SPN Fic: Meanwhile
Title: Meanwhile
Author: deirdre_c
Pairings: Jared/Jensen, Danneel/Genevieve
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~4,200
Summary: Jensen invites Jared over to christen his new place in Austin, but the evening doesn't go quite as expected.
A/N: Slightly AU. Written for the salt_burn_porn challenge for cherie_morte’s prompt: "Meanwhile, in the boathouse..."
Grateful thanks to tebtosca for her encyclopedic knowledge and to riyku for the lovely and speedy beta (of the parts I had done at the time! Oy!). All remaining errors are mine.
****
In Vancouver…
“Just why is the Throne of Hell so uncomfortable?” Mark mutters under his breath, shifting around as unobtrusively as he can on the wooden seat as the hour ticks past midnight. They’re shooting the same fucking scene for the seventh time, because this week’s director has a stick up his ass the size of Padalecki’s foot.
Kevin Parks-this episode’s A.D., thank all that’s holy-strolls over as they wait for the lighting to reset. “How’s it going?”
“How do you think?” Mark drawls.
“Have you noticed,” Kevin says, leaning against the carven edging of the throne’s arm, “how quiet things are around here without those two bozos underfoot?”
Mark shrugs. He’d been thinking the same thing himself. “It’s bloody boring, is what it is.”
Meanwhile, in the boathouse…
This was such a bad idea. But it was Jared's idea, so Jensen should have expected it.
He originally invited Jared over to christen his new place, figuring they’d chill, watch a Jackie Chan movie, have some pizza. All the stuff they used to do when they’d roomed together in Vancouver a couple years back. The Good Old Days. So maybe all of them weren't good, and some of them were pretty terrible, forcing himself to keep Jared at arm's length regardless of how much he'd wanted him in every possible way. But still, what Jensen wouldn't give to go back.
Austin is as close as he can get.
To be honest, he’s still waiting for Jared to offer some pushback on Jensen following him to Texas, buying a house just down the road. To anyone else, it might seem weird, stalkery. But the minute Jensen had brought it up-as a joke, of course, to be sure no one freaked out-Jared was surprisingly right on board, forwarding him emails with real estate listings and restaurant menus and generally egging him on. Jensen had worried that Jared had moved to Austin to get as far away from him as possible. But it turned out he was happy to drag Jensen along behind.
So now here he is: a proud Texas landholder. And he’s got the biggest dork in three counties playing Wine Pong in his boathouse.
”’C’mon, Jensen’ you said. ’We’re too mature for Beer Pong’ you said.” Jensen mocks Jared’s words from earlier, words that had somehow convinced him that this was a good idea. Back when he was sober and should have known better.
Jared ignores his bitching. Instead, with the tip of his tongue sticking ridiculously from the corner of his mouth, he carefully aims the little white ball in his hand and bounces it. It arcs impressively high, but it lands nowhere near Jensen’s triangle of cups quarter-filled with shiraz.
Fucking shiraz. He glances over at the three and a half empty bottles lining the windowsill. Australia clearly has it in for him.
“Damn.” Jared shuffles over to retrieve the ball from where it’s rolled into the corner. As he leans down to pick it up, he loses his balance, tumbles down onto the floor in a heap of gangly limbs, and starts laughing. It’s that same incandescent laugh which always makes Jensen’s heart feel like it’s too big for his chest.
“Game over, man,” Jensen announces, none-too-steady on his own feet as goes to give Jared a hand up. “Come on. Let’s head back to the main house and start the long, painful trek toward Hangoverville.”
Jared’s not as bulked up as he was back before the stupid wrestling accident-and when Jensen gets seething mad at Osric of all people, you know he’s in a bad way-but even so, he’s a load. Jensen gets a hand under Jared's good arm and hauls.
He's up too suddenly, staggering and grabbing onto Jensen's shirt. Together, both of them go stumbling a few steps backward until Jared hits the wall, Jensen pressed up against him.
Then it’s like every scene they’ve filmed where Sam and Dean get too physical. Every con when Jared finds a reason to wrap Jensen in a gigantic bear hug. Proximity has Jensen hyper-aware of the smell of Jared’s cologne and the breadth of his chest and the way the hollow of his neck glistens with a light sheen of sweat.
He knows he’s waited a beat too long to move back, and quickly glances up at Jared’s face. It’s dim, the only light they’d remembered to turn on earlier shines in from the boathouse’s interior room, but Jensen can see that Jared’s eyes are hot, dark. Jared’s looking at him with an avid expression he’d only imagined seeing-wishful thinking-once or twice over the years. Usually like this. Late at night. After too much booze and too few bystanders.
He doesn’t remember making a conscious decision, but somehow he ends up pushing closer rather than backing away. His hands bury themselves in Jared’s hair, pulling him down, their lips an inch apart. Jensen hesitates, even though it’s all out there now, his big gay secret. He’s got no explanation for this but exactly what it is.
He freezes, waits, waits for Jared’s reaction, barely breathing, but then Jared moves, and they’re kissing, and breathing really isn’t necessary. Jared. Jared is necessary and here and huge and opening his mouth to Jensen’s and bringing his hands up to curl around Jensen’s shoulders, tugging him even closer. Jensen carefully, incredibly slides his tongue into Jared’s mouth, tasting wine and warmth and sex there. It’s a moment Jensen’s fantasized about forever. He never wants it to end. But when Jared pulls back, Jensen lets him go. His stomach is plummeting at the thought that he’s made a terrifying mistake. That Jared will laugh this off, or paper over it, or push past him and walk away and never speak to him again.
Jared only takes a sharp, ragged breath and kisses him again.
It’s more frantic now, and fierce, Jared’s mouth, his lips, his teeth, kisses so unbelievably hot that the contact alone is making Jensen dizzy, making his nerves jangle and sing.
It's perfect, overwhelming, and for awhile Jensen can't think of anything past the slide of their lips. The way Jared winds his tongue around Jensen's like he owns it, the soft sounds he’s making in the back of his throat, how his hips start to thrust, tiny hitches, almost imperceptible, each one ratcheting Jensen’s pulse up a notch. But suddenly Jensen’s conscious of his cock, stiff and thick between them. He shifts his weight, searching-yes-for Jared’s matching erection, now a hard line against Jensen’s hip.
And then Jared’s reaching a hand behind his own head, gripping the collar of his t-shirt. He pulls back just long enough to yank it up over his head, tossing it somewhere to the side, goes back to devouring Jensen’s mouth. Jensen gets his hands between them, skims them up Jared’s bare chest, warm, smooth skin everywhere, under his hands. He cups the muscles of Jared’s pecs, one thumb daring to brush over a taut, perfect nipple. He hears the purr of a zipper sliding down, and this is really- they’re really doing this. That’s the head of Jared’s dick, nudging at Jensen's belly, and that's Jared’s hand groping at Jensen’s ass like he would tear through Jensen’s jeans if he only could.
At last Jensen just has to breathe. He pulls away. Jared does, too. Their chests heave for air in tandem.
It’s another cusp, a decision, and Jensen wants to shove their mouths together again, because he’s sure that one of them will say something that will screw this up if given the chance. Instead he gets distracted by Jared's lips, puffy and slicked up like he'd been sucking cock rather than kissing.
Those lips part. "Please," is all Jared says, his voice urgent and low, almost begging.
***
In California…
It’s late, way past Jeremy’s bedtime, and they’re still stuck in the writers’ room. He didn’t think it was possible for seven people to get blocked all that the same time, but here they are, hours after they started and no closer to figuring out the plots for the filler episodes they’ll need toward the end of the season. Jeremy’s already been shot down on a number of great ideas-the boys bring back Bobby by embedding his soul in a ventriloquist’s dummy, the discovery that Castiel is narcoleptic and the search for a cure, Sam being struck by a mysterious curse which ends up just being food poisoning, something about robots- and he’s sick of being the only one with any useful suggestions.
Jeremy’s head pops up, filled with the best proposal yet. “What about Dean going undercover as the lead singer of a rock band to find out what’s haunting an old theater?” The karaoke thing with Deanmon had been a hit, right? They should stick with what works. Jensen’s so cute when he sings.
“Fine,” someone says wearily. There are defeated grunts of assent. Jeremy writes “ROCK BAND” on the white board and underlines it.
Meanwhile, in the boathouse…
Jensen closes his eyes, breathing in Jared’s scent, which over the years has turned into something that means safety and security to him. He feels like he can’t possibly deserve this-everything that Jared is offering. Things Jensen never dreamed he might have, but couldn’t help wanting. "Are you sure? Jared, you have to be sure."
It kills him to ask, to give Jared an out. Because now that they’ve gotten this far, Jensen needs to see, needs to touch. Needs to put his mouth to the crook of Jared's neck and lap the salt away, to close his eyes and press his face to the hot, firm skin of Jared’s belly, to knead Jared’s thighs in his hands, to spread them open and ease himself into Jared’s body like a true homecoming.
“I mean, can I fuck you? Do you fuck guys?” Jensen blurts awkwardly. “I’ve- I’ve never asked, all this time, never wanted to know- If I couldn’t have you, I didn’t-“
"Hell yes," Jared says, and he cups Jensen's face in his hands and pecks him on the lips, fondly, while dragging him out to the covered porch, toward a huge outdoor-weather sectional that was part of the set the real estate agent convinced him to buy. Bless her and her love of commissions. “It’s been awhile,” Jared continues, “but, yeah. I mean, I want you to fuck me. God, Jensen, I’ve wanted it forever.
Jared drops onto the sofa, looking like a wet dream: bare-chested, his dick peeking obscenely out of the vee of his jeans, his hair falling over his face in a wild mess from Jensen’s grip. He leans back on his hands, arching his back and offering his body like a fucking porn star, and grins up at Jensen. “I never thought I’d get to say this, but, I’m all yours.”
***
On Tumblr…
An artist clicks post and hopes for some likes on her picture of Sam and Dean making out.
Meanwhile, in the boathouse…
“Wait,” Jensen insists, looking down at Jared. “Don’t move. Don’t start… thinking or anything. Wait here.” He turns and runs-well, it’s more like a hobble, given the giant, aching erection he’s sporting-back into the boathouse to find supplies. Fuck if he has what they need, and fuck if he wants to go all the way to the main house. But the gods are smiling on him, because in the bathroom is one of his old travel kits, and tucked inside with the miniature toothpaste and mouthwash and q-tips are a condom and a small packet of lube.
He rushes back to the patio, and when he arrives Jared’s naked, stretched out full-length on the sofa, one hand reaching up over his head to grip the curved wicker arm, the other stroking up and down the impressive length of his cock. Jensen almost comes in his jeans right there at the sight, actually hunches over a little like he's taken a punch to the gut, trying to keep himself together until he can get to the main event.
"Get over here," Jared growls, stopping his slow strokes to reach further down, tugging and fondling the shadowed fullness of his balls. "Before I finish this myself."
"Don't you dare," Jensen replies, throwing his precious find down on the floor next to Jared's jeans and shucking out of his own clothes faster than he ever thought possible.
Jared eases one foot down to the floor to make a perfect space in between his legs. Jensen steps forward, so buoyant inside that a strong breeze from the lake might carry him away, and kneels before Jared, sitting back on his heels, reaching out to run his palm up the soft skin on the inside of Jared's thigh. Jared makes a choked-off sound, and his cock twitches gratifyingly where it stands hard against his stomach, leaving a small smear of precome that shines in the moonlight pouring over them.
Jensen bends down to lap at the spot, then blows across the wet tip of Jared's cock.
"Fuck, Jensen."
He has to taste it, has to trail a hot line up the center vein with his tongue, pressing hard to feel Jared's pulse against the flat of it, caressing the head’s ridge with the point.
"Don't," he hears Jared plead, and Jensen immediately rears back. But Jared's smiling wryly, one hand now tangled his own hair like a lifeline. "I can't-can’t last," he goes on with a groan, "And you promised to fuck me."
"I did," Jensen smiles back, putting a little smirk into it for good measure. He tucks away thought of all the things he wants to do to Jared later. Later. Fuck yes, there will be a later. But right now he's going to do this. They're going to do this.
Jensen reaches down to scoop up the lube, rips open the packet, and squeezes the liquid out to coat his fingers. The other hand he cups under Jared's knee, drawing it carefully up over his shoulder, so that Jared's completely spread out under him. He looks closely at Jared's face but all he sees is his own desperate want and anticipation mirrored back at him.
"I'm gonna open you up now, a'right?" his accent thickening unconsciously with the blood pounding in his ears.
“Yeah,” Jared gasps, “god, yeah.” He cants his hips up a bit more, opening himself a little wider to Jensen's gaze, and Jensen gets to reach down, gets to slip the tip of one slick finger into that tight, furled entrance, feeling the muscle clench and give around him, letting him sink in, all the way in, knuckle deep.
Jensen swallows heavily and drags his finger out, shivering at the whimper that wells up from Jared's throat. He starts to thrust shallowly, turning to mouth blindly at the closest skin available, Jared's leg, his knee.
He slips another finger in, spreads the two apart, coaxing Jared to open, tugging at his rim in a way that makes Jared yelp and writhe. Jensen’s cock is pulsing with the need to bury itself in Jared's flesh, and he fills his lungs deep, once, twice, laboring desperately for patience.
He pulls out and squirts more lube onto his fingers. Jared moans, his hand reaching blindly for some part of Jensen to hold onto, the muscles of his ass clenching and trembling and, fuck patience, Jensen shoves three fingers all the way in, crooking them, rubbing small circles with the tips, soothing and working at the taut skin pulled around them with his thumb.
"Ah. Come on, come on," Jared gasps. "I'm ready. Fuck, please, Jensen. Get in me, come on."
Jensen sits up, dragging Jared's leg up with him so that he's almost bent in two. Jensen’s hands are shaking, and his voice is too as he says, "Oh shit. Wait. The condom."
"Fuck the condom!" Jared grates out, tilting his head back and grinding it into the cushion beneath him in frustration. It bares the long column of his throat, the tendons pulled tight. Jensen wants to bite it, mark it.
And god knows he wants to come inside Jared. Knows he's clean. Knows Jared wouldn't offer if he wasn't. Knows in his bones that he cannot resist.
***
On the Creation Entertainment website…
A group of fans buy a whole row of seats at a Supernatural convention that won’t take place for another ten months.
Meanwhile, in the boathouse…
He lines the tip of his cock up against Jared's hole, carefully, slowly, testing. He pushes, eases himself inside. Jared opens up around him so sweetly, but still, he's so damn tight. Leaning in, a palm planted flat, Jensen gets his weight behind him and presses down, sinking in another hot inch. He's close enough now that Jared can get his hands on him. Jensen’s ready for frantic grasping, a grip to leave bruises, but instead Jared’s long fingers trace delicate patterns over his sides, circling his nipples, skating over his ass. Unerringly, Jared finds every sensitive, almost-ticklish place he didn't even know he had, and keeps touching him until Jensen's shivering, hot and cold racing through his veins. And now he’s thrusting deeper and deeper until finally he's sheathed to the hilt, encased in Jared’s body, Jared’s arms around him. Jensen can feel them tremble. He holds himself still, panting, letting Jared adjust to his intrusion.
“Jensen, Jensen,” Jared repeats his name like a charm, a prayer. He reaches up both hands to cradle Jensen’s face, places open-mouthed, heated kisses, along the line of Jensen’s jaw, his forehead, those wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that Jared knows he hates. And the look Jared gives him-so intense, so adoring-has Jensen curling down to nip and worry at Jared’s shoulder with his teeth just to keep the prickling behind his eyes from turning into something embarrassing.
“Now,” Jared whispers hot in his ear. “You can move now. It’s good.”
And that’s all the encouragement he needs. He draws his hips back just a little and presses them down, letting Jared get used to the sensation, before pulling almost all the way out and thrusting, quick and relentless, back in. The tightness is so fucking good, just enough lube to ease the way, and he does it again, and again, and again, as Jared starts meeting him, palms flat on Jensen’s back, arching his lean hips in perfect counter-time. They slide together in rhythm, fluid, until Jensen pulls Jared just a little closer, lifts his leg a little wider, and he finds the angle that makes Jared jerk like he’s been touched with a live wire.
Everything becomes a blur after that as Jensen drives into that spot inside Jared with abandon, feeling Jared writhe under him, feeling his own orgasm coiling at the base of his spine. He wants to make it last, but there’s just no way. He scrabbles for Jared’s cock, looks down to see it hard as a steel rod in his hand, and jerks it in long, smooth strokes that balance the thrusts he’s pounding into Jared’s ass. He hopes to God that Jared’s close, because Jensen is pretty much in free-fall right now.
“Come for me,” he begs, desperate, dying, “please, come, I need you to, can’t wait, Jay, please come.”
Jared keens in answer, and Jensen feels it before he sees it, the rhythmic clench and release of Jared’s inner walls rippling around him, the way Jared’s dick thickens and bucks in his hand as a surge of pearly, messy come pumps out, spurting all over Jensen’s hand, over Jared’s belly and chest.
He grabs Jared’s hips in both hands then, his every muscle tightening and straining as he slams home again and again.
"Yes, fuck yes, just like that," he hears Jared rasp through the roar of pleasure, and he feels Jared's nimble fingers find his nipple, twisting and pinching, causing hot sparks to shoot through him, like a fuse that burns a straight line to his cock.
“Oh fuck! Jared!” His orgasm explodes over him. He feels as if he might come forever, seizing, shooting deep into Jared’s ass, pulse after pulse, so much warmth and strength holding him, surrounding him.
Jared’s hands soothe up and down his flanks, as his muscles finally unlock and he collapses onto Jared’s chest, plastering them together with sweat and come. Spots are dancing in his vision and he feels like he’s been drained and refilled with champagne, not blood but bubbles floating under his skin. He knows he should pull out, that Jared is going to be sore and stiff after that, but he doesn’t want to separate. Not yet.
“That was unexpected,” Jared says. His hands roam over Jensen’s body, petting his back, his neck, his hair. Jensen melts into it, content and exhausted, not an ounce of energy available for worry about whether unexpected is a good or a bad thing, or about what might happen next.
“Yeah,” Jensen agrees, turning his face into Jared’s neck, breathing deep.
***
In Burbank…
At the regular Friday morning staff meeting, Mark Pedowitz takes his seat about half way down on the right side of the conference room table. He never sits at the head. He thinks this sends a positive message to his underlings, that he’s just “one of the team” or some such bullshit. He spent all of yesterday reviewing uninspired pilot pitches for next fall. His head hurts and his coffee hasn’t kicked in yet.
“So,” he says after everyone finally settles, “what’s it going to cost us to get Ackles and Padalecki to sign on for a few more seasons?”
Meanwhile, in the boathouse…
Jensen wakes up alone on the couch. Maybe Jared got uncomfortable and went back to the main house. More likely he decided this was a massive mistake and fled for home. Jensen’s pressed down into the cleft of the cushions, so he’s pretty sure that he was sharing the space with Jared at least for part of the night, but now the sky is translucent grey with the approach of dawn, and the afghan throw Jensen had dazedly pulled over their entangled bodies covers him alone, and the porch is still and silent.
Silent, that is, until Jensen hears a resounding splash from the end of the dock and, seconds later, Jared’s voice in a muffled, “Christ Almighty, it’s cold!”
Jensen clambers to his feet, taking a second to search for his boxers before simply pulling his jeans on commando and pushing the screen door open. He pads barefoot down the wooden planks toward the water’s edge. The fresh morning air sweeps the cobwebs from his brain and he smiles when he sees Jared floating on his back, naked as a fish.
“What the hell are you doing,” he calls, his voice a little rough around the edges.
“Well,” Jared replies, ducking under and then coming up to smooth his wet hair back out of his face, “I figured you would have a hissy fit of some sort when we woke up. Not sure if you’ll want to kiss me or kill me after what happened last night. So, if you want to throw me out, I’m gonna to make you come in here and get me.”
“I’m not going to throw you out, moron.” Jensen’s grin grows even wider. He definitely heard the word “kiss” in there, and everything else was just blah, blah, blah.
“Then get in here and let me have my wicked way with you some more.”
Leave it to Jared to make everything easy.
Jensen looks around, scanning the lake, but there’re no boaters or fishermen to be seen or to see them. But there is a nice fog settled over the water, it might almost be called romantic. And Jared’s standing there waiting, droplets glistening on his skin like sugar crystals. Jensen shimmies out of his jeans.
“Your wicked way, huh?” he says. “You could be just as wicked inside, you know, where there’s coffee and a hot shower and a bed.”
“Get in here,” Jared demands.
Jensen takes two steps and leaps.
***
In L.A.…
Gen blinks awake when Danneel curls up behind her and throws a thigh over her hip. They’d managed to kick the covers all the way off the bed in the night-she smiles to herself as she thinks about how that came to pass-so Danneel’s body heat feels even nicer than usual.
Danneel has had this place for a while, ever since her and Jensen’s breakup a few years back. And she’d convinced Gen to move in after the divorce. When Gen could no longer deny that that her feelings for Danneel went deeper than friendship.
Gen snuggles back into Danneel’s arms. A lot deeper.
“Hey,” Danneel breathes in her ear.
“Hey. Breakfast?”
“Not yet,” Danneel replies, smoothing a hand along Gen’s arm. Motes of dust dance in the sunbeams sneaking in between the window blinds.
“So, did you hear Jensen bought a place down in Austin? Right near Jared?” Gen asks, wiggling her arm in protest when the petting stops.
“Yeah. Not that surprised. Connected at the hip and all that.” Her hand wanders lower. “Although I do wonder what the two of them are going to find to do down there.”
Gen rolls over and presses Danneel back into the mattress. She’s done talking about the guys. “I’m sure they’ll come up with something.”
Meanwhile, in the boathouse…
Author: deirdre_c
Pairings: Jared/Jensen, Danneel/Genevieve
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~4,200
Summary: Jensen invites Jared over to christen his new place in Austin, but the evening doesn't go quite as expected.
A/N: Slightly AU. Written for the salt_burn_porn challenge for cherie_morte’s prompt: "Meanwhile, in the boathouse..."
Grateful thanks to tebtosca for her encyclopedic knowledge and to riyku for the lovely and speedy beta (of the parts I had done at the time! Oy!). All remaining errors are mine.
****
In Vancouver…
“Just why is the Throne of Hell so uncomfortable?” Mark mutters under his breath, shifting around as unobtrusively as he can on the wooden seat as the hour ticks past midnight. They’re shooting the same fucking scene for the seventh time, because this week’s director has a stick up his ass the size of Padalecki’s foot.
Kevin Parks-this episode’s A.D., thank all that’s holy-strolls over as they wait for the lighting to reset. “How’s it going?”
“How do you think?” Mark drawls.
“Have you noticed,” Kevin says, leaning against the carven edging of the throne’s arm, “how quiet things are around here without those two bozos underfoot?”
Mark shrugs. He’d been thinking the same thing himself. “It’s bloody boring, is what it is.”
Meanwhile, in the boathouse…
This was such a bad idea. But it was Jared's idea, so Jensen should have expected it.
He originally invited Jared over to christen his new place, figuring they’d chill, watch a Jackie Chan movie, have some pizza. All the stuff they used to do when they’d roomed together in Vancouver a couple years back. The Good Old Days. So maybe all of them weren't good, and some of them were pretty terrible, forcing himself to keep Jared at arm's length regardless of how much he'd wanted him in every possible way. But still, what Jensen wouldn't give to go back.
Austin is as close as he can get.
To be honest, he’s still waiting for Jared to offer some pushback on Jensen following him to Texas, buying a house just down the road. To anyone else, it might seem weird, stalkery. But the minute Jensen had brought it up-as a joke, of course, to be sure no one freaked out-Jared was surprisingly right on board, forwarding him emails with real estate listings and restaurant menus and generally egging him on. Jensen had worried that Jared had moved to Austin to get as far away from him as possible. But it turned out he was happy to drag Jensen along behind.
So now here he is: a proud Texas landholder. And he’s got the biggest dork in three counties playing Wine Pong in his boathouse.
”’C’mon, Jensen’ you said. ’We’re too mature for Beer Pong’ you said.” Jensen mocks Jared’s words from earlier, words that had somehow convinced him that this was a good idea. Back when he was sober and should have known better.
Jared ignores his bitching. Instead, with the tip of his tongue sticking ridiculously from the corner of his mouth, he carefully aims the little white ball in his hand and bounces it. It arcs impressively high, but it lands nowhere near Jensen’s triangle of cups quarter-filled with shiraz.
Fucking shiraz. He glances over at the three and a half empty bottles lining the windowsill. Australia clearly has it in for him.
“Damn.” Jared shuffles over to retrieve the ball from where it’s rolled into the corner. As he leans down to pick it up, he loses his balance, tumbles down onto the floor in a heap of gangly limbs, and starts laughing. It’s that same incandescent laugh which always makes Jensen’s heart feel like it’s too big for his chest.
“Game over, man,” Jensen announces, none-too-steady on his own feet as goes to give Jared a hand up. “Come on. Let’s head back to the main house and start the long, painful trek toward Hangoverville.”
Jared’s not as bulked up as he was back before the stupid wrestling accident-and when Jensen gets seething mad at Osric of all people, you know he’s in a bad way-but even so, he’s a load. Jensen gets a hand under Jared's good arm and hauls.
He's up too suddenly, staggering and grabbing onto Jensen's shirt. Together, both of them go stumbling a few steps backward until Jared hits the wall, Jensen pressed up against him.
Then it’s like every scene they’ve filmed where Sam and Dean get too physical. Every con when Jared finds a reason to wrap Jensen in a gigantic bear hug. Proximity has Jensen hyper-aware of the smell of Jared’s cologne and the breadth of his chest and the way the hollow of his neck glistens with a light sheen of sweat.
He knows he’s waited a beat too long to move back, and quickly glances up at Jared’s face. It’s dim, the only light they’d remembered to turn on earlier shines in from the boathouse’s interior room, but Jensen can see that Jared’s eyes are hot, dark. Jared’s looking at him with an avid expression he’d only imagined seeing-wishful thinking-once or twice over the years. Usually like this. Late at night. After too much booze and too few bystanders.
He doesn’t remember making a conscious decision, but somehow he ends up pushing closer rather than backing away. His hands bury themselves in Jared’s hair, pulling him down, their lips an inch apart. Jensen hesitates, even though it’s all out there now, his big gay secret. He’s got no explanation for this but exactly what it is.
He freezes, waits, waits for Jared’s reaction, barely breathing, but then Jared moves, and they’re kissing, and breathing really isn’t necessary. Jared. Jared is necessary and here and huge and opening his mouth to Jensen’s and bringing his hands up to curl around Jensen’s shoulders, tugging him even closer. Jensen carefully, incredibly slides his tongue into Jared’s mouth, tasting wine and warmth and sex there. It’s a moment Jensen’s fantasized about forever. He never wants it to end. But when Jared pulls back, Jensen lets him go. His stomach is plummeting at the thought that he’s made a terrifying mistake. That Jared will laugh this off, or paper over it, or push past him and walk away and never speak to him again.
Jared only takes a sharp, ragged breath and kisses him again.
It’s more frantic now, and fierce, Jared’s mouth, his lips, his teeth, kisses so unbelievably hot that the contact alone is making Jensen dizzy, making his nerves jangle and sing.
It's perfect, overwhelming, and for awhile Jensen can't think of anything past the slide of their lips. The way Jared winds his tongue around Jensen's like he owns it, the soft sounds he’s making in the back of his throat, how his hips start to thrust, tiny hitches, almost imperceptible, each one ratcheting Jensen’s pulse up a notch. But suddenly Jensen’s conscious of his cock, stiff and thick between them. He shifts his weight, searching-yes-for Jared’s matching erection, now a hard line against Jensen’s hip.
And then Jared’s reaching a hand behind his own head, gripping the collar of his t-shirt. He pulls back just long enough to yank it up over his head, tossing it somewhere to the side, goes back to devouring Jensen’s mouth. Jensen gets his hands between them, skims them up Jared’s bare chest, warm, smooth skin everywhere, under his hands. He cups the muscles of Jared’s pecs, one thumb daring to brush over a taut, perfect nipple. He hears the purr of a zipper sliding down, and this is really- they’re really doing this. That’s the head of Jared’s dick, nudging at Jensen's belly, and that's Jared’s hand groping at Jensen’s ass like he would tear through Jensen’s jeans if he only could.
At last Jensen just has to breathe. He pulls away. Jared does, too. Their chests heave for air in tandem.
It’s another cusp, a decision, and Jensen wants to shove their mouths together again, because he’s sure that one of them will say something that will screw this up if given the chance. Instead he gets distracted by Jared's lips, puffy and slicked up like he'd been sucking cock rather than kissing.
Those lips part. "Please," is all Jared says, his voice urgent and low, almost begging.
***
In California…
It’s late, way past Jeremy’s bedtime, and they’re still stuck in the writers’ room. He didn’t think it was possible for seven people to get blocked all that the same time, but here they are, hours after they started and no closer to figuring out the plots for the filler episodes they’ll need toward the end of the season. Jeremy’s already been shot down on a number of great ideas-the boys bring back Bobby by embedding his soul in a ventriloquist’s dummy, the discovery that Castiel is narcoleptic and the search for a cure, Sam being struck by a mysterious curse which ends up just being food poisoning, something about robots- and he’s sick of being the only one with any useful suggestions.
Jeremy’s head pops up, filled with the best proposal yet. “What about Dean going undercover as the lead singer of a rock band to find out what’s haunting an old theater?” The karaoke thing with Deanmon had been a hit, right? They should stick with what works. Jensen’s so cute when he sings.
“Fine,” someone says wearily. There are defeated grunts of assent. Jeremy writes “ROCK BAND” on the white board and underlines it.
Meanwhile, in the boathouse…
Jensen closes his eyes, breathing in Jared’s scent, which over the years has turned into something that means safety and security to him. He feels like he can’t possibly deserve this-everything that Jared is offering. Things Jensen never dreamed he might have, but couldn’t help wanting. "Are you sure? Jared, you have to be sure."
It kills him to ask, to give Jared an out. Because now that they’ve gotten this far, Jensen needs to see, needs to touch. Needs to put his mouth to the crook of Jared's neck and lap the salt away, to close his eyes and press his face to the hot, firm skin of Jared’s belly, to knead Jared’s thighs in his hands, to spread them open and ease himself into Jared’s body like a true homecoming.
“I mean, can I fuck you? Do you fuck guys?” Jensen blurts awkwardly. “I’ve- I’ve never asked, all this time, never wanted to know- If I couldn’t have you, I didn’t-“
"Hell yes," Jared says, and he cups Jensen's face in his hands and pecks him on the lips, fondly, while dragging him out to the covered porch, toward a huge outdoor-weather sectional that was part of the set the real estate agent convinced him to buy. Bless her and her love of commissions. “It’s been awhile,” Jared continues, “but, yeah. I mean, I want you to fuck me. God, Jensen, I’ve wanted it forever.
Jared drops onto the sofa, looking like a wet dream: bare-chested, his dick peeking obscenely out of the vee of his jeans, his hair falling over his face in a wild mess from Jensen’s grip. He leans back on his hands, arching his back and offering his body like a fucking porn star, and grins up at Jensen. “I never thought I’d get to say this, but, I’m all yours.”
***
On Tumblr…
An artist clicks post and hopes for some likes on her picture of Sam and Dean making out.
Meanwhile, in the boathouse…
“Wait,” Jensen insists, looking down at Jared. “Don’t move. Don’t start… thinking or anything. Wait here.” He turns and runs-well, it’s more like a hobble, given the giant, aching erection he’s sporting-back into the boathouse to find supplies. Fuck if he has what they need, and fuck if he wants to go all the way to the main house. But the gods are smiling on him, because in the bathroom is one of his old travel kits, and tucked inside with the miniature toothpaste and mouthwash and q-tips are a condom and a small packet of lube.
He rushes back to the patio, and when he arrives Jared’s naked, stretched out full-length on the sofa, one hand reaching up over his head to grip the curved wicker arm, the other stroking up and down the impressive length of his cock. Jensen almost comes in his jeans right there at the sight, actually hunches over a little like he's taken a punch to the gut, trying to keep himself together until he can get to the main event.
"Get over here," Jared growls, stopping his slow strokes to reach further down, tugging and fondling the shadowed fullness of his balls. "Before I finish this myself."
"Don't you dare," Jensen replies, throwing his precious find down on the floor next to Jared's jeans and shucking out of his own clothes faster than he ever thought possible.
Jared eases one foot down to the floor to make a perfect space in between his legs. Jensen steps forward, so buoyant inside that a strong breeze from the lake might carry him away, and kneels before Jared, sitting back on his heels, reaching out to run his palm up the soft skin on the inside of Jared's thigh. Jared makes a choked-off sound, and his cock twitches gratifyingly where it stands hard against his stomach, leaving a small smear of precome that shines in the moonlight pouring over them.
Jensen bends down to lap at the spot, then blows across the wet tip of Jared's cock.
"Fuck, Jensen."
He has to taste it, has to trail a hot line up the center vein with his tongue, pressing hard to feel Jared's pulse against the flat of it, caressing the head’s ridge with the point.
"Don't," he hears Jared plead, and Jensen immediately rears back. But Jared's smiling wryly, one hand now tangled his own hair like a lifeline. "I can't-can’t last," he goes on with a groan, "And you promised to fuck me."
"I did," Jensen smiles back, putting a little smirk into it for good measure. He tucks away thought of all the things he wants to do to Jared later. Later. Fuck yes, there will be a later. But right now he's going to do this. They're going to do this.
Jensen reaches down to scoop up the lube, rips open the packet, and squeezes the liquid out to coat his fingers. The other hand he cups under Jared's knee, drawing it carefully up over his shoulder, so that Jared's completely spread out under him. He looks closely at Jared's face but all he sees is his own desperate want and anticipation mirrored back at him.
"I'm gonna open you up now, a'right?" his accent thickening unconsciously with the blood pounding in his ears.
“Yeah,” Jared gasps, “god, yeah.” He cants his hips up a bit more, opening himself a little wider to Jensen's gaze, and Jensen gets to reach down, gets to slip the tip of one slick finger into that tight, furled entrance, feeling the muscle clench and give around him, letting him sink in, all the way in, knuckle deep.
Jensen swallows heavily and drags his finger out, shivering at the whimper that wells up from Jared's throat. He starts to thrust shallowly, turning to mouth blindly at the closest skin available, Jared's leg, his knee.
He slips another finger in, spreads the two apart, coaxing Jared to open, tugging at his rim in a way that makes Jared yelp and writhe. Jensen’s cock is pulsing with the need to bury itself in Jared's flesh, and he fills his lungs deep, once, twice, laboring desperately for patience.
He pulls out and squirts more lube onto his fingers. Jared moans, his hand reaching blindly for some part of Jensen to hold onto, the muscles of his ass clenching and trembling and, fuck patience, Jensen shoves three fingers all the way in, crooking them, rubbing small circles with the tips, soothing and working at the taut skin pulled around them with his thumb.
"Ah. Come on, come on," Jared gasps. "I'm ready. Fuck, please, Jensen. Get in me, come on."
Jensen sits up, dragging Jared's leg up with him so that he's almost bent in two. Jensen’s hands are shaking, and his voice is too as he says, "Oh shit. Wait. The condom."
"Fuck the condom!" Jared grates out, tilting his head back and grinding it into the cushion beneath him in frustration. It bares the long column of his throat, the tendons pulled tight. Jensen wants to bite it, mark it.
And god knows he wants to come inside Jared. Knows he's clean. Knows Jared wouldn't offer if he wasn't. Knows in his bones that he cannot resist.
***
On the Creation Entertainment website…
A group of fans buy a whole row of seats at a Supernatural convention that won’t take place for another ten months.
Meanwhile, in the boathouse…
He lines the tip of his cock up against Jared's hole, carefully, slowly, testing. He pushes, eases himself inside. Jared opens up around him so sweetly, but still, he's so damn tight. Leaning in, a palm planted flat, Jensen gets his weight behind him and presses down, sinking in another hot inch. He's close enough now that Jared can get his hands on him. Jensen’s ready for frantic grasping, a grip to leave bruises, but instead Jared’s long fingers trace delicate patterns over his sides, circling his nipples, skating over his ass. Unerringly, Jared finds every sensitive, almost-ticklish place he didn't even know he had, and keeps touching him until Jensen's shivering, hot and cold racing through his veins. And now he’s thrusting deeper and deeper until finally he's sheathed to the hilt, encased in Jared’s body, Jared’s arms around him. Jensen can feel them tremble. He holds himself still, panting, letting Jared adjust to his intrusion.
“Jensen, Jensen,” Jared repeats his name like a charm, a prayer. He reaches up both hands to cradle Jensen’s face, places open-mouthed, heated kisses, along the line of Jensen’s jaw, his forehead, those wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that Jared knows he hates. And the look Jared gives him-so intense, so adoring-has Jensen curling down to nip and worry at Jared’s shoulder with his teeth just to keep the prickling behind his eyes from turning into something embarrassing.
“Now,” Jared whispers hot in his ear. “You can move now. It’s good.”
And that’s all the encouragement he needs. He draws his hips back just a little and presses them down, letting Jared get used to the sensation, before pulling almost all the way out and thrusting, quick and relentless, back in. The tightness is so fucking good, just enough lube to ease the way, and he does it again, and again, and again, as Jared starts meeting him, palms flat on Jensen’s back, arching his lean hips in perfect counter-time. They slide together in rhythm, fluid, until Jensen pulls Jared just a little closer, lifts his leg a little wider, and he finds the angle that makes Jared jerk like he’s been touched with a live wire.
Everything becomes a blur after that as Jensen drives into that spot inside Jared with abandon, feeling Jared writhe under him, feeling his own orgasm coiling at the base of his spine. He wants to make it last, but there’s just no way. He scrabbles for Jared’s cock, looks down to see it hard as a steel rod in his hand, and jerks it in long, smooth strokes that balance the thrusts he’s pounding into Jared’s ass. He hopes to God that Jared’s close, because Jensen is pretty much in free-fall right now.
“Come for me,” he begs, desperate, dying, “please, come, I need you to, can’t wait, Jay, please come.”
Jared keens in answer, and Jensen feels it before he sees it, the rhythmic clench and release of Jared’s inner walls rippling around him, the way Jared’s dick thickens and bucks in his hand as a surge of pearly, messy come pumps out, spurting all over Jensen’s hand, over Jared’s belly and chest.
He grabs Jared’s hips in both hands then, his every muscle tightening and straining as he slams home again and again.
"Yes, fuck yes, just like that," he hears Jared rasp through the roar of pleasure, and he feels Jared's nimble fingers find his nipple, twisting and pinching, causing hot sparks to shoot through him, like a fuse that burns a straight line to his cock.
“Oh fuck! Jared!” His orgasm explodes over him. He feels as if he might come forever, seizing, shooting deep into Jared’s ass, pulse after pulse, so much warmth and strength holding him, surrounding him.
Jared’s hands soothe up and down his flanks, as his muscles finally unlock and he collapses onto Jared’s chest, plastering them together with sweat and come. Spots are dancing in his vision and he feels like he’s been drained and refilled with champagne, not blood but bubbles floating under his skin. He knows he should pull out, that Jared is going to be sore and stiff after that, but he doesn’t want to separate. Not yet.
“That was unexpected,” Jared says. His hands roam over Jensen’s body, petting his back, his neck, his hair. Jensen melts into it, content and exhausted, not an ounce of energy available for worry about whether unexpected is a good or a bad thing, or about what might happen next.
“Yeah,” Jensen agrees, turning his face into Jared’s neck, breathing deep.
***
In Burbank…
At the regular Friday morning staff meeting, Mark Pedowitz takes his seat about half way down on the right side of the conference room table. He never sits at the head. He thinks this sends a positive message to his underlings, that he’s just “one of the team” or some such bullshit. He spent all of yesterday reviewing uninspired pilot pitches for next fall. His head hurts and his coffee hasn’t kicked in yet.
“So,” he says after everyone finally settles, “what’s it going to cost us to get Ackles and Padalecki to sign on for a few more seasons?”
Meanwhile, in the boathouse…
Jensen wakes up alone on the couch. Maybe Jared got uncomfortable and went back to the main house. More likely he decided this was a massive mistake and fled for home. Jensen’s pressed down into the cleft of the cushions, so he’s pretty sure that he was sharing the space with Jared at least for part of the night, but now the sky is translucent grey with the approach of dawn, and the afghan throw Jensen had dazedly pulled over their entangled bodies covers him alone, and the porch is still and silent.
Silent, that is, until Jensen hears a resounding splash from the end of the dock and, seconds later, Jared’s voice in a muffled, “Christ Almighty, it’s cold!”
Jensen clambers to his feet, taking a second to search for his boxers before simply pulling his jeans on commando and pushing the screen door open. He pads barefoot down the wooden planks toward the water’s edge. The fresh morning air sweeps the cobwebs from his brain and he smiles when he sees Jared floating on his back, naked as a fish.
“What the hell are you doing,” he calls, his voice a little rough around the edges.
“Well,” Jared replies, ducking under and then coming up to smooth his wet hair back out of his face, “I figured you would have a hissy fit of some sort when we woke up. Not sure if you’ll want to kiss me or kill me after what happened last night. So, if you want to throw me out, I’m gonna to make you come in here and get me.”
“I’m not going to throw you out, moron.” Jensen’s grin grows even wider. He definitely heard the word “kiss” in there, and everything else was just blah, blah, blah.
“Then get in here and let me have my wicked way with you some more.”
Leave it to Jared to make everything easy.
Jensen looks around, scanning the lake, but there’re no boaters or fishermen to be seen or to see them. But there is a nice fog settled over the water, it might almost be called romantic. And Jared’s standing there waiting, droplets glistening on his skin like sugar crystals. Jensen shimmies out of his jeans.
“Your wicked way, huh?” he says. “You could be just as wicked inside, you know, where there’s coffee and a hot shower and a bed.”
“Get in here,” Jared demands.
Jensen takes two steps and leaps.
***
In L.A.…
Gen blinks awake when Danneel curls up behind her and throws a thigh over her hip. They’d managed to kick the covers all the way off the bed in the night-she smiles to herself as she thinks about how that came to pass-so Danneel’s body heat feels even nicer than usual.
Danneel has had this place for a while, ever since her and Jensen’s breakup a few years back. And she’d convinced Gen to move in after the divorce. When Gen could no longer deny that that her feelings for Danneel went deeper than friendship.
Gen snuggles back into Danneel’s arms. A lot deeper.
“Hey,” Danneel breathes in her ear.
“Hey. Breakfast?”
“Not yet,” Danneel replies, smoothing a hand along Gen’s arm. Motes of dust dance in the sunbeams sneaking in between the window blinds.
“So, did you hear Jensen bought a place down in Austin? Right near Jared?” Gen asks, wiggling her arm in protest when the petting stops.
“Yeah. Not that surprised. Connected at the hip and all that.” Her hand wanders lower. “Although I do wonder what the two of them are going to find to do down there.”
Gen rolls over and presses Danneel back into the mattress. She’s done talking about the guys. “I’m sure they’ll come up with something.”
Meanwhile, in the boathouse…