of the invitation.
He hasn’t had a girlfriend for nearly two years, not after the thing with Sandy went sour, and only a few sporadic dates since, nothing more serious than dinner or drinks. But now he can’t show up at the wedding alone, because Chad’s the fucking best man, and there’s no way in hell Jared’s letting Chad think he’s still single. Even if he totally is.
And normally he’d just take a female friend as a platonic date, but the thing with Chad is more complicated than that. It was stupid and immature and not as melodramatic as it seemed at the time (it was high school, for Christ’s sake, breathing was melodramatic then), but the whole thing still fucked Jared up, because it was confusing enough to be attracted to his older brother’s best friend when he still thought he was completely straight. Throwing in a clandestine relationship with said friend and a messy, painful end only made everything exponentially more confusing, and after the breakup, Jared wasn’t sure if he wanted men, women, or a vow of celibacy.
It took him almost four years to figure out the answer, but that doesn’t really help here. If he wants to show Chad once and for all that he’s over his stupid bullshit, then Jared has to show up to the wedding with a man. The only problem is that he’s never really dated another guy. He went with women as his answer after the Chad thing, and by the time he’d figured out that wasn’t working, he was already in L.A. And it’s not like Hollywood is ruler-straight - they do musicals, for God’s sake - but image is everything, and while Jared may not be famous, he’s not really anonymous enough to be out about it. And while he hasn’t been celibate for those two years, a guy you fool around with isn’t the same thing as someone you know well enough to ask to a wedding. So basically, he’s screwed. Except for this one thing.
He looks down at the number, written on a sticky note and stuck to the corner of the counter where he keeps his keys. It had taken all his courage to finally ask Mike and Tom, in an extremely roundabout way, if there was any kind of…service…for this kind of thing. He knew there had to be - there was no way Hollywood’s population of old and skeevy men came by the hot young women they took to premieres and award shows honestly - but he had no idea if they dealt in men, for one thing, or how it worked or if it was even legal. He’s pretty sure his family would disown him if he got busted for prostitution at his brother’s wedding.
But after Mike and Tom actually figured out what he was trying to ask (and after Mike teased him mercilessly and suggested he just bring a blowup doll instead) Tom promised he’d ask around. Two days later, there was an email in Jared’s inbox with a phone number and “Supposed to be the best. Good luck. Tom.”
The numbers are dark against the pastel paper, just simple strokes of a pen, but what they represent is a lot bigger than a 2-inch piece of paper, and somehow this feels like the hardest decision he’s ever made. Jared looks at the invitation once more, then takes a deep breath and writes “2” next to “number of persons attending” on the third line of the invitation.
* * *
It takes him at least twenty tries to dial the number.
He puts it off for as long as he can, skipping over it on his mental to-do list every day for a week, then tells himself he’ll do it after he finishes all the other important things he has to do, like sorting his laundry or alphabetizing his bookshelf or defrosting the freezer. Finally, after he organizes his closet for the third time (this time in order of what he’d take if the apartment was on fire) he can’t even think up any more inane tasks, and he sits at the kitchen table and stares at the phone for an hour.
When he finally does pick it up and start to dial, he slams it shut as soon as he gets more than three numbers in, and even when he does dial the full number, he hangs up after the first ring. He paces the apartment, the dogs trailing after him, and tries to psych himself up to just do it, but it’s like all the encouraging words in the world slide right out of his head as soon as he sees the phone sitting next to the number on the table.
He has no idea why this is so difficult. Well, all right, he has some idea. No matter how unconventional his love life has been, he’s never paid for sex, and even if this isn’t exactly the same thing, it sure as hell feels like it. A part of him is ashamed that he’s even thinking about this, that he’s going to take a complete stranger home and lie to his family and friends about it, and that he’s going to pay a small fortune for the privilege. But he wrote on the invitation that he’s bringing a guest, and this is the only way he could find to make it true, so he has to do it.
In the end, that’s all it takes. The decision is already made, the deal was sealed when he filled out the response card a week ago, and now he just has to fucking do it.
He picks up the phone, dialing all the numbers in quick succession before he loses his momentum, and listens to it ring three times before a voice on the other end answers, “Kripke and Associates.”
“Uh, yeah,” Jared manages to say through a suddenly dry throat. “I’d like to, uh - I’d like to hire an escort.” He cringes when the words are out, but the woman on the other end just says, “What are the dates you’ll be needing our services?” and proceeds to lead him through a set of questions about what (and who) he wants. He pauses briefly when she asks whether he’d like a male or female escort, but his voice is steady when he says, “Male.”
He blushes when she explains the company policy to him - “Our escorts provide companionship, but they are not obligated to perform any kind of sexual favors, nor are they permitted to accept any kind of recompense for sexual acts. Any violation of this policy will immediately terminate the contract” - and rushes to assure her he understands. Again with the prostitution really not being a good idea.
“Okay, sir,” the woman finally says. “For the type of service you want, we charge a flat rate of $6,000. Half is due to the escort at the end of the engagement, preferably in cash, and half is due now. How would you like to pay?”
Jared swallows hard at the price. He knew it would be that much, was even figuring on paying a little more, but it’s still a punch in the gut to have it laid out like that. He can afford it - he wouldn’t be doing this if he couldn’t - but six thousand dollars suddenly seems pretty ridiculous, especially when it would pay for months of groceries and rent.
“Sir?” the woman prompts him.
Jared shakes himself and apologizes, then reads the woman his credit card number. It feels a bit like signing away his soul, or maybe even his innocence - ironic, since he’s hiring a platonic escort and lying to his whole family. The woman informs him that the agency will match him up with an escort based on his preferences and that said escort will be calling him in the next few weeks to work out the details. Jared mumbles a thank you and hangs up.
He spends another twenty minutes staring at the phone wondering exactly what he’s done. There are a million ways this could go terribly wrong, and it feels like every single one flashes before his eyes as he sits there. When he’s worked out how this one decision could lead to nuclear warfare and the devastation of the country, or possibly the rise of a race of midget zombies that will disembowel all humankind on their quest for world domination, Jared decides that either he’s made the worst decision of his life (because midget zombies would be terrifying and nuclear warfare would probably suck a lot) or he’s thinking too much. He opens the phone, pulls up the last number he dialed, and lets his finger hover over the call button. Either he needs to call back and cancel, or distract himself.
He closes the phone, and looks around for something suitable for several hours of mindless entertainment. Midget zombies and possible nuclear warfare it is.
* * *
The call comes two weeks later, when Jared is least expecting it. He’s just coming in from a walk with the dogs, and they’re slurping water from their bowls like they’ve spent the afternoon in the Sahara. Jared’s trying to avoid the patches of water and drool rapidly spreading across the kitchen tiles while throwing together a sandwich, so when the phone rings his mind is more on getting across the floor without slipping and breaking his neck than whether it’s his $6,000 escort on the other end. And to be honest, he’s been working really hard on not thinking about the escort thing at all lately, just to avoid the strange mix of shame, embarrassment, and anxiety that makes him queasy. So when the person on the other end says, “Hi, Jared? This is Jensen, your escort,” he just says, “What?”
The guy repeats himself, and Jared nearly does fall and impale himself on the knife he’s holding when he figures out what’s going on, the sudden stop he makes causing his sneakers to slide across the slick floor. Luckily, he only slides into a counter, but any response he might have had for Jensen is lost in an “oof” as his stomach comes into contact with unforgiving laminate.
“Um, are you okay?” Jensen asks. “Is this a bad time?”
“Uh, no,” Jared wheezes. “Sorry, I’m just - it’s kind of - I was. Um. No, it’s fine.”
“Okay,” Jensen says after a second, apparently deciding to ignore Jared’s complete lack of coherency. “Well, I was just calling to set up a meeting. The wedding’s in a little over two weeks, right?”
In not thinking about the escort thing Jared has also sort of been not thinking about the wedding, so he’s a little surprised to hear it’s so soon. But when he checks the calendar on the wall it’s right there, circled in bright red, so he says, “Yeah. Saturday the 28th.”
“Right,” Jensen says. “We usually like to have at least one face-to-face meeting before the event, so that it’s not so awkward. I’ll be flying out with you, obviously, so we’ll have time to talk then, but it’s usually best to get to know each other a little more beforehand. To get an idea of your expectations and work out our story, those kinds of things.”
Jared had no idea so much planning went into this kind of thing, and he’s sort of thrown by Jensen’s businesslike attitude toward all the details. But in the course of not thinking about hiring an escort, Jared has also not thought about important details like their cover story, so he figures it’s a good thing someone is thinking of things like this. And Jensen having the logistics taken care of is good, too, because it just allows Jared more not-thinking time, of which he is very appreciative.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he says. “How do you want to - “
“There’s a great steakhouse on Figueroa, just off 7th,” Jensen interrupts smoothly. “Dinner, next Thursday? Around seven?”
“Uh, sure,” Jared says after a second, after a quick glance at the calendar.
“Great. See you then, Jared.”
“Uh-huh. Bye,” Jared says awkwardly. When he hangs up, he turns around to find the dogs looking at him inquisitively, tongues lolling out and still panting from the walk. “What the fuck am I doing?” Jared asks them. “I’m having dinner with the man I hired to pretend to be my boyfriend. And we’re going to make up a story about how we met so I can lie to all my relatives, and prove to Chad that I’m really and truly over him. Which I am, except for the part where I don’t really have a boyfriend, but hopefully he won’t figure that one out.” He pauses to let that sink in. “Seriously, what the fuck am I doing?”
Harley just whines, and Sadie tilts her head.
“You’re lucky you’re neutered,” Jared tells them.
* * *
Jared spends a ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out what to wear to dinner. It’s stupid, because it’s not like he has to impress Jensen - the guy is coming with him whether Jared has atrocious fashion sense or not, and Jared’s pretty sure taming his hair and wearing a nice shirt really won’t make it any less weird that he’s hiring a man to be his date to his brother’s wedding. In the end, he closes his eyes and swings his finger over all the shirts scattered in his bedroom, then pulls on the blue button-down he ends up pointing at. He makes a cursory attempt at something resembling socially acceptable hair, but after a fifteen-minute struggle, he settles for what looks like badly rearranged sex hair, just because he’ll tear it all out if he messes with it anymore.
He spends the drive to the restaurant trying to survive the kamikaze chaos that passes for driving in L.A., so it’s not until he pulls into the parking lot that he has time for a new worry to worm its way into his brain: what if his escort is ugly?
Which is totally stupid, because Jared is really not that into appearances. It’s one of the things he hates about Hollywood and the business, that people judge so much based on clothing or hairstyles without even bothering to say ten words to the person underneath them, and he’s never been overly concerned about his own looks, comfortable just getting by on a friendly personality. He likes people, and they generally like him back, and he doesn’t put a lot of effort into figuring out who’s hotter or richer or more famous, because it’s not worth it and it doesn’t matter to him.
But introducing a friend is much different than introducing a boyfriend, and even though Jared knows his family would welcome whoever he brought home, he has a moment of completely shallow panic over the possibility of a weird-looking boyfriend. Tom said it was the best agency out there, but it’s still an escort agency - it doesn’t seem likely there are beautiful people with nothing better to do than get paid to be fake dates. He tries to remember what Jensen sounded like during their short conversation, but he can’t recall any audible clues to his appearance. He had a nice voice - a bit on the quiet side, but still nice - but that doesn’t help. Jared’s seen Singin’ in the Rain, he knows a pretty face doesn’t guarantee a nice voice, and it only seems logical the reverse is also true.
What if it’s some guy with a mullet? Or someone with a unibrow, or out-of-control nose hair? Or even a balding forty-something with a beer gut, like the guy walking across the parking lot right now?
It’s only when Jared realizes that he’s staring at random people from the parking lot that he shakes himself and gets out of the car. Even if the beer gut guy is Jensen, Jared really doesn’t need to start off the evening as the creepy guy staring at him from his car. He squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and walks across the parking lot.
The restaurant is small, but cozy. Jared slows to a stroll inside the door, scanning the tables for a man sitting alone, but the lights are low and there are nooks in shadow, making any guesses difficult. He realizes about five seconds before the host looks up that he doesn’t even know Jensen’s last name, so he has no idea what the reservations could be under. The host, however, gives him a glance up and down and says, “Let me guess. You’re Jared.”
“Yeah,” Jared replies. He’s not sure whether to be nervous or relieved, so he settles for sticking his hands in his pockets and shifting his weight awkwardly. The host just watches, his face inscrutable, then finally nods.
“Jensen’s not here yet, but if you want to have a seat, I’ll bring him over when he arrives.”
Jared nods a thanks and heads over to the bench the man indicated. When he sits down he’s facing out at the restaurant, away from the door, but that’s okay. Jared figures it’s less nerve-wracking to wonder if the woman with three-inch fake nails will make it through her rack of ribs with all ten intact than to watch every man coming through the door anyway. He keeps telling himself that even after he checks his watch eight times, reties both shoelaces, and fingers Stairway to Heaven on his thigh. He’s just about to turn around and announce to the restaurant at large that he’s looking for his hired escort, polite behavior be damned, when a hand comes down on his shoulder and a low voice says, “Jared?”
He turns to look, and oh, God. Okay. Well, all that worrying in the parking lot was really useless, because this man? He’s about the most not-ugly person Jared has ever seen in his life. In fact, he’s pretty much gorgeous, and Jared actually has to concentrate on forming a smile and hello, because all of his brainpower seems to be solely focused on how stupidly, ridiculously attractive Jensen is.
Jensen holds out a hand, and Jared musters enough motor control to make an awkward lurch to his feet and take it. Jensen’s eyebrows go up a little as he looks up to Jared’s full height, but the corners of his mouth quirk in a small smile, and he says easily, “Good to meet you. Should we get a table?”
He nods to the host, who takes them to a quiet corner table and leaves without giving them any menus or saying a word. Jensen catches Jared’s confused look and grins. “He’s a friend of mine. I come to this place a lot, so they usually just bring out two steaks and whatever sides they’ve got. It’s all good food, trust me.”
Jared’s a little weirded out by the fact that Jensen apparently does a lot of his business here, but he just smiles and nods, taking a sip of his glass of water.
“So, Jared,” Jensen says, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “Tell me all about you.” His sleeves are rolled up, displaying nicely toned forearms, and the buttons at the front of his plain black shirt strain slightly.
Jared chokes a little. “Um, well,” he stalls, forcing his gaze back up to Jensen’s face (which is really not less distracting. Damn). “What do you want to know?”
“Age, occupation, hobbies, favorite band, likes, dislikes, astrological sign, birthmarks or tattoos, favorite Molly Ringwald movie,” Jensen reels off with a smirk. “Whatever you want me to know.”
“Sixteen Candles, definitely,” Jared says, just to be an ass.
“Interesting, considering it’s your older brother getting married,” Jensen says, tilting his head. “Your birthday’s not the day before the wedding, is it?”
“Nah,” Jared says. “And I had an awesome sweet sixteen sleepover with all my girlfriends - we gave each other makeovers and played M.A.S.H. and had a big pink cake - so no suppressed emo to worry about.”
“Aww, I bet you were pretty in pink,” Jensen teases. He smirks at the face Jared makes, then takes pity on him and starts off the interrogation with an easier question. “The wedding’s in Texas, so I’m assuming that’s where you’re from. Did you grow up there?”
“Yeah, San Antonio. I moved out here right after high school on a whim, been missing it ever since.”
“But not enough to go back,” Jensen notes. “You an actor?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a part on a TV show,” Jared says. “You’ve probably never seen it, but it’s a good job, as far as they go.” And thankfully their summer hiatus comes early enough that he didn’t have to mess up the plans for a May wedding Rachel had her heart set on.
Jensen hasn’t seen the show, but he’s heard of it, and Jared describes the basic plotline for him and sketches out his character. It’s only after the conversation has drifted to how he got the part, and his decision to act that Jared realizes they’ve fallen into a comfortable back-and-forth miles away from the stiff and awkward questions they began with. He marvels for a moment over how quickly Jensen put him at ease - usually it’s him who does that when meeting strangers, making easy small talk - but then he realizes it’s undoubtedly a skill of the trade.
The waiter delivers their plates at that moment, and Jared hides his blush in admiration of the thick steak in front of him. Jensen leaves off questioning as they attack their plates, but after they’ve nearly cleaned them off and Jared’s scraping the last mouthful of garlic mashed potatoes onto his fork, he says, “Tell me about your family.”
“Well, I’m the middle child, so there’s my older brother, Jeff, and then my younger sister - “
“Hang on a sec,” Jensen interrupts, digging a pad and pen from his back pocket. “I’m pretty good with details, but I’m terrible with names,” he explains, flipping to a clean page and jotting down a few words. “Okay, go on.”
It’s extremely weird to describe his family and watch as Jensen writes down things like “Megan - sister - 20,” but Jared figures it’s important, so he obediently lists off family and details.
Jensen gets it all down, then flips to a new page. “Okay, now we need to invent a couple things. We need a story for how we met, an exact count of days and months we’ve been dating, and probably one or two memorable dates, just in case it comes up.”
“Um,” Jared says.
“It’s mostly up to you,” Jensen says with a wave of his pen. “I’m pretty flexible. The biggest limiting factor would be a profession, obviously, since I don’t know anything about being a doctor or a lawyer or whatever, but I’m familiar enough with the acting business if you want to stick with that.”
“Uh, yeah,” Jared says. All the people he’s dated out here have been actors, so it makes sense. “Acting sounds good. Do you want to say we met on the set of a movie, or something?”
“No, it’s too easy for someone to fact-check on the Internet,” Jensen says. “Let’s say we met at a party or a premiere. If anyone asks what I’ve been in, I’ll just be really vague or say I’ve mostly modeled.”
Which, given the way the guy looks, is not really far-fetched. They work out a story for the meeting, along with a timeline for the relationship, and Jensen scribbles every detail down in his notebook, threatening to quiz Jared on it all during the plane ride. He tucks the pen cap between his teeth as he writes down the last few notes, however, and Jared is too distracted to say more than “Um. Hmm,” in response.
When Jensen finally puts down his pen and calls it a night, Jared’s surprised to see that they’ve been at the restaurant almost two hours, and that the dinner crowd around them has thinned to a few stragglers.
Jensen grabs the check when it lands on the table, claiming his company will pick up the tab, and Jared wonders for a minute if that means dinner was a part of the six grand he paid. Before things can get totally awkward, though, Jensen shakes his hand again and says, “It was good to meet you, Jared. I’ll see you at the airport in a week. And don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine.”
Jensen’s eyes crinkle around his smile, and Jared grins back. “Nice meeting you, too,” he says, and means it.
* * *
He takes Jensen’s advice for the next week, abandoning worries about nuclear warfare and midget zombies and pushing aside the smaller issues that could come up, concentrating instead on the good feeling that lasted the whole way home from his dinner with Jensen.
It was sort of like a date, with the introductory questions about hometowns and families, and Jared finds himself thinking that if it had been a blind date, he’d want Jensen to call him. Or he’d call Jensen, however that works when you’re dating another guy. It’s a little bit weird to realize that not only does Jared like Jensen, he’s also looking forward to seeing him again. It’s sort of like he’s made a new friend, as strange as that sounds. He’s even stopped thinking of Jensen as his escort in his head, like he did before they met - where it used to be ‘the guy’ or ‘my escort’ it’s all just ‘Jensen’ now, attached to plane tickets and rehearsal dinners and receptions.
They don’t see each other until they meet at the airport, but all week Jensen rattles around in Jared’s head, weaving through his thoughts and lurking under the surface of his dreams. He thinks about Jensen when he picks out a wedding present, wondering what Jensen would choose if he were there, and every item of clothing he considers, holds up against himself in front of the mirror, packs, and reconsiders ceases to have merit on its own, his favorite shirt or those slacks he shoved to the back of his closet the day he bought them given new value according to what Jensen might think or like or wear himself.
It’s kind of ridiculous - Jared has spent all of two hours with the man, after all, and most of that was taken up by memorizing details or making up lies, not getting to know Jensen. But something about him, about that first handshake and smile, keeps Jared’s thoughts circling back to Jensen, and knowing so little about him only makes Jared want to know more, makes him eager to see Jensen again.
By the time they finally meet again, Jared’s half-convinced that he’s built up Jensen so much in his mind that the real thing won’t measure up. He actually wonders, sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair at the gate of his flight, if he’s remembering Jensen as more handsome than he is, or recalling only the good aspects and forgetting the bad.
The thought keeps him preoccupied through the loading of passengers, and he watches the woman across the aisle struggle with a heavy suitcase for a long second before rational thought breaks through his fog and he jumps up to help. When he gets the suitcase situated in the overhead bin, nodding at the woman’s effusive thanks and turning back to his seat, Jensen is standing in the aisle behind him, a half-smile on his face, and even if Jared’s brain created a perfect version of Jensen, the real thing is still pretty damn attractive. Jensen’s in comfortable clothes for the flight, just jeans and a white shirt, but the addition of sleep-tousled hair and a pair of wire-rim glasses make it sexier than any coordinated ensemble could be.
Jared smiles in greeting, then ducks under the bulkhead to his seat in order to give Jensen room to stow his bag and sit down. They’re in first class, since that’s just about the only way Jared can fly without his knees tucked under his chin, so it’s just him and Jensen in their row. Jared’s in the window seat, but after he and Jensen exchange the cursory how-are-you’s, he offers to switch. Jared made all the travel arrangements himself, sending the paperwork onto the escort agency for Jensen, so he figures it’s only fair to offer Jensen the choice.
Jensen declines, though, leaning back into his seat. “Thanks, man, but I’ll probably sleep the whole flight, anyway. Had a late night.”
Jared grins and prods, “Oh, yeah?” before he remembers what Jensen does for a living, and his smile slips as he tries to keep himself from wondering who needed an escort until late last night.
Jensen’s rubbing his eyes behind the glasses, however, and doesn’t notice. “Yeah, a couple of my friends were in town, and they dragged me out with them.” He shakes his head. “I forgot how crazy they can be.”
Jared’s relieved to hear it, but only because it smoothes over the awkward moment. At least, that’s what he tells himself. It’s fine to like Jensen as a person, even as a sort of friend, but Jared needs to remember what Jensen’s profession is - he can’t afford to forget, not as a paying client himself.
A flight attendant at the front of the plane starts to go through the safety spiel, and by the time conversation is possible again, after the plane has leveled off from takeoff trajectory and the whine of the engines has settled to a dull thrum, Jensen is sound asleep next to Jared, arms crossed over his chest and chin nodding down.
He sleeps through the entire flight - neither Jared nor the flight attendant have the heart to wake him for lunch, the stewardess passing Jared the extra lukewarm tray with a wink, and the weather is clear outside the window and the flight is smooth - he only startles awake when the plane jolts down onto the landing strip.
Jared watches him shake off sleep out of the corner of his eye, hiding a smile when Jensen frowns irritably at everything around him, like the overhead compartment or tray table are personally responsible for disturbing his slumber. Jared’s the type of person who’s awake as soon as he wakes up - either he’s sleeping, or he’s not, there’s not much in between. He’s guessing Jensen’s the opposite, however, and spends a good amount of time hating life and the world every morning before conceding to full wakefulness.
“Sleep well?” he asks, just to test his theory, and smothers another grin at the grunt he gets in return.
Jensen’s surliness persists through the flight attendants’ cheerful farewells and deplaning, and he and Jared walk through the airport in silence, the only communication between them the occasional finger pointing in the direction of an escalator or sign.
Jared can’t stop sneaking looks, and when they get to the baggage claim and Jensen leans up against the wall, all sleep-tousled hair, rumpled clothes, and a cranky set to his mouth, he can’t help but laugh a little bit, because it’s kind of adorable.
“What?” Jensen asks, frowning, but after a second the pinched expression relaxes off his face, and he offers Jared a small, half-embarrassed smile.
“Not a morning person, huh?” Jared asks.
“Shut up,” Jensen mutters.
* * *
They get their bags and pick up a rental car, Jared driving as Jensen quizzes him on the details from their night at the restaurant. Jared gets most of them right the first time around, only missing a few minor things, so Jensen pronounces him ready and closes his notebook, settling back into the seat.
Jared’s not exactly thrilled by the silence, since now he has nothing to keep his mind off the impending introduction of Jensen to his family, so he attempts to distract himself by checking every tree and fence against his memory, trying to see what’s changed since his last visit.
“Hey,” Jensen says, out of nowhere. “So. Your family knows about you, right?”
“About me?”
“Yeah, that you like guys. Your dad isn’t going to come after me with a shotgun or anything?”
“Oh,” Jared replies. “Um, probably not.”
“Probably not?” Jensen echoes. “I usually like my odds of survival a little higher than that. They don’t know?”
“They kind of know.” Jared keeps his eyes firmly on the road, aware Jensen is staring at him from the passenger seat. “I mean, I told them and everything. But they’ll probably be expecting me to show up with a woman.”
“Uh, Jared, I hate to break this to you,” Jensen says, “But if they’re expecting you to show up with a woman, then I don’t think you did a very good job telling them.”
Jared makes a face. “Look, I know it sounds stupid. It’s just a little…complicated, okay?”
“Yeah, I pretty much got that,” Jensen says.
Jared sighs. “It’s just - I told them while I was in high school, but I haven’t really - I think they think I’m over it, or whatever.” He laughs a little. “And yeah, I probably should have let them know that I was bringing you, but I didn’t really want to have that whole conversation over the phone.”
He brakes for a red light, staring at his hands on the steering wheel to avoid Jensen’s eyes. “Sorry. They’ll probably be pissed at me, but I’m pretty sure they won’t take it out on you.”
“No, hey, don’t apologize,” Jensen says, reaching a hand over the center console to rest on Jared’s knee. “I’m the one being a jerk. You don’t have to explain anything to me, and if you trust your parents, then that’s good enough for me.”
“I’ll tell them,” Jared says. “Before you meet them, so they aren’t surprised.”
“Okay,” Jensen says, patting Jared’s knee before leaning back. “It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it.”
But it is kind of a big deal, and now Jared feels like a jerk for not telling his parents. It’s not like he’s ashamed of Jensen - well, he wouldn’t be if Jensen was really his boyfriend - and he doesn’t want to make the whole thing awkward for Jensen. It’s just not something that’s ever easy to discuss with his parents, but he’s going to have to tell them soon. He hadn’t wanted to do it over the phone from L.A., but now that he’s here, the phone suddenly seems much less scary than doing it in person. He thinks about it for the rest of the car ride, trying to figure out what he’s going to say, and Jensen is also quiet, the car silent until they pull into the hotel.
Jared gives his name and credit card at the desk, not bothering with small talk or pleasantries, still caught up in contemplating how his parents will react. He’s so lost in thought that he totally forgot about the hotel room he reserved, and when he slides the keycard in the lock and opens the door, he pauses a few steps inside.
Jensen stops behind him.
“Um, I hope it’s okay that I just got one bed,” Jared says awkwardly. “I was just thinking it would be a good idea, just in case someone might come over, or stop by, or…you know.” It sounds totally lame now, because of course no one’s going to be doing bedcheck in a fucking hotel, but it made sense to Jared at the time. “I could sleep on the floor, if that’s - “
Jensen just grins and slings his bag onto a chair. “Jared, it’s fine. I was fully immunized against cooties when I was in third grade, so I’m not worried about it.”
Jared laughs a little. “Okay, good.”
“And just so you know,” Jensen begins, digging through his bag, “It’s $1500 up front for sex.”
Jared bag makes a loud thump when it drops on his foot. “What?”
“That’s the flat rate,” Jensen explains, looking over his shoulder at Jared. “It can be more or less depending on specifics, but $1500’s the usual.” He grins. “I’ve been told it’s worth it.”
Jared’s pretty sure his mouth moves, but his brain doesn’t supply any words, so he probably looks like some kind of fish. He kind of feels like one, like Jensen just jerked him out of the water and now he’s trying to breathe a totally different element. “What?” he asks again. “I mean, that’s not - you can’t. They said, when I called - they said no sexual favors. No sex for money!”
Jensen looks like he’s trying to smother a grin. “That’s just the agency covering their asses. They don’t want to get busted for prostitution.”
“Neither do I,” Jared blurts out.
Jensen laughs. “Jared, no one’s going to know.” He pats Jared’s shoulder. “Relax, dude. You don’t have to. I’m just saying, if you want to, it’s an option.” He grins. “Just need the money up front.”
“Uh, that’s okay,” Jared says, aware his face is approximately the color of a tomato. “I’m not going to want to…do that.”
“Okay,” Jensen says easily. “If you change your mind, just let me know.” He grabs a pair of boxers from his bag. “I’m going to take a shower, if you don’t mind.”
“Yeah, go ahead,” Jared says faintly.
He watches Jensen go into the bathroom, then flops down on the bed. Oh, God. He kept telling himself that it wasn’t so bad, hiring an escort, because there was not going to be any sex involved. It wasn’t really prostitution, it was just…like a dating service. You know, if instead of paying for matches you just paid them to drop someone off at your door. But Jensen sleeps with people for money. He offered to sleep with Jared for money. To say this is not going how Jared expected is like saying Hugh Hefner is a little promiscuous. And that’s maybe not the best thought to be having right now, given the circumstances, but Jared can’t help it.
But there’s nothing he can really do about it. He’s not going to sleep with the guy he hired to be his fake boyfriend, but he wasn’t going to do that anyway, even before he knew it would cost him $1500. So, that’s that. Contemplating the ceiling isn’t making it any less awkward, anyway, and Jared needs to call home and let his parents know he arrived, and maybe tell them he’s got a boyfriend-type person with him. Compared to the conversation he just had with Jensen, re-coming out to his parents should be easy.
He goes out into the hall, even though Jensen wouldn’t be able to hear over the water, because he doesn’t think he can do this with anyone else nearby.
His mom answers on the first ring. “Jared! Are you here, honey?”
“Yeah, just got to the hotel,” he says.
She asks about the flight and the rest of the trip, then tells him how crazy things have been with the wedding planning.
Jared keeps all his answers carefully neutral, no mentions of “we,” but his mother segues straight from a story about the bridesmaid dresses into, “Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing a guest?”
“Uh,” Jared says.
“Your brother just told me last week that you’re bringing a girl, but you didn’t say anything about seeing someone new. Is she there with you?”
“We’re at the hotel, yeah,” Jared says. “But, Mom - “
“Well, when are we going to meet this girl?” she asks. “I don’t even know her name.”
Jared sighs. “Yeah, I know. It’s just - it’s a little complicated.”
“Complicated? How?”
Jared takes a deep breath. “Because it’s not a girl. My date, I mean. His name is Jensen.”
His mother is silent for a long second. “You - “
“I brought a guy as my date,” Jared repeats, swallowing hard through a dry mouth.
“Oh. I didn’t - I mean, we thought - “
“Yeah, I know.”
There’s another drawn-out silence, then she says brusquely, “Well. We’ll still want to meet him, of course. Maybe we can have dinner together tonight?”
“Dinner?” Jared’s still not sure if he should be relieved or worried at how quickly she’s accepting this. “Tonight?”
“There’s a new restaurant just a few minutes away from here that’s supposed to be really good. Do you want to meet us there at seven?”
“Mom, I don’t know if this is a good idea. Maybe we should just wait until the picnic, and then you can meet him.”
“We won’t have time to talk at the picnic,” she protests, like she knows exactly why Jared suggested that. “Your father and I will behave, I promise.”
“Mom - “
She sighs. “Honey, we just want to get to know him a little. He’s important to you, and you’re important to us, and we’d just like to know what kind of a young man our son’s dating.”
Jared sighs, too. “Yeah, all right.”
* * *
Part Two
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Summary: When Jared desperately needs a date for his brother's wedding, he hires an escort. Jensen's the perfect fake boyfriend, except pretty soon things get a little too real. Based on The Wedding Date.
Notes: Written for abouttwoboys . Thanks to setissma and causeways for running such an awesome challenge!
Warnings: I made Chad the bad guy. I feel really bad about it, if that helps. Also, I suppose this is technically hooker!fic, though it's pretty mild.
Word count: ~ 38,000
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened.
(cover art by the awesome seschat)
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
(and thanks to
too_rational, pdf version here!)
The invitation arrives on a Wednesday. Jared slits open the envelope and lets his eyes skim over the ornate lettering and delicate onionskin paper. He’s known about the wedding for ages - his mother had called him right after Jeff proposed, and his brother had called later himself - but it’s still strange to see it spelled out like that, curvy script and fancy phrases and full names. A reply card is tucked in the invitation, three sets of empty lines waiting for his decision.
The first line is easy. He digs a pen out of a drawer and fills in his name, checking ‘will attend.’ The next line takes a little more thought - the choice of an entrée is not something to be made lightly - but he goes with chicken, since salmon never looks very appealing on a plate. Something to do with the color, maybe, or the fact that the bottom is always discolored from the skin, and you have to scrape it off with a fork. Jared’s never actually given this much thought to salmon before, or any kind of fish, but there’s something about that last blank line that makes his mind skitter away to the nearest distraction.
His mom had been ecstatic on the phone, full of gossipy news about the proposal and wedding plans, and Jared had listened to as many details about locations and receptions and dresses as he could handle before laughing and asking her to take a breath. “I’m just so happy for them,” she’d gushed, and Jared knew what she meant - Jeff and Rachel had been dating for three years, so the entire family already loved her and knew just how perfect they were for each other. It was actually a little sickening, how crazy they were about each other. But Jared just said, “Me too,” which was the truth, before saying goodbye.
Jeff had called an hour later, thankfully much more laid back about the whole affair. He accepted Jared’s congratulations, then confessed that he’d researched romantic proposals on the Internet and polled his female friends on the sly in order to get it right. They joked around for a few minutes, arguing over whether Jeff was a wuss for stalling so long, or just waiting for the perfect moment, then traded the usual insults about intelligence, manliness, and who got the better looks. Then Jeff said, “Hey, listen. I was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind being a groomsman.”
The question caught Jared off-guard, but after a second of surprise, he said, “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He hadn’t even thought about it, but brothers did usually do that for each other, and it was nice to be asked.
“I’d ask you to be the best man, but Chad’s already claimed it,” Jeff went on apologetically. “And I’d tell him no, but I think he might cry. He’s planning stuff already.”
“Chad?” Jared repeated, the smile freezing on his face.
“Yeah, Chad. You know, the guy that’s only been my best friend since we were in third grade? Tall, blond hair, perpetually squinty expression?”
Yeah, Jared knew who Chad was. He knew better than Jeff, in some ways, but that wasn’t something he wanted to think about that at the moment. He hadn’t even considered Chad being at the wedding, much less being the best man, and now it felt as if he’d swallowed something cold and slimy. He hadn’t seen Chad for nearly six years, not since his brother’s college graduation, and even that amount of time wasn’t long enough for him to hear Chad’s name without an accompanying rush of anger.
“Jared.” His brother’s voice was cautious. “Is this a problem?” Jeff didn’t know about what had happened with Chad; he probably thought Jared was being a jerk about getting pushed aside as best man.
“No, no,” Jared replied quickly. “No, man, that’s totally fine.” He shook himself, shoving the thoughts about Chad to the back of his mind. “Chad’s your best friend. And I’m all the way out here in L.A., so it makes more sense for him to do it anyway.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Jeff said, sounding relieved. “Okay. So, you bringing some hot new girlfriend along?”
Jared had laughed weakly. “Uh, we’ll see, I guess.”
“Come on, you’ve got to uphold the family honor,” Jeff urged. “She can’t be hotter than Rachel, of course, but you’d better put some effort into it. I’m counting on you, little brother.”
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Jared had replied, and that’s what has him staring at the last line of the invitation.
He hasn’t had a girlfriend for nearly two years, not after the thing with Sandy went sour, and only a few sporadic dates since, nothing more serious than dinner or drinks. But now he can’t show up at the wedding alone, because Chad’s the fucking best man, and there’s no way in hell Jared’s letting Chad think he’s still single. Even if he totally is.
And normally he’d just take a female friend as a platonic date, but the thing with Chad is more complicated than that. It was stupid and immature and not as melodramatic as it seemed at the time (it was high school, for Christ’s sake, breathing was melodramatic then), but the whole thing still fucked Jared up, because it was confusing enough to be attracted to his older brother’s best friend when he still thought he was completely straight. Throwing in a clandestine relationship with said friend and a messy, painful end only made everything exponentially more confusing, and after the breakup, Jared wasn’t sure if he wanted men, women, or a vow of celibacy.
It took him almost four years to figure out the answer, but that doesn’t really help here. If he wants to show Chad once and for all that he’s over his stupid bullshit, then Jared has to show up to the wedding with a man. The only problem is that he’s never really dated another guy. He went with women as his answer after the Chad thing, and by the time he’d figured out that wasn’t working, he was already in L.A. And it’s not like Hollywood is ruler-straight - they do musicals, for God’s sake - but image is everything, and while Jared may not be famous, he’s not really anonymous enough to be out about it. And while he hasn’t been celibate for those two years, a guy you fool around with isn’t the same thing as someone you know well enough to ask to a wedding. So basically, he’s screwed. Except for this one thing.
He looks down at the number, written on a sticky note and stuck to the corner of the counter where he keeps his keys. It had taken all his courage to finally ask Mike and Tom, in an extremely roundabout way, if there was any kind of…service…for this kind of thing. He knew there had to be - there was no way Hollywood’s population of old and skeevy men came by the hot young women they took to premieres and award shows honestly - but he had no idea if they dealt in men, for one thing, or how it worked or if it was even legal. He’s pretty sure his family would disown him if he got busted for prostitution at his brother’s wedding.
But after Mike and Tom actually figured out what he was trying to ask (and after Mike teased him mercilessly and suggested he just bring a blowup doll instead) Tom promised he’d ask around. Two days later, there was an email in Jared’s inbox with a phone number and “Supposed to be the best. Good luck. Tom.”
The numbers are dark against the pastel paper, just simple strokes of a pen, but what they represent is a lot bigger than a 2-inch piece of paper, and somehow this feels like the hardest decision he’s ever made. Jared looks at the invitation once more, then takes a deep breath and writes “2” next to “number of persons attending” on the third line of the invitation.
* * *
It takes him at least twenty tries to dial the number.
He puts it off for as long as he can, skipping over it on his mental to-do list every day for a week, then tells himself he’ll do it after he finishes all the other important things he has to do, like sorting his laundry or alphabetizing his bookshelf or defrosting the freezer. Finally, after he organizes his closet for the third time (this time in order of what he’d take if the apartment was on fire) he can’t even think up any more inane tasks, and he sits at the kitchen table and stares at the phone for an hour.
When he finally does pick it up and start to dial, he slams it shut as soon as he gets more than three numbers in, and even when he does dial the full number, he hangs up after the first ring. He paces the apartment, the dogs trailing after him, and tries to psych himself up to just do it, but it’s like all the encouraging words in the world slide right out of his head as soon as he sees the phone sitting next to the number on the table.
He has no idea why this is so difficult. Well, all right, he has some idea. No matter how unconventional his love life has been, he’s never paid for sex, and even if this isn’t exactly the same thing, it sure as hell feels like it. A part of him is ashamed that he’s even thinking about this, that he’s going to take a complete stranger home and lie to his family and friends about it, and that he’s going to pay a small fortune for the privilege. But he wrote on the invitation that he’s bringing a guest, and this is the only way he could find to make it true, so he has to do it.
In the end, that’s all it takes. The decision is already made, the deal was sealed when he filled out the response card a week ago, and now he just has to fucking do it.
He picks up the phone, dialing all the numbers in quick succession before he loses his momentum, and listens to it ring three times before a voice on the other end answers, “Kripke and Associates.”
“Uh, yeah,” Jared manages to say through a suddenly dry throat. “I’d like to, uh - I’d like to hire an escort.” He cringes when the words are out, but the woman on the other end just says, “What are the dates you’ll be needing our services?” and proceeds to lead him through a set of questions about what (and who) he wants. He pauses briefly when she asks whether he’d like a male or female escort, but his voice is steady when he says, “Male.”
He blushes when she explains the company policy to him - “Our escorts provide companionship, but they are not obligated to perform any kind of sexual favors, nor are they permitted to accept any kind of recompense for sexual acts. Any violation of this policy will immediately terminate the contract” - and rushes to assure her he understands. Again with the prostitution really not being a good idea.
“Okay, sir,” the woman finally says. “For the type of service you want, we charge a flat rate of $6,000. Half is due to the escort at the end of the engagement, preferably in cash, and half is due now. How would you like to pay?”
Jared swallows hard at the price. He knew it would be that much, was even figuring on paying a little more, but it’s still a punch in the gut to have it laid out like that. He can afford it - he wouldn’t be doing this if he couldn’t - but six thousand dollars suddenly seems pretty ridiculous, especially when it would pay for months of groceries and rent.
“Sir?” the woman prompts him.
Jared shakes himself and apologizes, then reads the woman his credit card number. It feels a bit like signing away his soul, or maybe even his innocence - ironic, since he’s hiring a platonic escort and lying to his whole family. The woman informs him that the agency will match him up with an escort based on his preferences and that said escort will be calling him in the next few weeks to work out the details. Jared mumbles a thank you and hangs up.
He spends another twenty minutes staring at the phone wondering exactly what he’s done. There are a million ways this could go terribly wrong, and it feels like every single one flashes before his eyes as he sits there. When he’s worked out how this one decision could lead to nuclear warfare and the devastation of the country, or possibly the rise of a race of midget zombies that will disembowel all humankind on their quest for world domination, Jared decides that either he’s made the worst decision of his life (because midget zombies would be terrifying and nuclear warfare would probably suck a lot) or he’s thinking too much. He opens the phone, pulls up the last number he dialed, and lets his finger hover over the call button. Either he needs to call back and cancel, or distract himself.
He closes the phone, and looks around for something suitable for several hours of mindless entertainment. Midget zombies and possible nuclear warfare it is.
* * *
The call comes two weeks later, when Jared is least expecting it. He’s just coming in from a walk with the dogs, and they’re slurping water from their bowls like they’ve spent the afternoon in the Sahara. Jared’s trying to avoid the patches of water and drool rapidly spreading across the kitchen tiles while throwing together a sandwich, so when the phone rings his mind is more on getting across the floor without slipping and breaking his neck than whether it’s his $6,000 escort on the other end. And to be honest, he’s been working really hard on not thinking about the escort thing at all lately, just to avoid the strange mix of shame, embarrassment, and anxiety that makes him queasy. So when the person on the other end says, “Hi, Jared? This is Jensen, your escort,” he just says, “What?”
The guy repeats himself, and Jared nearly does fall and impale himself on the knife he’s holding when he figures out what’s going on, the sudden stop he makes causing his sneakers to slide across the slick floor. Luckily, he only slides into a counter, but any response he might have had for Jensen is lost in an “oof” as his stomach comes into contact with unforgiving laminate.
“Um, are you okay?” Jensen asks. “Is this a bad time?”
“Uh, no,” Jared wheezes. “Sorry, I’m just - it’s kind of - I was. Um. No, it’s fine.”
“Okay,” Jensen says after a second, apparently deciding to ignore Jared’s complete lack of coherency. “Well, I was just calling to set up a meeting. The wedding’s in a little over two weeks, right?”
In not thinking about the escort thing Jared has also sort of been not thinking about the wedding, so he’s a little surprised to hear it’s so soon. But when he checks the calendar on the wall it’s right there, circled in bright red, so he says, “Yeah. Saturday the 28th.”
“Right,” Jensen says. “We usually like to have at least one face-to-face meeting before the event, so that it’s not so awkward. I’ll be flying out with you, obviously, so we’ll have time to talk then, but it’s usually best to get to know each other a little more beforehand. To get an idea of your expectations and work out our story, those kinds of things.”
Jared had no idea so much planning went into this kind of thing, and he’s sort of thrown by Jensen’s businesslike attitude toward all the details. But in the course of not thinking about hiring an escort, Jared has also not thought about important details like their cover story, so he figures it’s a good thing someone is thinking of things like this. And Jensen having the logistics taken care of is good, too, because it just allows Jared more not-thinking time, of which he is very appreciative.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he says. “How do you want to - “
“There’s a great steakhouse on Figueroa, just off 7th,” Jensen interrupts smoothly. “Dinner, next Thursday? Around seven?”
“Uh, sure,” Jared says after a second, after a quick glance at the calendar.
“Great. See you then, Jared.”
“Uh-huh. Bye,” Jared says awkwardly. When he hangs up, he turns around to find the dogs looking at him inquisitively, tongues lolling out and still panting from the walk. “What the fuck am I doing?” Jared asks them. “I’m having dinner with the man I hired to pretend to be my boyfriend. And we’re going to make up a story about how we met so I can lie to all my relatives, and prove to Chad that I’m really and truly over him. Which I am, except for the part where I don’t really have a boyfriend, but hopefully he won’t figure that one out.” He pauses to let that sink in. “Seriously, what the fuck am I doing?”
Harley just whines, and Sadie tilts her head.
“You’re lucky you’re neutered,” Jared tells them.
* * *
Jared spends a ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out what to wear to dinner. It’s stupid, because it’s not like he has to impress Jensen - the guy is coming with him whether Jared has atrocious fashion sense or not, and Jared’s pretty sure taming his hair and wearing a nice shirt really won’t make it any less weird that he’s hiring a man to be his date to his brother’s wedding. In the end, he closes his eyes and swings his finger over all the shirts scattered in his bedroom, then pulls on the blue button-down he ends up pointing at. He makes a cursory attempt at something resembling socially acceptable hair, but after a fifteen-minute struggle, he settles for what looks like badly rearranged sex hair, just because he’ll tear it all out if he messes with it anymore.
He spends the drive to the restaurant trying to survive the kamikaze chaos that passes for driving in L.A., so it’s not until he pulls into the parking lot that he has time for a new worry to worm its way into his brain: what if his escort is ugly?
Which is totally stupid, because Jared is really not that into appearances. It’s one of the things he hates about Hollywood and the business, that people judge so much based on clothing or hairstyles without even bothering to say ten words to the person underneath them, and he’s never been overly concerned about his own looks, comfortable just getting by on a friendly personality. He likes people, and they generally like him back, and he doesn’t put a lot of effort into figuring out who’s hotter or richer or more famous, because it’s not worth it and it doesn’t matter to him.
But introducing a friend is much different than introducing a boyfriend, and even though Jared knows his family would welcome whoever he brought home, he has a moment of completely shallow panic over the possibility of a weird-looking boyfriend. Tom said it was the best agency out there, but it’s still an escort agency - it doesn’t seem likely there are beautiful people with nothing better to do than get paid to be fake dates. He tries to remember what Jensen sounded like during their short conversation, but he can’t recall any audible clues to his appearance. He had a nice voice - a bit on the quiet side, but still nice - but that doesn’t help. Jared’s seen Singin’ in the Rain, he knows a pretty face doesn’t guarantee a nice voice, and it only seems logical the reverse is also true.
What if it’s some guy with a mullet? Or someone with a unibrow, or out-of-control nose hair? Or even a balding forty-something with a beer gut, like the guy walking across the parking lot right now?
It’s only when Jared realizes that he’s staring at random people from the parking lot that he shakes himself and gets out of the car. Even if the beer gut guy is Jensen, Jared really doesn’t need to start off the evening as the creepy guy staring at him from his car. He squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and walks across the parking lot.
The restaurant is small, but cozy. Jared slows to a stroll inside the door, scanning the tables for a man sitting alone, but the lights are low and there are nooks in shadow, making any guesses difficult. He realizes about five seconds before the host looks up that he doesn’t even know Jensen’s last name, so he has no idea what the reservations could be under. The host, however, gives him a glance up and down and says, “Let me guess. You’re Jared.”
“Yeah,” Jared replies. He’s not sure whether to be nervous or relieved, so he settles for sticking his hands in his pockets and shifting his weight awkwardly. The host just watches, his face inscrutable, then finally nods.
“Jensen’s not here yet, but if you want to have a seat, I’ll bring him over when he arrives.”
Jared nods a thanks and heads over to the bench the man indicated. When he sits down he’s facing out at the restaurant, away from the door, but that’s okay. Jared figures it’s less nerve-wracking to wonder if the woman with three-inch fake nails will make it through her rack of ribs with all ten intact than to watch every man coming through the door anyway. He keeps telling himself that even after he checks his watch eight times, reties both shoelaces, and fingers Stairway to Heaven on his thigh. He’s just about to turn around and announce to the restaurant at large that he’s looking for his hired escort, polite behavior be damned, when a hand comes down on his shoulder and a low voice says, “Jared?”
He turns to look, and oh, God. Okay. Well, all that worrying in the parking lot was really useless, because this man? He’s about the most not-ugly person Jared has ever seen in his life. In fact, he’s pretty much gorgeous, and Jared actually has to concentrate on forming a smile and hello, because all of his brainpower seems to be solely focused on how stupidly, ridiculously attractive Jensen is.
Jensen holds out a hand, and Jared musters enough motor control to make an awkward lurch to his feet and take it. Jensen’s eyebrows go up a little as he looks up to Jared’s full height, but the corners of his mouth quirk in a small smile, and he says easily, “Good to meet you. Should we get a table?”
He nods to the host, who takes them to a quiet corner table and leaves without giving them any menus or saying a word. Jensen catches Jared’s confused look and grins. “He’s a friend of mine. I come to this place a lot, so they usually just bring out two steaks and whatever sides they’ve got. It’s all good food, trust me.”
Jared’s a little weirded out by the fact that Jensen apparently does a lot of his business here, but he just smiles and nods, taking a sip of his glass of water.
“So, Jared,” Jensen says, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “Tell me all about you.” His sleeves are rolled up, displaying nicely toned forearms, and the buttons at the front of his plain black shirt strain slightly.
Jared chokes a little. “Um, well,” he stalls, forcing his gaze back up to Jensen’s face (which is really not less distracting. Damn). “What do you want to know?”
“Age, occupation, hobbies, favorite band, likes, dislikes, astrological sign, birthmarks or tattoos, favorite Molly Ringwald movie,” Jensen reels off with a smirk. “Whatever you want me to know.”
“Sixteen Candles, definitely,” Jared says, just to be an ass.
“Interesting, considering it’s your older brother getting married,” Jensen says, tilting his head. “Your birthday’s not the day before the wedding, is it?”
“Nah,” Jared says. “And I had an awesome sweet sixteen sleepover with all my girlfriends - we gave each other makeovers and played M.A.S.H. and had a big pink cake - so no suppressed emo to worry about.”
“Aww, I bet you were pretty in pink,” Jensen teases. He smirks at the face Jared makes, then takes pity on him and starts off the interrogation with an easier question. “The wedding’s in Texas, so I’m assuming that’s where you’re from. Did you grow up there?”
“Yeah, San Antonio. I moved out here right after high school on a whim, been missing it ever since.”
“But not enough to go back,” Jensen notes. “You an actor?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a part on a TV show,” Jared says. “You’ve probably never seen it, but it’s a good job, as far as they go.” And thankfully their summer hiatus comes early enough that he didn’t have to mess up the plans for a May wedding Rachel had her heart set on.
Jensen hasn’t seen the show, but he’s heard of it, and Jared describes the basic plotline for him and sketches out his character. It’s only after the conversation has drifted to how he got the part, and his decision to act that Jared realizes they’ve fallen into a comfortable back-and-forth miles away from the stiff and awkward questions they began with. He marvels for a moment over how quickly Jensen put him at ease - usually it’s him who does that when meeting strangers, making easy small talk - but then he realizes it’s undoubtedly a skill of the trade.
The waiter delivers their plates at that moment, and Jared hides his blush in admiration of the thick steak in front of him. Jensen leaves off questioning as they attack their plates, but after they’ve nearly cleaned them off and Jared’s scraping the last mouthful of garlic mashed potatoes onto his fork, he says, “Tell me about your family.”
“Well, I’m the middle child, so there’s my older brother, Jeff, and then my younger sister - “
“Hang on a sec,” Jensen interrupts, digging a pad and pen from his back pocket. “I’m pretty good with details, but I’m terrible with names,” he explains, flipping to a clean page and jotting down a few words. “Okay, go on.”
It’s extremely weird to describe his family and watch as Jensen writes down things like “Megan - sister - 20,” but Jared figures it’s important, so he obediently lists off family and details.
Jensen gets it all down, then flips to a new page. “Okay, now we need to invent a couple things. We need a story for how we met, an exact count of days and months we’ve been dating, and probably one or two memorable dates, just in case it comes up.”
“Um,” Jared says.
“It’s mostly up to you,” Jensen says with a wave of his pen. “I’m pretty flexible. The biggest limiting factor would be a profession, obviously, since I don’t know anything about being a doctor or a lawyer or whatever, but I’m familiar enough with the acting business if you want to stick with that.”
“Uh, yeah,” Jared says. All the people he’s dated out here have been actors, so it makes sense. “Acting sounds good. Do you want to say we met on the set of a movie, or something?”
“No, it’s too easy for someone to fact-check on the Internet,” Jensen says. “Let’s say we met at a party or a premiere. If anyone asks what I’ve been in, I’ll just be really vague or say I’ve mostly modeled.”
Which, given the way the guy looks, is not really far-fetched. They work out a story for the meeting, along with a timeline for the relationship, and Jensen scribbles every detail down in his notebook, threatening to quiz Jared on it all during the plane ride. He tucks the pen cap between his teeth as he writes down the last few notes, however, and Jared is too distracted to say more than “Um. Hmm,” in response.
When Jensen finally puts down his pen and calls it a night, Jared’s surprised to see that they’ve been at the restaurant almost two hours, and that the dinner crowd around them has thinned to a few stragglers.
Jensen grabs the check when it lands on the table, claiming his company will pick up the tab, and Jared wonders for a minute if that means dinner was a part of the six grand he paid. Before things can get totally awkward, though, Jensen shakes his hand again and says, “It was good to meet you, Jared. I’ll see you at the airport in a week. And don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine.”
Jensen’s eyes crinkle around his smile, and Jared grins back. “Nice meeting you, too,” he says, and means it.
* * *
He takes Jensen’s advice for the next week, abandoning worries about nuclear warfare and midget zombies and pushing aside the smaller issues that could come up, concentrating instead on the good feeling that lasted the whole way home from his dinner with Jensen.
It was sort of like a date, with the introductory questions about hometowns and families, and Jared finds himself thinking that if it had been a blind date, he’d want Jensen to call him. Or he’d call Jensen, however that works when you’re dating another guy. It’s a little bit weird to realize that not only does Jared like Jensen, he’s also looking forward to seeing him again. It’s sort of like he’s made a new friend, as strange as that sounds. He’s even stopped thinking of Jensen as his escort in his head, like he did before they met - where it used to be ‘the guy’ or ‘my escort’ it’s all just ‘Jensen’ now, attached to plane tickets and rehearsal dinners and receptions.
They don’t see each other until they meet at the airport, but all week Jensen rattles around in Jared’s head, weaving through his thoughts and lurking under the surface of his dreams. He thinks about Jensen when he picks out a wedding present, wondering what Jensen would choose if he were there, and every item of clothing he considers, holds up against himself in front of the mirror, packs, and reconsiders ceases to have merit on its own, his favorite shirt or those slacks he shoved to the back of his closet the day he bought them given new value according to what Jensen might think or like or wear himself.
It’s kind of ridiculous - Jared has spent all of two hours with the man, after all, and most of that was taken up by memorizing details or making up lies, not getting to know Jensen. But something about him, about that first handshake and smile, keeps Jared’s thoughts circling back to Jensen, and knowing so little about him only makes Jared want to know more, makes him eager to see Jensen again.
By the time they finally meet again, Jared’s half-convinced that he’s built up Jensen so much in his mind that the real thing won’t measure up. He actually wonders, sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair at the gate of his flight, if he’s remembering Jensen as more handsome than he is, or recalling only the good aspects and forgetting the bad.
The thought keeps him preoccupied through the loading of passengers, and he watches the woman across the aisle struggle with a heavy suitcase for a long second before rational thought breaks through his fog and he jumps up to help. When he gets the suitcase situated in the overhead bin, nodding at the woman’s effusive thanks and turning back to his seat, Jensen is standing in the aisle behind him, a half-smile on his face, and even if Jared’s brain created a perfect version of Jensen, the real thing is still pretty damn attractive. Jensen’s in comfortable clothes for the flight, just jeans and a white shirt, but the addition of sleep-tousled hair and a pair of wire-rim glasses make it sexier than any coordinated ensemble could be.
Jared smiles in greeting, then ducks under the bulkhead to his seat in order to give Jensen room to stow his bag and sit down. They’re in first class, since that’s just about the only way Jared can fly without his knees tucked under his chin, so it’s just him and Jensen in their row. Jared’s in the window seat, but after he and Jensen exchange the cursory how-are-you’s, he offers to switch. Jared made all the travel arrangements himself, sending the paperwork onto the escort agency for Jensen, so he figures it’s only fair to offer Jensen the choice.
Jensen declines, though, leaning back into his seat. “Thanks, man, but I’ll probably sleep the whole flight, anyway. Had a late night.”
Jared grins and prods, “Oh, yeah?” before he remembers what Jensen does for a living, and his smile slips as he tries to keep himself from wondering who needed an escort until late last night.
Jensen’s rubbing his eyes behind the glasses, however, and doesn’t notice. “Yeah, a couple of my friends were in town, and they dragged me out with them.” He shakes his head. “I forgot how crazy they can be.”
Jared’s relieved to hear it, but only because it smoothes over the awkward moment. At least, that’s what he tells himself. It’s fine to like Jensen as a person, even as a sort of friend, but Jared needs to remember what Jensen’s profession is - he can’t afford to forget, not as a paying client himself.
A flight attendant at the front of the plane starts to go through the safety spiel, and by the time conversation is possible again, after the plane has leveled off from takeoff trajectory and the whine of the engines has settled to a dull thrum, Jensen is sound asleep next to Jared, arms crossed over his chest and chin nodding down.
He sleeps through the entire flight - neither Jared nor the flight attendant have the heart to wake him for lunch, the stewardess passing Jared the extra lukewarm tray with a wink, and the weather is clear outside the window and the flight is smooth - he only startles awake when the plane jolts down onto the landing strip.
Jared watches him shake off sleep out of the corner of his eye, hiding a smile when Jensen frowns irritably at everything around him, like the overhead compartment or tray table are personally responsible for disturbing his slumber. Jared’s the type of person who’s awake as soon as he wakes up - either he’s sleeping, or he’s not, there’s not much in between. He’s guessing Jensen’s the opposite, however, and spends a good amount of time hating life and the world every morning before conceding to full wakefulness.
“Sleep well?” he asks, just to test his theory, and smothers another grin at the grunt he gets in return.
Jensen’s surliness persists through the flight attendants’ cheerful farewells and deplaning, and he and Jared walk through the airport in silence, the only communication between them the occasional finger pointing in the direction of an escalator or sign.
Jared can’t stop sneaking looks, and when they get to the baggage claim and Jensen leans up against the wall, all sleep-tousled hair, rumpled clothes, and a cranky set to his mouth, he can’t help but laugh a little bit, because it’s kind of adorable.
“What?” Jensen asks, frowning, but after a second the pinched expression relaxes off his face, and he offers Jared a small, half-embarrassed smile.
“Not a morning person, huh?” Jared asks.
“Shut up,” Jensen mutters.
* * *
They get their bags and pick up a rental car, Jared driving as Jensen quizzes him on the details from their night at the restaurant. Jared gets most of them right the first time around, only missing a few minor things, so Jensen pronounces him ready and closes his notebook, settling back into the seat.
Jared’s not exactly thrilled by the silence, since now he has nothing to keep his mind off the impending introduction of Jensen to his family, so he attempts to distract himself by checking every tree and fence against his memory, trying to see what’s changed since his last visit.
“Hey,” Jensen says, out of nowhere. “So. Your family knows about you, right?”
“About me?”
“Yeah, that you like guys. Your dad isn’t going to come after me with a shotgun or anything?”
“Oh,” Jared replies. “Um, probably not.”
“Probably not?” Jensen echoes. “I usually like my odds of survival a little higher than that. They don’t know?”
“They kind of know.” Jared keeps his eyes firmly on the road, aware Jensen is staring at him from the passenger seat. “I mean, I told them and everything. But they’ll probably be expecting me to show up with a woman.”
“Uh, Jared, I hate to break this to you,” Jensen says, “But if they’re expecting you to show up with a woman, then I don’t think you did a very good job telling them.”
Jared makes a face. “Look, I know it sounds stupid. It’s just a little…complicated, okay?”
“Yeah, I pretty much got that,” Jensen says.
Jared sighs. “It’s just - I told them while I was in high school, but I haven’t really - I think they think I’m over it, or whatever.” He laughs a little. “And yeah, I probably should have let them know that I was bringing you, but I didn’t really want to have that whole conversation over the phone.”
He brakes for a red light, staring at his hands on the steering wheel to avoid Jensen’s eyes. “Sorry. They’ll probably be pissed at me, but I’m pretty sure they won’t take it out on you.”
“No, hey, don’t apologize,” Jensen says, reaching a hand over the center console to rest on Jared’s knee. “I’m the one being a jerk. You don’t have to explain anything to me, and if you trust your parents, then that’s good enough for me.”
“I’ll tell them,” Jared says. “Before you meet them, so they aren’t surprised.”
“Okay,” Jensen says, patting Jared’s knee before leaning back. “It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it.”
But it is kind of a big deal, and now Jared feels like a jerk for not telling his parents. It’s not like he’s ashamed of Jensen - well, he wouldn’t be if Jensen was really his boyfriend - and he doesn’t want to make the whole thing awkward for Jensen. It’s just not something that’s ever easy to discuss with his parents, but he’s going to have to tell them soon. He hadn’t wanted to do it over the phone from L.A., but now that he’s here, the phone suddenly seems much less scary than doing it in person. He thinks about it for the rest of the car ride, trying to figure out what he’s going to say, and Jensen is also quiet, the car silent until they pull into the hotel.
Jared gives his name and credit card at the desk, not bothering with small talk or pleasantries, still caught up in contemplating how his parents will react. He’s so lost in thought that he totally forgot about the hotel room he reserved, and when he slides the keycard in the lock and opens the door, he pauses a few steps inside.
Jensen stops behind him.
“Um, I hope it’s okay that I just got one bed,” Jared says awkwardly. “I was just thinking it would be a good idea, just in case someone might come over, or stop by, or…you know.” It sounds totally lame now, because of course no one’s going to be doing bedcheck in a fucking hotel, but it made sense to Jared at the time. “I could sleep on the floor, if that’s - “
Jensen just grins and slings his bag onto a chair. “Jared, it’s fine. I was fully immunized against cooties when I was in third grade, so I’m not worried about it.”
Jared laughs a little. “Okay, good.”
“And just so you know,” Jensen begins, digging through his bag, “It’s $1500 up front for sex.”
Jared bag makes a loud thump when it drops on his foot. “What?”
“That’s the flat rate,” Jensen explains, looking over his shoulder at Jared. “It can be more or less depending on specifics, but $1500’s the usual.” He grins. “I’ve been told it’s worth it.”
Jared’s pretty sure his mouth moves, but his brain doesn’t supply any words, so he probably looks like some kind of fish. He kind of feels like one, like Jensen just jerked him out of the water and now he’s trying to breathe a totally different element. “What?” he asks again. “I mean, that’s not - you can’t. They said, when I called - they said no sexual favors. No sex for money!”
Jensen looks like he’s trying to smother a grin. “That’s just the agency covering their asses. They don’t want to get busted for prostitution.”
“Neither do I,” Jared blurts out.
Jensen laughs. “Jared, no one’s going to know.” He pats Jared’s shoulder. “Relax, dude. You don’t have to. I’m just saying, if you want to, it’s an option.” He grins. “Just need the money up front.”
“Uh, that’s okay,” Jared says, aware his face is approximately the color of a tomato. “I’m not going to want to…do that.”
“Okay,” Jensen says easily. “If you change your mind, just let me know.” He grabs a pair of boxers from his bag. “I’m going to take a shower, if you don’t mind.”
“Yeah, go ahead,” Jared says faintly.
He watches Jensen go into the bathroom, then flops down on the bed. Oh, God. He kept telling himself that it wasn’t so bad, hiring an escort, because there was not going to be any sex involved. It wasn’t really prostitution, it was just…like a dating service. You know, if instead of paying for matches you just paid them to drop someone off at your door. But Jensen sleeps with people for money. He offered to sleep with Jared for money. To say this is not going how Jared expected is like saying Hugh Hefner is a little promiscuous. And that’s maybe not the best thought to be having right now, given the circumstances, but Jared can’t help it.
But there’s nothing he can really do about it. He’s not going to sleep with the guy he hired to be his fake boyfriend, but he wasn’t going to do that anyway, even before he knew it would cost him $1500. So, that’s that. Contemplating the ceiling isn’t making it any less awkward, anyway, and Jared needs to call home and let his parents know he arrived, and maybe tell them he’s got a boyfriend-type person with him. Compared to the conversation he just had with Jensen, re-coming out to his parents should be easy.
He goes out into the hall, even though Jensen wouldn’t be able to hear over the water, because he doesn’t think he can do this with anyone else nearby.
His mom answers on the first ring. “Jared! Are you here, honey?”
“Yeah, just got to the hotel,” he says.
She asks about the flight and the rest of the trip, then tells him how crazy things have been with the wedding planning.
Jared keeps all his answers carefully neutral, no mentions of “we,” but his mother segues straight from a story about the bridesmaid dresses into, “Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing a guest?”
“Uh,” Jared says.
“Your brother just told me last week that you’re bringing a girl, but you didn’t say anything about seeing someone new. Is she there with you?”
“We’re at the hotel, yeah,” Jared says. “But, Mom - “
“Well, when are we going to meet this girl?” she asks. “I don’t even know her name.”
Jared sighs. “Yeah, I know. It’s just - it’s a little complicated.”
“Complicated? How?”
Jared takes a deep breath. “Because it’s not a girl. My date, I mean. His name is Jensen.”
His mother is silent for a long second. “You - “
“I brought a guy as my date,” Jared repeats, swallowing hard through a dry mouth.
“Oh. I didn’t - I mean, we thought - “
“Yeah, I know.”
There’s another drawn-out silence, then she says brusquely, “Well. We’ll still want to meet him, of course. Maybe we can have dinner together tonight?”
“Dinner?” Jared’s still not sure if he should be relieved or worried at how quickly she’s accepting this. “Tonight?”
“There’s a new restaurant just a few minutes away from here that’s supposed to be really good. Do you want to meet us there at seven?”
“Mom, I don’t know if this is a good idea. Maybe we should just wait until the picnic, and then you can meet him.”
“We won’t have time to talk at the picnic,” she protests, like she knows exactly why Jared suggested that. “Your father and I will behave, I promise.”
“Mom - “
She sighs. “Honey, we just want to get to know him a little. He’s important to you, and you’re important to us, and we’d just like to know what kind of a young man our son’s dating.”
Jared sighs, too. “Yeah, all right.”
* * *
Part Two