Fic: The Bitch of Living (Jensen/Jared)
Fandom : Supernatural - J2
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17 (maybe hard R)
Warnings: AU, lots of cursing, groping, kissing and sexual innuendo (no actual sex yet, but I'm working up to it)
Notes - My first J2. I've been reading bluesoaring's amazing Adam Lambert fic - yeah, shocked the shit out of me too! - over on IJ and kept wanting to be the boys, so now it is. So there. Also, the title's from Spring Awakening because I'm a huge geek and somehow it felt right.
Summary - There's a rumor Jensen Ackles band is cursed. Their new bassist, Jared, just thinks it's that Jensen's a major pain in the ass who can't keep his hands to himself.
There's this rumor that Jensen Ackles band is cursed. Even though his album went platinum early in the year, they've had a rotating roster of musicians and nobody seems to stick around for more than a few months. Of course, there's also the rumor that that's just because Jensen likes to have some 'fresh meat' to play with - the guy's known for molesting his bandmates on stage; the fangirls go crazy for it. Jared's beginning to think maybe the reason people keep quitting is just because the dude's a pain in the ass.
It's a total fluke that Jared even got this audition in the first place; one of those 'knows a guy who knows a guy who used to party with the manager's second cousin' kind of deals. It's been a while since he did more than mess around on his bass with some friends - had basically given up the dream of becoming a 'real' musician a couple of years ago when he took a freelance job with this tech firm - but when he heard through the grapevine that he could get this audition… well, he couldn't resist.
Of course, he hadn't expected to walk into some kind of beige holding pen with a bunch of other guys, all of whom looked like they'd made recent appearances in a glam/grunge wet dream. Suffice to say he was already feeling a little insecure - not that he wasn't a decent enough looking guy, he just hadn't known that walking around semi-nude was part of the job description - before he'd walked onto the actual stage they had set up and heard Ackles say - not even pretending to whisper - "We'd have to get him a stylist". Prick.
The actual playing music part - you know, the thing he as actually here for - had seemed to go pretty well. The manager and a couple of other suits are whispering back and forth with Ackes who looks non-plussed at best - had Jared mentioned the guy's a prick? Because, yeah, prick - and just like that, the big jerk's getting up and climbing onstage with Jared.
For a second he has no clue what's going on, big green eyes staring him down like he'd just simultaneously told Ackles he was a shitty singer and lit the guy's house on fire while kicking some homeless puppies and then wham! Ackles' mouth is right there on top of his, forcing Jared's open on a stunned gasp while this TOTAL STRANGER'S tongue winds all slick and sin-smooth into his mouth and licks around like he owns the place.
Jared's too damn startled to do anything but stand there and take it, his body completely shut down, as Ackles' finger's slide into his hair, force his head to angle that prick wants. The best Jared can manage is to make a muffled yelp noise when the guy decides to suck on his tongue like a lolipop, and do his very best to ignore the slithery little tendrils of heat working its way through his veins. Goddamn responsive body.
When Ackles pulls back - after one quick, hard nip to Jared's bottom lip - those shiny jade eyes are sliding searchingly all over Jared's face and he can't get rid of the image of the dude as a big smug cat watching a mouse; can practically see the jerk's tail flicking back and forth. It doesn't help that Jared can feel himself blushing bright red. He's always done it; whenever he's embarrassed his whole face just turns into one big tomato and he fucking hates it, hates this fucker for making him do it up on stage with people watching.
Then that too-pretty face watching Jared's spits into a grin that looks a lot more like hunger than happiness. He turns to the suits and points at Jared, shouting gleefully like a bratty six-year old, "I want that one!"
And that's how Jared gets his job - a tour! A real tour! His tenth-grade dream come true!
He kinda wishes he could feel happier about it.
***
The rehearsals go better than he thought; turns out The Douchebag - his new mental title for Ackles. Er, Jensen. Whatever - can actually be a professional. Which sort of pisses Jared off more; he was really getting into that whole superior indignation thing he had going.
They've had a couple of quick conversations - about the set list or an arrangement or some new song The Dou… er, Jensen's struggling with - but mostly everybody keeps to themselves. Show up, play the gig, get back on the bus and do it all over again tomorrow. Well, theoretically anyway; tonight is their first actual show of the tour and Jared's spent the last twenty minutes hurling his guts up in the bathroom.
A folded paper towel, damp with warm water, suddenly appears in Jared's field of vision and he takes it, gratefully cleaning himself up.
"You gonna be ok, man?" trickles down from above him on the very last voice he expected to hear. He looks up in shock at The Douchebag's - er, Jensen's - concerned smile. Crap, now the guy had to go and be nice too?
"Yeah," Jared grumbles, reaching up to flush even though there hadn't been anything left to puke up this time. He stands, knees aching slightly from their stint on the cold tile, and tries to become really engrossed with throwing away the paper towel. There weren't nearly as many steps involved as he'd been hoping. "I'll be fine once we're out there. Just nerves y'know?"
Which is a fucktarded question because Jensen Ackles is like the goddamn poster-boy for relaxed self-confidence. That's why Jared's stunned into actually meeting Jensen's eyes when the response he comes out with is,
"More than you could possibly imagine."
It's also why Jared's stupid, traitorous mouth starts running away with him and says "Really?"
Jensen huffs a laugh, runs his fingers through his hair then realizes what he just did and turns around to fix it again in the mirror.
"Oh yeah, man. Every single time."
The reflection grins at Jared and he takes a second to really look at the lead singer for the first time tonight. Jensen's not as done up as Jared would have guessed from some of the publicity photos he's seen; a little smudge of something around his eyes - just a shade darker than the skin so they actually look like they're smoldering - and something shiny on his plump lips that makes them look way too kissable. Or would, you know, if Jared was into kissing guys. Which he's not.
It's kind of hard not to check out Jensen's ass though - just for comparison's sake with his own - especially with the other man leaning over the counter to look at his hair. Those fucking leather pants had to be impossible to put on - it looked like somebody came in and painted them right onto Jensen's skin, and no that was not an appealing thought at all. Maybe this was some new hyper-sexualized, homo-erotic version of stage fright.
The plain black t-shirt was fine though, nothing wrong with admiring a good t-shirt and Jared's actually kind of jealous because he sure as hell doesn't have anything that plain in his newly redone wardrobe. Jensen hadn't been kidding about that stylist thing; there wasn't a single item in Jared's suitcase back on the tour bus that he'd bought for himself, underwear included. He’s still a little bitter, even if he can grudgingly admit that he looks kinda ok - if that whole oversexed glam-punk thing did it for you.
The jeans they'd put him in were at least loose enough to move around in, though he was convinced there was more hole to them than actual fabric. And he felt just fucking naked with nothing but a button-up hanging open around his chest - what was the point of wearing a button-up if you didn't button it? - but the second the stylist had seen him without a shirt, chest-baring had become the order of the day. It had taken him a solid hour to get his face back to a normal color.
He hadn't realized Jensen was done with his hair until the other man waved a broad, ring-studded hand in front of his face.
"Spacin' out on me there, big boy?" he grins. Somehow 'big boy' has become Jared's unofficial nickname. Obviously he had no say in the matter.
"Sorry," he says lamely trying to bring himself out of the fashion-induced stupor. He seriously needed to chug a beer and hit somebody - get a few manly points back.
Jensen produces a pack of breath mints, apparently from thin air - there was literally no way he’d been hiding those in his tight-ass pants - and proffers one to Jared. He accepts with a smiled ‘thank you’ and takes an extra, because he really probably needs it.
"Don't worry," Jensen says softly, hand fever-hot on Jared's abs for half-second, "You're awesome." A quick wink and one of those blinding smiles and then they were being called to the stage. Jared wonders if they have time for one more quick round of hurling.
***
Afterward, Jared can't remember playing out the end of the set. Actually, he can't even remember whether he's still breathing or not. Except he must be breathing, because otherwise there wouldn't be all this nice, red blood to heat up his goddamn girlishly-blushing face. Damn that Douchebag Ackles straight to hell.
He should have known, he should have fucking known that it was going to happen - hell it was like the band's trademark - but still, that was… gratuitous! After all, Jensen had only touched the other guys, a little causal caressing here and there, he hadn't… they hadn't… his goddamn mouth! Again!
His lips were still all slicky from whatever that shit Jensen was wearing and fuck him mother fucking sideways if it didn't taste like strawberries. Strawberries! What the hell!
And then, as if the totally invasive, unwanted, ONSTAGE tongue-fucking hadn't been enough, Jensen had totally palmed Jared's cock! In front of the whole audience! His hand all hot and tight and rough and way too much like the way Jared liked it and that was not only way past the personal boundary line - he's pretty sure he could sue for that shit - but was also completely unnecessary because Jared plays the damn base! It's not like anybody could see what Jensen's hand was actually doing down there anyway. AND it had messed up Jared's part of the song, because how the hell do you play properly when some guy's got his silky-soft, unfairly talented tongue shoved halfway down your throat and his hand rubbing your - totally coincidentally hardening - dick? You don't! And everybody was acting like it was no big deal!
Actually, no, that wasn't true. Ackles was ecstatic about the whole thing; kept going on and on about how awesome it was how Jared looked so shocked - because he was! - and how much the fans had loved it. Which was true, the fans had gone fucking apeshit over it and some of the girls were actually chanting Jared's name by the time they made their way out to the bus - even though it was his first night and how the hell did they even know his name anyway?
That part might have been a little cool. Just a little. But that didn't mean he was anywhere close to forgiving The Douchebag for springing that on him. It would help a whole lot if he lips would stop tingling like they were hungry for more.
***
Jared's decided Jensen has some kind of psychological problem. No shit, right? But yeah, something specific to touching - the guy just can't keep his hands to himself.
Admittedly it's not always a sexy kind of deal. In fact, most of the time he doesn't even seem to notice he's doing it; just sits a little too close, or lets his hands rest on somebody's arm when he's talking to them. Little shit that Jared can't really call him on without being a complete tool. But he still notices it; notices it way more than he'd like actually.
Because Jensen's always around and by that virtue, always touching him and it's starting to royally fuck with Jared's head.
He's sort of gotten used to the being groped onstage - a fact that is in itself incredibly disturbing - and it's a good thing too because Jensen seems to have adopted Jared as his favorite molestee. Jared suspects it has something to do with the blushing - which he still can't stop, even though he knows what's coming now.
Of course, the knowing it's coming has only made Jensen up the ante. For two whole songs during the last gig Jensen never took his hands off Jared - and damn his fucking luck that Jensen figured out how much Jared likes having his nipples played with because, shit! All of that pinching and twisting and fucking spit-slick fingers circling the hard nubs over and over. Between that and Jensen's fingers strumming relentlessly against the swollen cockhead straining against his jeans, Jared had gotten seriously close to losing it in his pants, which seems to have become Jensen's personal mission in life.
There are whole fansites dedicated to this imaginary relationship between the two of them now, as Jensen relishes laughingly pointing out. The guy actually reads the damn fanfiction, much of which now prominently features Jared in various compromising positions. It's a little disturbing. He's seriously considering stealing Jensen's laptop just so he doesn't have to get anymore impromptu readings of Jensen's new favorite stories in pornographic detail, 900-number voice included.
Still, Jared's learned to cope with all the 'fan service' and the slash worship - there's a lot of masturbation involved - and the whole escapade has made him insanely popular with the fans which it turns out doesn't actually get old like you'd think it would. In fact, if the wasn't for this one little problem, he'd probably just laugh off all of the rest of it as par for the course with his job.
The problem is that Jared's body seems to be getting conditioned for this whole 'touchy Jensen' thing.
Within a minute or two of taking the stage - and sometimes before they even leave the dressing room - Jared's hard as a rock now, so by the time Jensen inevitably gets around to mauling him, he's practically whimpering for it. Of course, there's always the thrill of playing with someone great - and he can admit that, artistically at least, Jensen's pretty great - plus the constant friction of his bass rubbing right there and he's pretty sure there's an adrenaline factor in there somewhere too - the whole stage-buzz thing that's only making it worse - but he can't deny that the feeling seems to be getting more and more Jensen-centric.
Just sitting around on the tour bus gets awkward sometimes when Jensen will suddenly decide to come flop over next to Jared - all friendly and non-chalant and freaking touching him again - and Jared's dick gets confused. Because it's an indiscriminate slut apparently, and remembers that Jensen rubs it - all the loyalty of a hungry dog. He's considering faking a medical condition to explain all of his hurried trips to the bathroom.
There's this part of him though, that thinks Jensen knows; that even though off-stage things are perfectly casual and platonic between them, he's doing it on purpose to get a rise - literally - out of Jared. And that's even more concerning.
***
Jared's been alone in his motel room for almost three hours. No word from Jensen and it's annoying that he has to remind himself that that's supposed to make him happy.
They're all in crisis mode right now, or at least the suits are; Jared hasn't really figured out what he's supposed to be doing with himself. The drummer quit. Eight shows into the tour and the guy's just gone. Jared doesn't know why and the chances of anyone bothering to explain it to him are next to nil. The dude was here, now he's not and Jeff, the manager, is scrambling to find a replacement for the stop in Seattle in two days.
Jared's ordered room service he barely touched, a movie he hadn't even pretended to watch and has devolved rapidly into obsessively pacing around the room. Jensen disappeared right after Jeff called to tell them the news - before then he'd been camped out in Jared's room, using those butterfly eyelashes of his to try and convince Jared that it would look really good if he'd let Jensen paint his fingernails navy blue.
That's been happening a lot lately; well, as 'lately' as three weeks into the tour can get. Not the nail painting thing - that was a new step in Jensen's apparent quest to make Jared into a giant woman - but the camping out in Jared's room thing. They spend most of their nights in hotels since there're too many of them to sleep comfortably on the bus -and Jensen bitches non-stop if he has to sleep there anyway - and the singer spends about half of those nights falling asleep on Jared's bed. Not like Jared invites him or anything, he just kind of shows up and Jared was brought up too well to just kick him out. And actually, he's kind of starting to like Jensen, you know, just a little. There are worse people to hang out with, anyway.
And speak of the devil.
Jared's phone judders across the surface of the bedside table where he'd left it, Jensen's voice yelling at him to pick of the damn phone - he never should have let Jensen personalize his ringtone.
"Hey," he answers, then clears his throat to try and sound a little less like he was waiting for Jensen's call like an excited thirteen year old girl or something.
"Heeey," Jensen comes back with, a couple of extra syllables thrown in there for good measure.
"Dude, are you drunk?" Jared snaps. Great now he sounds like his dad.
Jensen's deep, smoky laugh prowls through the phone, crawls right into Jared's ear and slides under his skin. Instead of answering the question, he says, "You remember that coat I got in Chicago?"
That throws Jared way off track. He kicks idly at the balled up sock sitting next to the desk-set, slowly chasing it across the nubbly carpet like a sad, solo game of pick-up soccer.
"Um, the Black. Leather. Trenchcoat? Yeah, somehow that does stand out in my mind." In general he's found playing along with Jensen is a hell of a lot easier than fighting it. The singer makes a sound that might be a moan and it brings up a visual of Jensen laying out on a the bedspread, back arched on a stretch.
"What would you do if I was standing outside your door right now in nothing but that?"
Jared actually trips over his own feet in the middle of the room, sock lost somewhere under the bed.
"A-... Are you?" he whispers stupidly, as if someone's going to overhear. That snakey laugh pours over the line again.
"No. But what if I was?" Jared's really fucking glad Jensen's not out there actually, because it might be a little awkward to explain why that deep timbre in his voice is doing fantastic things for Jared's damn overactive dick. It's seriously like being fourteen again.
"Well," Jared scrubs a hand through his hair, trying to figure out where the hell this is all supposed to be going, "I guess I'd have to let you in before some fangirl ran across you and I had to hear about your brutal rape on the news."
It's a real laugh Jensen let's out this time and in a weird way it's even sexier - or would be, if Jared thought of Jensen as sexy.
"God, you're like the least creative guy ever. Remind me never to have phone sex with you."
"I'll make a note," Jared snarks even as his brain's still twitching around the phrase 'phone sex' in Jensen's voice. There's silence on the line for a minute before Jared finally asks, "Have you heard from Jeff?"
"Yeah," Jensen sighs resignedly, "We're borrowing somebody from some pop band on the label through Portland, try and get something more permanent between now and then."
"Cool," Jared says, tension he didn't realize he was holding oozing out of his shoulders. There's that little bit of silence again and it's not even a challenge to imagine the zoned out look on Jensen's face as he gets wrapped up in the problem again - the dude is surprisingly thoughtful. "Well take some aspirin and sleep on your stomach - don't wanna have some rock and roll cliche obituary."
"Yeah," Jensen sighs again, different from the last one though Jared's not quite sure how, "there's no way to make 'choked to death on his own vomit' sound cool."
"Better than 'choked to death on someone else's vomit'."
"Man, that was so disturbing I'm not even gonna touch it."
"Well, get some sleep then," Jared tries to ignore that achy little twinge in his gut. There's no reason for him not to want to get off the phone.
"Jared?" It comes out so soft Jared's not actually sure he heard it for a second, takes the phone away from his ear to check that they're still connected.
"Yeah?"
"You're not gonna leave, right?" Jensen's voice is still so quiet Jared's straining to hear it, but he catches the words anyway, the hint of something pained behind them. A ridiculous swell of 'need to make it better' bursts through his chest.
"No, Jen. Looks like you're stuck with me," he tries to make it a joke, but the next thing out of Jensen's mouth is still unsteady.
"Promise?" There's something broken in there and a part of Jared just wishes he could see Jensen's face, knows the mask is down and for once he might get a good long look at the guy underneath. He's not sure why he even wants to.
"Cross my heart." It sounds stupid, like a little kid, but he means it more than he even realized before it came out. Jensen makes a little 'hmm' sound and Jared knows in his gut that Jensen's smiling.
"Good night, Jay." He listens to Jensen rustle around on the other end of the phone, probably that little nesting thing he does before he goes to sleep. The dude really is a big freakin' housecat.
"Night, Jen." The line stays open for few seconds longer before Jared finally hangs up.
He flops back on his own bed, watching his long toes bunch and flex in the carpet. There's a very real chance he might be screwed.
***
Jensen straddles Jared's lap with no kind of warning at all, not that the singer ever really gives one. It's like living with a lit firecracker in your back pocket; you know it's gonna go off, the only question is when. He's holding some kind of little makeup pot in his hand and giving Jared the Cheshire cat grin that universally means trouble. Jared's busy trying to will his dick into submission.
"Look up," Jensen flicks his gaze toward the stained tile ceiling of the dressing room in demonstration like Jared was too stupid to understand that instruction. Which he's not, he's just maybe a little hesitant about taking his eyes off of Jensen when his friend's all spread out on his lap wearing that look. The singer widens his eyes like a nudge and Jared finally looks up, moving only his eyes, just like Jensen had showed him.
"Now hold still," Jensen purrs, wiggling his hips in a way that's clearly contrary to the whole holding still concept, even if it does make Jared swelling cock want to cheer, "Gonna make you all pretty, big boy."
Jared can't help but flinch at the first touch of Jensen's thick finger to the corner of his eye. The shorter man chuckles and carefully smears some kind of powder, Jared thinks, deftly around the rim of one eye and then the other while Jared tries to keep them from watering up automatically.
"Nice." Jensen surveys his handiwork, shifting around on Jared's lap to check out all the angles. There's no way he doesn't feel Jared's cock trying to benchpress him up off of Jared's lap, but he doesn't even acknowledge it - hell, he's probably used to it by now.
"Now," Jensen spreads a wide hand across Jared's chin, thumb and forefinger resting lightly against the corners of his mouth. Jared's going to put a stop to this just as soon as he can divert some of the blood back to the language centers of his brain, "Open for me."
A trill of heat runs through Jared's belly at the command, another when Jensen unconsciously displays the gesture again - flash of pink resting just inside the curve of plush lips like Jensen can barely resist licking them. God knows Jared can. When the hell did that happen?
He lets his lips fall open, not quite managing to take his eyes off of Jensen's mouth even when the other man is busy slicking Jared's lips with some of that fruity whateveritis that Jensen's always wearing onstage.
The singer caps the tube of slicky stuff - Jared's already compulsively licking the taste - and turns Jared's head back and forth with his fingers to admire the effect.
"Hotness," he says smugly, then lightning fast, pins Jared's tongue with the tip of a finger. Inside his freakin' mouth! This is an ugly trend. "It's not for you lick," he taps the finger as punctuation and Jared's tongue spasms reflexively at the jolting touch.
The rough whorls of Jensen's fingertip are skin-salty and Jared doesn't realize he's been licking at them until he notices the way Jensen's eyes have slid half-lidded, the green slits hyperfocussed on the space between Jared's lips.
He stops immediately - well, almost immediately, it's kind of nice to be able to get back at Jensen for once, the guy's not usually phased by anything - and mumbles a 'sorry' that comes out as "thorry" around the digit still pinning his tongue.
"Don't be," whispers out of Jensen's mouth sandpaper rough, so low Jared's not sure he was meant to hear it.
Like flipping a switch, Jensen's back with it, his usual stage smile cropping up - not at all like the genuine smile that Jared gets to see sometimes when they're hanging out; the one that injects an alien flood of liquid heat into his chest - and with one deliberate, sinuous roll of his hips - hatehimhatehimhatehimhatehim - he's off Jared's lap and gone.
And that's maybe the weirdest thing of all about spending time with Jensen. Beyond all of the touching and the complete absence of respect for personal boundaries and just maybe a tiny little boy-crush, there are all of these rules and guidelines about exactly how far this whole thing goes between them that Jensen absolutely won't break. It would be really nice to know what they were.
On to Part Two - "And Living In Your Head"
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17 (maybe hard R)
Warnings: AU, lots of cursing, groping, kissing and sexual innuendo (no actual sex yet, but I'm working up to it)
Notes - My first J2. I've been reading bluesoaring's amazing Adam Lambert fic - yeah, shocked the shit out of me too! - over on IJ and kept wanting to be the boys, so now it is. So there. Also, the title's from Spring Awakening because I'm a huge geek and somehow it felt right.
Summary - There's a rumor Jensen Ackles band is cursed. Their new bassist, Jared, just thinks it's that Jensen's a major pain in the ass who can't keep his hands to himself.
There's this rumor that Jensen Ackles band is cursed. Even though his album went platinum early in the year, they've had a rotating roster of musicians and nobody seems to stick around for more than a few months. Of course, there's also the rumor that that's just because Jensen likes to have some 'fresh meat' to play with - the guy's known for molesting his bandmates on stage; the fangirls go crazy for it. Jared's beginning to think maybe the reason people keep quitting is just because the dude's a pain in the ass.
It's a total fluke that Jared even got this audition in the first place; one of those 'knows a guy who knows a guy who used to party with the manager's second cousin' kind of deals. It's been a while since he did more than mess around on his bass with some friends - had basically given up the dream of becoming a 'real' musician a couple of years ago when he took a freelance job with this tech firm - but when he heard through the grapevine that he could get this audition… well, he couldn't resist.
Of course, he hadn't expected to walk into some kind of beige holding pen with a bunch of other guys, all of whom looked like they'd made recent appearances in a glam/grunge wet dream. Suffice to say he was already feeling a little insecure - not that he wasn't a decent enough looking guy, he just hadn't known that walking around semi-nude was part of the job description - before he'd walked onto the actual stage they had set up and heard Ackles say - not even pretending to whisper - "We'd have to get him a stylist". Prick.
The actual playing music part - you know, the thing he as actually here for - had seemed to go pretty well. The manager and a couple of other suits are whispering back and forth with Ackes who looks non-plussed at best - had Jared mentioned the guy's a prick? Because, yeah, prick - and just like that, the big jerk's getting up and climbing onstage with Jared.
For a second he has no clue what's going on, big green eyes staring him down like he'd just simultaneously told Ackles he was a shitty singer and lit the guy's house on fire while kicking some homeless puppies and then wham! Ackles' mouth is right there on top of his, forcing Jared's open on a stunned gasp while this TOTAL STRANGER'S tongue winds all slick and sin-smooth into his mouth and licks around like he owns the place.
Jared's too damn startled to do anything but stand there and take it, his body completely shut down, as Ackles' finger's slide into his hair, force his head to angle that prick wants. The best Jared can manage is to make a muffled yelp noise when the guy decides to suck on his tongue like a lolipop, and do his very best to ignore the slithery little tendrils of heat working its way through his veins. Goddamn responsive body.
When Ackles pulls back - after one quick, hard nip to Jared's bottom lip - those shiny jade eyes are sliding searchingly all over Jared's face and he can't get rid of the image of the dude as a big smug cat watching a mouse; can practically see the jerk's tail flicking back and forth. It doesn't help that Jared can feel himself blushing bright red. He's always done it; whenever he's embarrassed his whole face just turns into one big tomato and he fucking hates it, hates this fucker for making him do it up on stage with people watching.
Then that too-pretty face watching Jared's spits into a grin that looks a lot more like hunger than happiness. He turns to the suits and points at Jared, shouting gleefully like a bratty six-year old, "I want that one!"
And that's how Jared gets his job - a tour! A real tour! His tenth-grade dream come true!
He kinda wishes he could feel happier about it.
***
The rehearsals go better than he thought; turns out The Douchebag - his new mental title for Ackles. Er, Jensen. Whatever - can actually be a professional. Which sort of pisses Jared off more; he was really getting into that whole superior indignation thing he had going.
They've had a couple of quick conversations - about the set list or an arrangement or some new song The Dou… er, Jensen's struggling with - but mostly everybody keeps to themselves. Show up, play the gig, get back on the bus and do it all over again tomorrow. Well, theoretically anyway; tonight is their first actual show of the tour and Jared's spent the last twenty minutes hurling his guts up in the bathroom.
A folded paper towel, damp with warm water, suddenly appears in Jared's field of vision and he takes it, gratefully cleaning himself up.
"You gonna be ok, man?" trickles down from above him on the very last voice he expected to hear. He looks up in shock at The Douchebag's - er, Jensen's - concerned smile. Crap, now the guy had to go and be nice too?
"Yeah," Jared grumbles, reaching up to flush even though there hadn't been anything left to puke up this time. He stands, knees aching slightly from their stint on the cold tile, and tries to become really engrossed with throwing away the paper towel. There weren't nearly as many steps involved as he'd been hoping. "I'll be fine once we're out there. Just nerves y'know?"
Which is a fucktarded question because Jensen Ackles is like the goddamn poster-boy for relaxed self-confidence. That's why Jared's stunned into actually meeting Jensen's eyes when the response he comes out with is,
"More than you could possibly imagine."
It's also why Jared's stupid, traitorous mouth starts running away with him and says "Really?"
Jensen huffs a laugh, runs his fingers through his hair then realizes what he just did and turns around to fix it again in the mirror.
"Oh yeah, man. Every single time."
The reflection grins at Jared and he takes a second to really look at the lead singer for the first time tonight. Jensen's not as done up as Jared would have guessed from some of the publicity photos he's seen; a little smudge of something around his eyes - just a shade darker than the skin so they actually look like they're smoldering - and something shiny on his plump lips that makes them look way too kissable. Or would, you know, if Jared was into kissing guys. Which he's not.
It's kind of hard not to check out Jensen's ass though - just for comparison's sake with his own - especially with the other man leaning over the counter to look at his hair. Those fucking leather pants had to be impossible to put on - it looked like somebody came in and painted them right onto Jensen's skin, and no that was not an appealing thought at all. Maybe this was some new hyper-sexualized, homo-erotic version of stage fright.
The plain black t-shirt was fine though, nothing wrong with admiring a good t-shirt and Jared's actually kind of jealous because he sure as hell doesn't have anything that plain in his newly redone wardrobe. Jensen hadn't been kidding about that stylist thing; there wasn't a single item in Jared's suitcase back on the tour bus that he'd bought for himself, underwear included. He’s still a little bitter, even if he can grudgingly admit that he looks kinda ok - if that whole oversexed glam-punk thing did it for you.
The jeans they'd put him in were at least loose enough to move around in, though he was convinced there was more hole to them than actual fabric. And he felt just fucking naked with nothing but a button-up hanging open around his chest - what was the point of wearing a button-up if you didn't button it? - but the second the stylist had seen him without a shirt, chest-baring had become the order of the day. It had taken him a solid hour to get his face back to a normal color.
He hadn't realized Jensen was done with his hair until the other man waved a broad, ring-studded hand in front of his face.
"Spacin' out on me there, big boy?" he grins. Somehow 'big boy' has become Jared's unofficial nickname. Obviously he had no say in the matter.
"Sorry," he says lamely trying to bring himself out of the fashion-induced stupor. He seriously needed to chug a beer and hit somebody - get a few manly points back.
Jensen produces a pack of breath mints, apparently from thin air - there was literally no way he’d been hiding those in his tight-ass pants - and proffers one to Jared. He accepts with a smiled ‘thank you’ and takes an extra, because he really probably needs it.
"Don't worry," Jensen says softly, hand fever-hot on Jared's abs for half-second, "You're awesome." A quick wink and one of those blinding smiles and then they were being called to the stage. Jared wonders if they have time for one more quick round of hurling.
***
Afterward, Jared can't remember playing out the end of the set. Actually, he can't even remember whether he's still breathing or not. Except he must be breathing, because otherwise there wouldn't be all this nice, red blood to heat up his goddamn girlishly-blushing face. Damn that Douchebag Ackles straight to hell.
He should have known, he should have fucking known that it was going to happen - hell it was like the band's trademark - but still, that was… gratuitous! After all, Jensen had only touched the other guys, a little causal caressing here and there, he hadn't… they hadn't… his goddamn mouth! Again!
His lips were still all slicky from whatever that shit Jensen was wearing and fuck him mother fucking sideways if it didn't taste like strawberries. Strawberries! What the hell!
And then, as if the totally invasive, unwanted, ONSTAGE tongue-fucking hadn't been enough, Jensen had totally palmed Jared's cock! In front of the whole audience! His hand all hot and tight and rough and way too much like the way Jared liked it and that was not only way past the personal boundary line - he's pretty sure he could sue for that shit - but was also completely unnecessary because Jared plays the damn base! It's not like anybody could see what Jensen's hand was actually doing down there anyway. AND it had messed up Jared's part of the song, because how the hell do you play properly when some guy's got his silky-soft, unfairly talented tongue shoved halfway down your throat and his hand rubbing your - totally coincidentally hardening - dick? You don't! And everybody was acting like it was no big deal!
Actually, no, that wasn't true. Ackles was ecstatic about the whole thing; kept going on and on about how awesome it was how Jared looked so shocked - because he was! - and how much the fans had loved it. Which was true, the fans had gone fucking apeshit over it and some of the girls were actually chanting Jared's name by the time they made their way out to the bus - even though it was his first night and how the hell did they even know his name anyway?
That part might have been a little cool. Just a little. But that didn't mean he was anywhere close to forgiving The Douchebag for springing that on him. It would help a whole lot if he lips would stop tingling like they were hungry for more.
***
Jared's decided Jensen has some kind of psychological problem. No shit, right? But yeah, something specific to touching - the guy just can't keep his hands to himself.
Admittedly it's not always a sexy kind of deal. In fact, most of the time he doesn't even seem to notice he's doing it; just sits a little too close, or lets his hands rest on somebody's arm when he's talking to them. Little shit that Jared can't really call him on without being a complete tool. But he still notices it; notices it way more than he'd like actually.
Because Jensen's always around and by that virtue, always touching him and it's starting to royally fuck with Jared's head.
He's sort of gotten used to the being groped onstage - a fact that is in itself incredibly disturbing - and it's a good thing too because Jensen seems to have adopted Jared as his favorite molestee. Jared suspects it has something to do with the blushing - which he still can't stop, even though he knows what's coming now.
Of course, the knowing it's coming has only made Jensen up the ante. For two whole songs during the last gig Jensen never took his hands off Jared - and damn his fucking luck that Jensen figured out how much Jared likes having his nipples played with because, shit! All of that pinching and twisting and fucking spit-slick fingers circling the hard nubs over and over. Between that and Jensen's fingers strumming relentlessly against the swollen cockhead straining against his jeans, Jared had gotten seriously close to losing it in his pants, which seems to have become Jensen's personal mission in life.
There are whole fansites dedicated to this imaginary relationship between the two of them now, as Jensen relishes laughingly pointing out. The guy actually reads the damn fanfiction, much of which now prominently features Jared in various compromising positions. It's a little disturbing. He's seriously considering stealing Jensen's laptop just so he doesn't have to get anymore impromptu readings of Jensen's new favorite stories in pornographic detail, 900-number voice included.
Still, Jared's learned to cope with all the 'fan service' and the slash worship - there's a lot of masturbation involved - and the whole escapade has made him insanely popular with the fans which it turns out doesn't actually get old like you'd think it would. In fact, if the wasn't for this one little problem, he'd probably just laugh off all of the rest of it as par for the course with his job.
The problem is that Jared's body seems to be getting conditioned for this whole 'touchy Jensen' thing.
Within a minute or two of taking the stage - and sometimes before they even leave the dressing room - Jared's hard as a rock now, so by the time Jensen inevitably gets around to mauling him, he's practically whimpering for it. Of course, there's always the thrill of playing with someone great - and he can admit that, artistically at least, Jensen's pretty great - plus the constant friction of his bass rubbing right there and he's pretty sure there's an adrenaline factor in there somewhere too - the whole stage-buzz thing that's only making it worse - but he can't deny that the feeling seems to be getting more and more Jensen-centric.
Just sitting around on the tour bus gets awkward sometimes when Jensen will suddenly decide to come flop over next to Jared - all friendly and non-chalant and freaking touching him again - and Jared's dick gets confused. Because it's an indiscriminate slut apparently, and remembers that Jensen rubs it - all the loyalty of a hungry dog. He's considering faking a medical condition to explain all of his hurried trips to the bathroom.
There's this part of him though, that thinks Jensen knows; that even though off-stage things are perfectly casual and platonic between them, he's doing it on purpose to get a rise - literally - out of Jared. And that's even more concerning.
***
Jared's been alone in his motel room for almost three hours. No word from Jensen and it's annoying that he has to remind himself that that's supposed to make him happy.
They're all in crisis mode right now, or at least the suits are; Jared hasn't really figured out what he's supposed to be doing with himself. The drummer quit. Eight shows into the tour and the guy's just gone. Jared doesn't know why and the chances of anyone bothering to explain it to him are next to nil. The dude was here, now he's not and Jeff, the manager, is scrambling to find a replacement for the stop in Seattle in two days.
Jared's ordered room service he barely touched, a movie he hadn't even pretended to watch and has devolved rapidly into obsessively pacing around the room. Jensen disappeared right after Jeff called to tell them the news - before then he'd been camped out in Jared's room, using those butterfly eyelashes of his to try and convince Jared that it would look really good if he'd let Jensen paint his fingernails navy blue.
That's been happening a lot lately; well, as 'lately' as three weeks into the tour can get. Not the nail painting thing - that was a new step in Jensen's apparent quest to make Jared into a giant woman - but the camping out in Jared's room thing. They spend most of their nights in hotels since there're too many of them to sleep comfortably on the bus -and Jensen bitches non-stop if he has to sleep there anyway - and the singer spends about half of those nights falling asleep on Jared's bed. Not like Jared invites him or anything, he just kind of shows up and Jared was brought up too well to just kick him out. And actually, he's kind of starting to like Jensen, you know, just a little. There are worse people to hang out with, anyway.
And speak of the devil.
Jared's phone judders across the surface of the bedside table where he'd left it, Jensen's voice yelling at him to pick of the damn phone - he never should have let Jensen personalize his ringtone.
"Hey," he answers, then clears his throat to try and sound a little less like he was waiting for Jensen's call like an excited thirteen year old girl or something.
"Heeey," Jensen comes back with, a couple of extra syllables thrown in there for good measure.
"Dude, are you drunk?" Jared snaps. Great now he sounds like his dad.
Jensen's deep, smoky laugh prowls through the phone, crawls right into Jared's ear and slides under his skin. Instead of answering the question, he says, "You remember that coat I got in Chicago?"
That throws Jared way off track. He kicks idly at the balled up sock sitting next to the desk-set, slowly chasing it across the nubbly carpet like a sad, solo game of pick-up soccer.
"Um, the Black. Leather. Trenchcoat? Yeah, somehow that does stand out in my mind." In general he's found playing along with Jensen is a hell of a lot easier than fighting it. The singer makes a sound that might be a moan and it brings up a visual of Jensen laying out on a the bedspread, back arched on a stretch.
"What would you do if I was standing outside your door right now in nothing but that?"
Jared actually trips over his own feet in the middle of the room, sock lost somewhere under the bed.
"A-... Are you?" he whispers stupidly, as if someone's going to overhear. That snakey laugh pours over the line again.
"No. But what if I was?" Jared's really fucking glad Jensen's not out there actually, because it might be a little awkward to explain why that deep timbre in his voice is doing fantastic things for Jared's damn overactive dick. It's seriously like being fourteen again.
"Well," Jared scrubs a hand through his hair, trying to figure out where the hell this is all supposed to be going, "I guess I'd have to let you in before some fangirl ran across you and I had to hear about your brutal rape on the news."
It's a real laugh Jensen let's out this time and in a weird way it's even sexier - or would be, if Jared thought of Jensen as sexy.
"God, you're like the least creative guy ever. Remind me never to have phone sex with you."
"I'll make a note," Jared snarks even as his brain's still twitching around the phrase 'phone sex' in Jensen's voice. There's silence on the line for a minute before Jared finally asks, "Have you heard from Jeff?"
"Yeah," Jensen sighs resignedly, "We're borrowing somebody from some pop band on the label through Portland, try and get something more permanent between now and then."
"Cool," Jared says, tension he didn't realize he was holding oozing out of his shoulders. There's that little bit of silence again and it's not even a challenge to imagine the zoned out look on Jensen's face as he gets wrapped up in the problem again - the dude is surprisingly thoughtful. "Well take some aspirin and sleep on your stomach - don't wanna have some rock and roll cliche obituary."
"Yeah," Jensen sighs again, different from the last one though Jared's not quite sure how, "there's no way to make 'choked to death on his own vomit' sound cool."
"Better than 'choked to death on someone else's vomit'."
"Man, that was so disturbing I'm not even gonna touch it."
"Well, get some sleep then," Jared tries to ignore that achy little twinge in his gut. There's no reason for him not to want to get off the phone.
"Jared?" It comes out so soft Jared's not actually sure he heard it for a second, takes the phone away from his ear to check that they're still connected.
"Yeah?"
"You're not gonna leave, right?" Jensen's voice is still so quiet Jared's straining to hear it, but he catches the words anyway, the hint of something pained behind them. A ridiculous swell of 'need to make it better' bursts through his chest.
"No, Jen. Looks like you're stuck with me," he tries to make it a joke, but the next thing out of Jensen's mouth is still unsteady.
"Promise?" There's something broken in there and a part of Jared just wishes he could see Jensen's face, knows the mask is down and for once he might get a good long look at the guy underneath. He's not sure why he even wants to.
"Cross my heart." It sounds stupid, like a little kid, but he means it more than he even realized before it came out. Jensen makes a little 'hmm' sound and Jared knows in his gut that Jensen's smiling.
"Good night, Jay." He listens to Jensen rustle around on the other end of the phone, probably that little nesting thing he does before he goes to sleep. The dude really is a big freakin' housecat.
"Night, Jen." The line stays open for few seconds longer before Jared finally hangs up.
He flops back on his own bed, watching his long toes bunch and flex in the carpet. There's a very real chance he might be screwed.
***
Jensen straddles Jared's lap with no kind of warning at all, not that the singer ever really gives one. It's like living with a lit firecracker in your back pocket; you know it's gonna go off, the only question is when. He's holding some kind of little makeup pot in his hand and giving Jared the Cheshire cat grin that universally means trouble. Jared's busy trying to will his dick into submission.
"Look up," Jensen flicks his gaze toward the stained tile ceiling of the dressing room in demonstration like Jared was too stupid to understand that instruction. Which he's not, he's just maybe a little hesitant about taking his eyes off of Jensen when his friend's all spread out on his lap wearing that look. The singer widens his eyes like a nudge and Jared finally looks up, moving only his eyes, just like Jensen had showed him.
"Now hold still," Jensen purrs, wiggling his hips in a way that's clearly contrary to the whole holding still concept, even if it does make Jared swelling cock want to cheer, "Gonna make you all pretty, big boy."
Jared can't help but flinch at the first touch of Jensen's thick finger to the corner of his eye. The shorter man chuckles and carefully smears some kind of powder, Jared thinks, deftly around the rim of one eye and then the other while Jared tries to keep them from watering up automatically.
"Nice." Jensen surveys his handiwork, shifting around on Jared's lap to check out all the angles. There's no way he doesn't feel Jared's cock trying to benchpress him up off of Jared's lap, but he doesn't even acknowledge it - hell, he's probably used to it by now.
"Now," Jensen spreads a wide hand across Jared's chin, thumb and forefinger resting lightly against the corners of his mouth. Jared's going to put a stop to this just as soon as he can divert some of the blood back to the language centers of his brain, "Open for me."
A trill of heat runs through Jared's belly at the command, another when Jensen unconsciously displays the gesture again - flash of pink resting just inside the curve of plush lips like Jensen can barely resist licking them. God knows Jared can. When the hell did that happen?
He lets his lips fall open, not quite managing to take his eyes off of Jensen's mouth even when the other man is busy slicking Jared's lips with some of that fruity whateveritis that Jensen's always wearing onstage.
The singer caps the tube of slicky stuff - Jared's already compulsively licking the taste - and turns Jared's head back and forth with his fingers to admire the effect.
"Hotness," he says smugly, then lightning fast, pins Jared's tongue with the tip of a finger. Inside his freakin' mouth! This is an ugly trend. "It's not for you lick," he taps the finger as punctuation and Jared's tongue spasms reflexively at the jolting touch.
The rough whorls of Jensen's fingertip are skin-salty and Jared doesn't realize he's been licking at them until he notices the way Jensen's eyes have slid half-lidded, the green slits hyperfocussed on the space between Jared's lips.
He stops immediately - well, almost immediately, it's kind of nice to be able to get back at Jensen for once, the guy's not usually phased by anything - and mumbles a 'sorry' that comes out as "thorry" around the digit still pinning his tongue.
"Don't be," whispers out of Jensen's mouth sandpaper rough, so low Jared's not sure he was meant to hear it.
Like flipping a switch, Jensen's back with it, his usual stage smile cropping up - not at all like the genuine smile that Jared gets to see sometimes when they're hanging out; the one that injects an alien flood of liquid heat into his chest - and with one deliberate, sinuous roll of his hips - hatehimhatehimhatehimhatehim - he's off Jared's lap and gone.
And that's maybe the weirdest thing of all about spending time with Jensen. Beyond all of the touching and the complete absence of respect for personal boundaries and just maybe a tiny little boy-crush, there are all of these rules and guidelines about exactly how far this whole thing goes between them that Jensen absolutely won't break. It would be really nice to know what they were.
On to Part Two - "And Living In Your Head"