New J2 story: The Places You Will Be From
The Places You Will Be From
J2, PG, 5203 wds
Summary: Jensen moves in on a Friday.
Notes: I wrote this for teand's birthday a long while ago, and then I sent it to her, but didn't post it at that time, under the theory that the world at large had enough 'J2 move in together' stories already. But you know. Maybe I was wrong about that, because I sure love to read them myself. *g* Huge thanks to luzdeestrellas, girlmostlikely and killabeez, who read the first (awful) draft of this and helped me get back on track.
The Places You Will Be From
by Destina
for Teand
Jensen moves in on a Friday morning, dragging two suitcases, a piss-green duffel, and a torn, beaten-up box.
"Dude," Jared says, as he held the door open and tries to prevent Harley from eating Jensen's knees in his excitement, "where is the rest of your stuff?"
"Already here." Jensen looks at Jared as if he's a moron who's forgotten the entire garage is stuffed full of boxes and furniture from Jensen's old apartment. Then he drops his junk and caves in to Harley's incessant demands for love, permitting the face-snorfling Harley lives for. Jared grins, kicks Jensen's suitcases the last inch into the foyer, and closes the door.
Then he catches sight of the picture on the side of the ratty box. "Hey. Is that an air mattress?"
"Well, yeah." Jensen slips his sunglasses off and stares up at Jared, while steadfastly ignoring Harley humping his arm. "I know you didn't think I was going to sleep on that floor, man. Do you have any idea what these dogs get up to in there while you're gone?"
The truth is, it hasn't even occurred to Jared that Jensen would need a bed, and he suddenly feels like the world's biggest ass. Jensen had been sleeping on his couch for years, and that was just how it was. Jensen moving in, though...Jared's still getting used to all the things that are going to be different. Any other guest in his house, he'd have made sure they had a bed, sheets, curtains, the whole deal, but he was so damn glad Jensen had given in on being roommates that it hadn't crossed his mind. "Tomorrow I'll go buy you a bed," he says, but Jensen instantly frowns in that way that tells Jared he's just made a serious mistake.
"So I'm company now? What the hell, Jared?"
"No!" Jared sighs. "That's not what I meant, man. But you can't sleep on that thing!"
Jensen pats the bedraggled box fondly. "It's comfy. We've been through a lot together, me and this mattress. I'll be fine." He stands up and gives Jared the eye. "We talked about this, Jared - either I pay half like any other roommate, or I'm out of here, man. I don't need you to buy me stink-ass lavender guest soaps."
"Good thing," Jared said. He loops an arm around Jensen's shoulders and shakes him happily. "You stink enough already."
"Ha, ha." Jensen claps his hands together and rubs them eagerly. "Now where's the beer?"
"Buy your own, you fucking mooch. What, you think you're some guest or somethin'?"
Jensen's out-loud laughter sets Harley's tail to wagging, and brings Sadie running to get in on the fun. Jared looks at Jensen, a slow smile spreading across his face. It's been a hard summer, long days on the Friday the 13th shoot, and breaking up with Sandy, and he's just...he's missed this. Missed Jensen like crazy.
They set about getting used to each other, and for the most part it's easy, because they're always in each others' space anyway. Jensen steals Jared's milk and his cereal, and replaces it with health-conscious granola, like he's trying to convince himself it's a better alternative. Jensen always sits down on the couch wherever Jared was last, claiming it's 'warmer there', so Jared just sits on him and they wrestle for the most comfortable cushions.
There are a few things, though, that make Jared worry. Jensen never seemed to have a problem leaving socks and hoodies and empty beer cans strewn across Jared's house when he was over there five nights a week, hanging out and eating all Jared's leftovers. Now that they live in the same space, Jensen is weirdly respectful. All his guitar books and CDs actually disappear from the living room; Jared would be hard-pressed to find any of Jensen's books outside of his actual room, and even the stuff in the downstairs bathroom is neatly stowed in a leather travel kit. Jensen walks around picking up after himself and randomly cleaning whatever's handy, and for Jared, that's just crazy-making.
Jared puts up with it for about one full day, but the absence of dust on the stereo speakers is downright alarming, and those jars in the refrigerator did not just arrange themselves into straight lines late at night when no one was looking.
"Hey," Jared says, when Jensen picks up the mail on the table, squares the edges, and stuffs it into a basket on the bookcase. "Leave that, okay?"
"What?" Jensen blinks at him, and turns the basket so it's centered on the shelf.
Jared sinks down into the couch with his beer resting on his knee and sighs. "You keep that up, I'm'a make you wear one of those French maid outfits. Because at least then you'd be a pretty maid, instead of...whatever you are now, man. Pretty ain't it." Jensen's half-sipped beer is on the coffee table; Jared nudges it toward him with one socked toe, an unsubtle hint.
Jensen looks mildly offended, but he comes back to collect his beer and sits down beside Jared on the couch. He's a little tense, which Jared can't really account for, but he figures Jensen's had a rough summer, too. Jensen doesn't mention Daneel daily the way he used to, and he looks tired all the time, like he can't seem to get caught up.
"Just seems like I should be doing something to help out," Jensen says quietly.
"Clean my toilet, then," Jared says. "But stop murdering the damn dust mites. They never did anything to you." When Jensen snorts, Jared nudges him with one shoulder. "This is home now, Jen. Your home, right? So relax."
With a nod, Jensen flashes him a look of reluctant gratitude. Jared's not done with him yet; if he catches him in the act of washing a single dish, he's going to beat him silly. But he doesn't say that to Jensen, because he thinks maybe Jensen gets it now. Maybe. Jared's going to leave five bags of open chips out on the counter later. Just a test.
They sit quietly for a little while, Jared's feet up on the coffee table, bouncing erratically while the sports scores trail across the screen as Jensen polishes off his beer. Jensen's warm and familiar at Jared's side, and Jared likes this, the easiness of it, the idea that Jensen isn't going anywhere at the end of the day, that he won't be bringing out blankets for the couch.
He dozes off with a smile on his face, his knee snugged up against Jensen's, one hand resting palm-up on Jensen's knee.
**
Jensen isn't sleeping well.
Jared shouldn't really know that, but that damned air mattress tells him everything, because it gives off air like a giant farting every time Jensen shifts around on it. And Jensen shifts a lot; in the first few hours of every night, he rolls around on that thing enough to make it groan constantly into the stark silence of the house. The dogs whine every time, too, and once or twice they fart in sympathy, which causes Jared to bury his face in the pillow to smother his laughter.
Each morning, he puts on the coffee and stops in the doorway of Jensen's room. Usually Jensen's asleep, finally, his face turned to one side and his arm half on the mattress, half on the floor, toes poking out from beneath the soft peach comforter Jared loaned him. Watching Jen like this, it's peaceful, like they're in their own little world, and sometimes Jared has the urge to close the door and let Jensen sleep, keep the world out a while longer.
But this particular day, they're due on set early for the first day of shooting - so he sends Sadie in to nibble Jensen's toes, which he figures is a fair compromise, and better than being ripped out of sleep by that four-dollar alarm clock Jensen has right next to his head.
"Wha," Jensen mumbles, kicking his feet gently back toward the source of the lapping tongue.
"Mmm, baby, your toes are so tasty," Jared says, his voice low, and takes a giant slurp of his coffee.
Jensen sniffs in a huge whiff of air, probably meant for a yawn, and then sighs out a rumbling laugh instead. He retracts his feet beneath the blanket and Sadie wags her tail, because that must mean Jensen's going to get up any second and pet her. "Your dog is disgusting," he says, turning on his side to look up at Jared.
"I dunno," Jared says, pleasantly caught in that focused green stare. "I think she thinks she's your dog, man."
"Yeah," Jensen says. He scratches his belly beneath the ratty grey T-shirt. Jared watches his hand disappear beneath, watches it slide up, and averts his eyes suddenly when bare skin appears in its wake. "I can see how she'd make that mistake, seeing as how she just made breakfast out of my foot."
"Oh, hey, breakfast." Jared shakes the hair out of his eyes. "I made some bacon. It's on a towel by the stove."
"Just bacon?" Jensen sits up, pulls the shirt over his head, and throws it over Sadie, who yelps with delight and bounces around, trying to dislodge it. "None of the other food groups?"
"Dead pig and caffeine, what more do you need?" Jared calls over his shoulder on his way out.
Their new driver shows up at oh-dark-thirty, giant black SUV idling quietly in front of the garage. Jared heads out to meet him, yawning hugely, and grins when the guy pops out to open the back passenger door. "Hey, I'm Jared," he says, sticking out his hand.
"Cooper," the driver says. "Call me Coop. Great to meet you." He's wearing the standard black suit and skinny black tie, but his hair sticks up in east-west tufts, and his handshake is the crushing, friendly kind. Jared likes him right away.
"Can I bring you out a cup of coffee?" Jared points back to the door. "It's gonna be a few minutes yet."
"Oh, sorry," Coop says. He glances at his watch. "The dispatcher told me you're always ready pretty much on time." He doesn't say unlike most stars, but it makes Jared grin anyway.
"I'm good, but-"
Just then, Jensen bursts out of the door, one arm in a hoodie and one out, a pencil between his teeth, script in one hand and travel mug in the other. "Hold this," he says to Jared, shoving the coffee cup at him. "Hey, I'm Jensen," he says, smiling at Coop.
After a moment, Coop seems to recover enough to shake Jensen's hand vigorously, and Jared realizes: this guy was expecting to pick Jensen up at the apartment, because neither of them told the studio about the new arrangements. God only knows what he thinks now. He bites down on a laugh.
"You got everything?" he asks Jensen, who is struggling to shove his arm into his sleeve. He plucks the pencil from Jensen's mouth, wrinkling his nose a bit at the drool, and stuffs it in his back pocket.
"Need my hat," Jensen says. "And my snacks."
"He's not usually this high-maintenance," Jared tells Coop apologetically, and is rewarded with a knuckle punch to the shoulder as a result. "Ow!"
"I'm not high maintenance at all, I just can't find anything right now!" Jensen finally gets the hoodie on and zips it; he reclaims his coffee and stuffs the script under his arm. "Just moved in," he tells Coop, apparently oblivious to the stunned look on his face, and climbs into the car.
"Gotta grab my keys," Jared says.
"Get my hat, too, bitch!" Jensen hollers out at Jared, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Um," Coop says. He shifts from foot to foot, quirks a half-smile at Jared, and gets in the driver's seat.
Jared makes it all the way into the house before he lets out that laugh, and he keeps snickering the entire time he's searching for Jensen's stupid beanie and his half-eaten bag of Chex mix. When he finds them, he leans against the doorway for a second, gathering up his keys and his composure, and then he closes the door quietly behind him. Wouldn't do to keep Coop waiting after the trauma he's just suffered.
He tosses the hat at Jensen, shoves him over, and climbs in the back of the car.
"Where was it?" Jensen asks.
"Under my pillow," Jared says, fishing out a handful of Chex mix.
Jensen pulls the beanie open and sniffs inside it suspiciously.
Coop reaches over to his panel and quietly raises the window between diver and passengers.
**
The thing is, compartmentalization and a sense of humor only get Jared so far.
Everyone and their brother has weighed in on their living arrangements. Jared could care less about any of it because he and Jensen are where they want to be, and it feels right. But there's a little voice in the back of Jared's head, asking him some really annoying questions. He thought he'd heard the last of that voice the day after he met Jensen, when he locked it in a cupboard in the back of his brain and turned down the volume. Mostly that voice is quiet, but some days, it blares on with the force of a foghorn.
Like, for instance, on Sunday mornings when Jensen comes out of his room sleepy and warm, and stands next to Jared at the kitchen counter while Jared looks out the kitchen window and Jensen pops in some toast. Their arms touch, and Jared's perfectly contented for about five seconds until that little voice screams, why now, Jared? Why wait until Sandy is out of the picture to ask him to move in? He drowns it with coffee and smothers it with Danish and scrambled eggs, and pretends he never heard it to begin with.
Or on Monday nights, which are usually one of the worst days in the shooting schedule. Most times they stumble in the door and grab a beer, and then they sit, staring into space, contemplating whether or not the money is actually worth the hours they put in. Sometimes they play games, but mostly Jared wants to hear Jensen sing, and he's shameless about it. So Jensen will get his guitar and strum out a melody, voice cracking hoarse with tiredness and overuse, and Jared will watch him greedily. He watches Jensen's long fingers cross the strings; he notices the way Jensen ducks his head and smiles when he knows Jared's eyes are on him.
And the little voice in Jared's head says, why are you thinking about the curve of his neck, Jared? Why do you want to know whether he's ticklish there?
He hates that goddamned little voice.
It won't shut up, no matter what he does. They've been roommates for about a month when Jared dumps some kibble on the horror of an air mattress and sends Sadie and Harley in to do what Jensen doesn't have the balls to do. Jensen comes home to find the deflated mattress in shreds and the dogs wallowing happily in the mess, and he turns accusing eyes on Jared.
Which is when the little voice chirps, Hey, Jared, your bed is big enough for both of you. Right?
"They did it," Jared says immediately, pointing to the dogs, who thump their tails in expectation of treats.
"Right," Jensen says. He sighs. "Now I'll have to buy an actual bed."
Jensen looks good in blue, Jared. Aren't your sheets blue?
Jared makes a strangled noise, which gets Jensen right there in close to him, which is not what he wanted at all. "Hey, man, I wasn't accusing you of ripping up the bed," Jensen says, his eyes dark with apology, which of course only makes it worse.
"I kind of did," Jared says, his face mashing itself up into what is probably a not-all-that-contrite look of apology. "I just...Jen, seriously. You need a real bed. This isn't some hostel. People are going to think I'm trying to get you out, not bring you in."
"What the hell do you care what anyone thinks?" Jensen is just way too close to him, and he smells like that glue they used on the fake motel wallpaper on set, and the strong spicy scent of Jared's soap (it comes in ten-packs, so what if Jensen stole five of them?), and there are still smudges of dirt on his face, and more than anything ever in the universe, Jared wants to wet his thumb and run it across Jensen's skin, erase those marks.
He shoves his hand in his pocket. "I only care that you get it," he says softly. "If this is home, it needs to be home."
Jensen regards him a moment, his eyes incredibly green, and then he seems to come to some kind of decision. "Okay," he says, just as softly.
The little voice, for once, is miraculously silent. Which is okay, because Jared is so busy trying not to sway into Jensen's space that he wouldn't have noticed if it had started up a brass band chorus.
One day later, Operation Get Jensen A Bed has been accomplished via ten minutes of shopping on the internet. The bed Jensen has delivered is a queen-sized floor model, nothing spectacular, and he gets a dresser to go along with it. "To set the TV on," he explains, while Jared rolls his eyes.
The minute the mattress and box springs go on the frame, Jared throws himself across it. "It's kinda hard," he says, rolling across it from top to bottom.
"I like it hard," Jensen answers, right as Jared stills face down on the mattress, his arms tucked up under him.
"I've heard that about you," he says automatically, partially muffled by his sleeve. He's kind of afraid to turn over and look at Jensen, but he does anyway, because it's all a joke. Sure it is. Jensen's grinning, but he's also pink beneath his ears and not quite meeting Jared's eyes.
Jared rolls off the bed and grabs a set of burgundy bedding from the floor. They were a housewarming present from Jared's sister, but they were the wrong size. Jared just never got around to giving them away, but now they'll come in handy. He helps Jensen make up the bed, tucking in his corners carefully like his mama taught him and smoothing wrinkles away.
He catches Jensen watching his hands, and the little voice whispers, bet his eyes would roll right back in his head if you touched him now. Bet he'd get goosebumps. Bet he'd--
When the pillow hits him in the face, he falls over backwards and lands on a pile of discarded furniture wrappings. Jensen holds his stomach and laughs, his face open and happy, and Jared makes grumpy faces and says, "Unfair, man. Was just tryin' to help!"
Jensen puts four pillows on the bed - two with cases, two without - and fluffs them with a whack. "I'm so done with this," he says.
"No dust ruffle?" Jared says, holding it out to him from the floor, and then bursts out laughing at the look of horror on Jensen's face. He gets to his feet and puts the dust ruffle in the pile of trash. "Come on, let's get somethin' to eat."
They spend their afternoon puttering around the house. Jensen marinates some steaks while Jared fires up the barbeque, and while they're sitting outside on the covered deck, a light rain begins. Jared goes inside and grabs two more beers and a couple hoodies, and they scoot closer to the warmth of the little fire pit, knees touching every so often when Jared sits up to poke at the steaks. It's warm and cozy and kind of domestic, the way they don't really talk much. Jared sees the little smiles playing across Jensen's lips, and he settles down in his chair, full of steak and happiness in equal proportions.
After, they hunker down in the living room on opposite ends of the couch, feet up on the coffee table. Jared's tired; he makes a stab at reading Monday's script, but it keeps blurring and stretching and he's read the same page a billion times without any clue what's on it. Jensen's got his nose buried in a book, glasses perched on the end of his nose and a hideous purple throw (a relic from Jensen's past, courtesy of his mom) wrapped around his shoulders. It looks warm. And comfy. And Jared's bedroom, where all his blankets are, is really far away.
Jared scoots closer and tugs at one end of the throw. Jensen glances sideways at him. "You're kidding, right?" he asks.
With a scowl, Jared manhandles Jensen until the end of the throw slips out from under his shoulders, and pulls it across his own arms. Jensen watches him with amusement. "Seriously, dude. You can have it," he says, even as Jared performs a complicated maneuver requiring that the throw go under Jensen's left arm and over Jared's right.
"Don't want it," Jared says, snuggling down under the scrap of throw he's managed to claim for his own with a contented sigh. His shoulder is mashed into Jensen's, and Jensen is pretty much trapped there with him, and it works really well for Jared. He leans back and closes his eyes.
Jensen sighs, and Jared can tell he's gone back to reading. Suits him just fine.
When he wakes up, it's dark, and rain is still beating at the windows. Jensen is tilted to the right, and somehow Jared has managed to use him as a body-pillow without crushing him. He snorts and sits up carefully.
Jensen jerks awake, turns blearily to Jared, and paws at the throw until it falls down in his lap. Then he smiles, yawns, and lurches to his feet. Jared watches him stagger down the hallway, and reluctantly gets up to go to his own room.
He gives it a good try, but. Now it's Jared who's not sleeping well.
It's not that the noise from the air mattress is keeping him awake, anymore; if anything, the house is too silent. Jared tries reading again, he tries late-night TV, he tries doing pushups on the bedroom floor until his arms shake and he can barely move. Nothing really helps, though. He can't turn his brain off; he can't stop the image of Jensen's stupid sleepy face, those happy contented post-barbeque smiles, from popping into his head.
He looks around for the dogs, but they aren't in the room. Probably sick of him. He pads downstairs to the den, because he has a ton of really boring books on the shelves down there. Or maybe a couple games of Guitar Hero on headphones. Or something. Only, when he gets there, he wanders around, does a couple restless circuits of the room, and then sinks into the couch.
Living with Jensen is right, it's comfortable. It's making up songs on guitar and singing them to each other and a few dozen friends, just to see whose lyrics are filthier. It's waking up to Jen's dorky hair and goofy grins, and seeing full-on happy smiles whenever he comes in the room. It's laughing all the time, not just on set; it's wanting to be with Jensen, knowing that when he comes home, he can be calm and happy with Jensen there.
Wanting to be with Jensen.
"I'm so fucked," Jared whispers to the empty room, and puts his hands over his face.
Tiny toenails clicking on the floorboards; Sadie and Harley, who pull up short beside the couch, tails wagging. Sadie gives an anxious whine, deep in her throat. "I'm okay, girl," he says, ruffling the fur behind her ears. She stamps her feet for a moment; Harley turns and goes, and Sadie lingers a moment, and then follows him. She stops in the doorway to give Jared a restrained bark.
"Shhh," he scolds. If Jensen is actually sleeping, the last thing he needs is Sadie to wake him up. "What d'you need, girl?"
She huffs and gallops away toward the kitchen.
Jared rolls his eyes and heads out after her. Maybe she needs water. Or something.
It's when he gets to the kitchen that he catches on. He stops in the doorway, surprised by the sight of Jensen at the table, half-eaten toast on a plate in front of him. The dogs are sitting beside him, looking up at him, and Harley's chin is on his knee. Jensen...well, Jensen doesn't even seem to notice. He's looking off somewhere into space.
Jared clears his throat; Jensen jerks in surprise and twists in the chair to look at him; his shirt is old and stretched out, and the smooth ridge of his collarbone peeks out, inviting. "Hey," Jared says, swallowing.
"Hey." Jensen runs a hand through his hair. "Sorry to steal your dogs. I think they see me as a human food bank."
"They know a sure thing when they see it." Jared pads over to the stove and stares at the boxes of cheap tea on the counter for a minute. "You want some tea or something?"
"Nah. Thanks."
"Me, either." Jared opens the fridge and stares into it, then finally closes the door without taking anything out.
"You feeling okay?" Jensen's frowning.
"Yeah. Just couldn't sleep."
"Me either."
"That new bed not working out?"
"It's not that." Jensen picked at a corner of his toast. With a sigh, he pushes back from the table and grabs his plate, takes it to the sink. The longer Jared looks at him, with the tag of his shirt sticking out in back and the drawstring on his sweats down to his knees on the left, the more he wants...wow. He really, really wants.
He can picture what it'd be like, here with Jensen, now, and for a long time. All sorts of weird images fly through his head: Jensen letting that silver hair come in around his temples and not hiding it any more; Jensen telling him about some fantastic movie he's going to star in; Jensen, staying here, always, not leaving, not going anywhere. Jensen, his.
It's so quiet in the kitchen, it's as if everything in the house has gone still, waiting.
In the silence, Jared makes up his mind. He pads up behind Jensen at the sink, and when he gets close enough, Jensen shivers. All the way down his body, and suddenly Jared's interested to know what it'd take to cause another one, just like that. He fits himself behind Jensen, the way they always fit together, but different; his hands are on Jensen's hips, and he barely dares to breathe, for fear Jensen will turn around and punch him in the face.
Jensen takes a shuddering breath and his hands come up, hover in mid-air over Jared's for a minute. Jared wants him to put them down, wants him to do something that will break this open; he's ready, whatever it is. Even if it's no.
But Jensen doesn't move. Apparently he's waiting, too. His heart is hammering against Jared's chest.
Jared wraps his arms around Jensen then, holding him, one palm flat on Jensen's warm stomach, the other over Jensen's heart. It's comfortable and natural and it feels right, and when he nuzzles into Jensen's neck, so carefully, Jensen tilts his head for more.
It would be ridiculous to ask Jensen if he's sure, because hell, Jared isn't even sure. But he lifts his head and kisses the corner of Jensen's mouth, drawing a sharp breath when Jensen's lips part for him. He leans in closer, and then he's stealing real kisses, slow ones, the kind that make Jensen push back against him and make little growly noises in his throat.
Jared stops, closes his eyes, and rubs his face against Jensen's short, soft hair.
"Let me," Jensen says, shoving back. Jared lets him go, but Jensen just turns around, and then he's licking his way into Jared's mouth, hands in Jared's hair.
They break apart and stare at each other for a long moment. A look of soft amusement comes over Jensen's face, and he says, "I can't believe you made me spend a couple thousand dollars on that damn bed."
"What?" Jared blinks, because apparently he's slow to catch up, and then Jensen's nose is cold where it's pressed against Jared's throat, and he's laughing, the bastard.
"Your seduction techniques need some work, man," Jensen says, muffled by Jared's neck, and just for that, Jared sets his teeth around Jensen's earlobe and bites, not very gently.
"Yeah," Jensen says, low. Which is right about when Jared's brain shorts out.
Fortunately, many of the things Jensen wants to do with him right about then don't require higher brain functions at all.
**
It's a cold, snowy night, full moon, and Jared and Jensen are closing down bars all over Vancouver. They're on Christmas break, sort of; a quick hiatus from shooting to return home, distribute presents, give everyone the stuff they've been accumulating on their travels, and then they'll be back in the mix, working hard.
Six months since Jared broke things off with Sandy; five months now since Jensen cut ties with Daneel. Three months, since Jensen caved and moved into that big old house with him, sharing the rent and the crappy coffee cups and the chores. Everything's changed since Jared kissed Jensen, turned their entire world upside down, and Jared would swear they're both as happy as they have ever been. Sometimes it confuses him, but he's given up trying to figure it out and just runs with it.
Jensen leans close, so close the tip of his nose brushes against Jared's ear, and says, "Jared. Take me home."
Jared bursts out laughing, tilts his head forward. Neither of them is all that drunk. "You drove, Jen."
Jensen moves closer; his lips touch Jared's ear when he says, "No, dumbass. Take me home."
Jared jerks back, turns to stare at Jensen, who's looking at him calmly, a half-smile on his face, bright and happy and full of hope. Jared's eyes drop to his lips, then to his throat, and snap back up to Jensen's steady gaze.
"Are you fucking with me?" Jared demands. Because it would be just like Jensen to mess with his head after so much tequila, it'd-
"Not yet," Jensen says, leaning back on the barstool.
Jared knocks over both their glasses, a salt shaker, and a bottle of steak sauce in his haste to get up from the table. "Pay the check," he says to Jensen, who fishes out his wallet and does just that.
Outside, snow is drifting down in silver sheets, but Jared doesn't mind; Jensen's beside him, roughhousing with him all the way to the car and ducking behind cars to steal furtive kisses in the dark. Jensen's laughing and smiling into those kisses like the world is made of sunshine, and for Jared it is, because he's already home.
end
J2, PG, 5203 wds
Summary: Jensen moves in on a Friday.
Notes: I wrote this for teand's birthday a long while ago, and then I sent it to her, but didn't post it at that time, under the theory that the world at large had enough 'J2 move in together' stories already. But you know. Maybe I was wrong about that, because I sure love to read them myself. *g* Huge thanks to luzdeestrellas, girlmostlikely and killabeez, who read the first (awful) draft of this and helped me get back on track.
The Places You Will Be From
by Destina
for Teand
Jensen moves in on a Friday morning, dragging two suitcases, a piss-green duffel, and a torn, beaten-up box.
"Dude," Jared says, as he held the door open and tries to prevent Harley from eating Jensen's knees in his excitement, "where is the rest of your stuff?"
"Already here." Jensen looks at Jared as if he's a moron who's forgotten the entire garage is stuffed full of boxes and furniture from Jensen's old apartment. Then he drops his junk and caves in to Harley's incessant demands for love, permitting the face-snorfling Harley lives for. Jared grins, kicks Jensen's suitcases the last inch into the foyer, and closes the door.
Then he catches sight of the picture on the side of the ratty box. "Hey. Is that an air mattress?"
"Well, yeah." Jensen slips his sunglasses off and stares up at Jared, while steadfastly ignoring Harley humping his arm. "I know you didn't think I was going to sleep on that floor, man. Do you have any idea what these dogs get up to in there while you're gone?"
The truth is, it hasn't even occurred to Jared that Jensen would need a bed, and he suddenly feels like the world's biggest ass. Jensen had been sleeping on his couch for years, and that was just how it was. Jensen moving in, though...Jared's still getting used to all the things that are going to be different. Any other guest in his house, he'd have made sure they had a bed, sheets, curtains, the whole deal, but he was so damn glad Jensen had given in on being roommates that it hadn't crossed his mind. "Tomorrow I'll go buy you a bed," he says, but Jensen instantly frowns in that way that tells Jared he's just made a serious mistake.
"So I'm company now? What the hell, Jared?"
"No!" Jared sighs. "That's not what I meant, man. But you can't sleep on that thing!"
Jensen pats the bedraggled box fondly. "It's comfy. We've been through a lot together, me and this mattress. I'll be fine." He stands up and gives Jared the eye. "We talked about this, Jared - either I pay half like any other roommate, or I'm out of here, man. I don't need you to buy me stink-ass lavender guest soaps."
"Good thing," Jared said. He loops an arm around Jensen's shoulders and shakes him happily. "You stink enough already."
"Ha, ha." Jensen claps his hands together and rubs them eagerly. "Now where's the beer?"
"Buy your own, you fucking mooch. What, you think you're some guest or somethin'?"
Jensen's out-loud laughter sets Harley's tail to wagging, and brings Sadie running to get in on the fun. Jared looks at Jensen, a slow smile spreading across his face. It's been a hard summer, long days on the Friday the 13th shoot, and breaking up with Sandy, and he's just...he's missed this. Missed Jensen like crazy.
They set about getting used to each other, and for the most part it's easy, because they're always in each others' space anyway. Jensen steals Jared's milk and his cereal, and replaces it with health-conscious granola, like he's trying to convince himself it's a better alternative. Jensen always sits down on the couch wherever Jared was last, claiming it's 'warmer there', so Jared just sits on him and they wrestle for the most comfortable cushions.
There are a few things, though, that make Jared worry. Jensen never seemed to have a problem leaving socks and hoodies and empty beer cans strewn across Jared's house when he was over there five nights a week, hanging out and eating all Jared's leftovers. Now that they live in the same space, Jensen is weirdly respectful. All his guitar books and CDs actually disappear from the living room; Jared would be hard-pressed to find any of Jensen's books outside of his actual room, and even the stuff in the downstairs bathroom is neatly stowed in a leather travel kit. Jensen walks around picking up after himself and randomly cleaning whatever's handy, and for Jared, that's just crazy-making.
Jared puts up with it for about one full day, but the absence of dust on the stereo speakers is downright alarming, and those jars in the refrigerator did not just arrange themselves into straight lines late at night when no one was looking.
"Hey," Jared says, when Jensen picks up the mail on the table, squares the edges, and stuffs it into a basket on the bookcase. "Leave that, okay?"
"What?" Jensen blinks at him, and turns the basket so it's centered on the shelf.
Jared sinks down into the couch with his beer resting on his knee and sighs. "You keep that up, I'm'a make you wear one of those French maid outfits. Because at least then you'd be a pretty maid, instead of...whatever you are now, man. Pretty ain't it." Jensen's half-sipped beer is on the coffee table; Jared nudges it toward him with one socked toe, an unsubtle hint.
Jensen looks mildly offended, but he comes back to collect his beer and sits down beside Jared on the couch. He's a little tense, which Jared can't really account for, but he figures Jensen's had a rough summer, too. Jensen doesn't mention Daneel daily the way he used to, and he looks tired all the time, like he can't seem to get caught up.
"Just seems like I should be doing something to help out," Jensen says quietly.
"Clean my toilet, then," Jared says. "But stop murdering the damn dust mites. They never did anything to you." When Jensen snorts, Jared nudges him with one shoulder. "This is home now, Jen. Your home, right? So relax."
With a nod, Jensen flashes him a look of reluctant gratitude. Jared's not done with him yet; if he catches him in the act of washing a single dish, he's going to beat him silly. But he doesn't say that to Jensen, because he thinks maybe Jensen gets it now. Maybe. Jared's going to leave five bags of open chips out on the counter later. Just a test.
They sit quietly for a little while, Jared's feet up on the coffee table, bouncing erratically while the sports scores trail across the screen as Jensen polishes off his beer. Jensen's warm and familiar at Jared's side, and Jared likes this, the easiness of it, the idea that Jensen isn't going anywhere at the end of the day, that he won't be bringing out blankets for the couch.
He dozes off with a smile on his face, his knee snugged up against Jensen's, one hand resting palm-up on Jensen's knee.
**
Jensen isn't sleeping well.
Jared shouldn't really know that, but that damned air mattress tells him everything, because it gives off air like a giant farting every time Jensen shifts around on it. And Jensen shifts a lot; in the first few hours of every night, he rolls around on that thing enough to make it groan constantly into the stark silence of the house. The dogs whine every time, too, and once or twice they fart in sympathy, which causes Jared to bury his face in the pillow to smother his laughter.
Each morning, he puts on the coffee and stops in the doorway of Jensen's room. Usually Jensen's asleep, finally, his face turned to one side and his arm half on the mattress, half on the floor, toes poking out from beneath the soft peach comforter Jared loaned him. Watching Jen like this, it's peaceful, like they're in their own little world, and sometimes Jared has the urge to close the door and let Jensen sleep, keep the world out a while longer.
But this particular day, they're due on set early for the first day of shooting - so he sends Sadie in to nibble Jensen's toes, which he figures is a fair compromise, and better than being ripped out of sleep by that four-dollar alarm clock Jensen has right next to his head.
"Wha," Jensen mumbles, kicking his feet gently back toward the source of the lapping tongue.
"Mmm, baby, your toes are so tasty," Jared says, his voice low, and takes a giant slurp of his coffee.
Jensen sniffs in a huge whiff of air, probably meant for a yawn, and then sighs out a rumbling laugh instead. He retracts his feet beneath the blanket and Sadie wags her tail, because that must mean Jensen's going to get up any second and pet her. "Your dog is disgusting," he says, turning on his side to look up at Jared.
"I dunno," Jared says, pleasantly caught in that focused green stare. "I think she thinks she's your dog, man."
"Yeah," Jensen says. He scratches his belly beneath the ratty grey T-shirt. Jared watches his hand disappear beneath, watches it slide up, and averts his eyes suddenly when bare skin appears in its wake. "I can see how she'd make that mistake, seeing as how she just made breakfast out of my foot."
"Oh, hey, breakfast." Jared shakes the hair out of his eyes. "I made some bacon. It's on a towel by the stove."
"Just bacon?" Jensen sits up, pulls the shirt over his head, and throws it over Sadie, who yelps with delight and bounces around, trying to dislodge it. "None of the other food groups?"
"Dead pig and caffeine, what more do you need?" Jared calls over his shoulder on his way out.
Their new driver shows up at oh-dark-thirty, giant black SUV idling quietly in front of the garage. Jared heads out to meet him, yawning hugely, and grins when the guy pops out to open the back passenger door. "Hey, I'm Jared," he says, sticking out his hand.
"Cooper," the driver says. "Call me Coop. Great to meet you." He's wearing the standard black suit and skinny black tie, but his hair sticks up in east-west tufts, and his handshake is the crushing, friendly kind. Jared likes him right away.
"Can I bring you out a cup of coffee?" Jared points back to the door. "It's gonna be a few minutes yet."
"Oh, sorry," Coop says. He glances at his watch. "The dispatcher told me you're always ready pretty much on time." He doesn't say unlike most stars, but it makes Jared grin anyway.
"I'm good, but-"
Just then, Jensen bursts out of the door, one arm in a hoodie and one out, a pencil between his teeth, script in one hand and travel mug in the other. "Hold this," he says to Jared, shoving the coffee cup at him. "Hey, I'm Jensen," he says, smiling at Coop.
After a moment, Coop seems to recover enough to shake Jensen's hand vigorously, and Jared realizes: this guy was expecting to pick Jensen up at the apartment, because neither of them told the studio about the new arrangements. God only knows what he thinks now. He bites down on a laugh.
"You got everything?" he asks Jensen, who is struggling to shove his arm into his sleeve. He plucks the pencil from Jensen's mouth, wrinkling his nose a bit at the drool, and stuffs it in his back pocket.
"Need my hat," Jensen says. "And my snacks."
"He's not usually this high-maintenance," Jared tells Coop apologetically, and is rewarded with a knuckle punch to the shoulder as a result. "Ow!"
"I'm not high maintenance at all, I just can't find anything right now!" Jensen finally gets the hoodie on and zips it; he reclaims his coffee and stuffs the script under his arm. "Just moved in," he tells Coop, apparently oblivious to the stunned look on his face, and climbs into the car.
"Gotta grab my keys," Jared says.
"Get my hat, too, bitch!" Jensen hollers out at Jared, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Um," Coop says. He shifts from foot to foot, quirks a half-smile at Jared, and gets in the driver's seat.
Jared makes it all the way into the house before he lets out that laugh, and he keeps snickering the entire time he's searching for Jensen's stupid beanie and his half-eaten bag of Chex mix. When he finds them, he leans against the doorway for a second, gathering up his keys and his composure, and then he closes the door quietly behind him. Wouldn't do to keep Coop waiting after the trauma he's just suffered.
He tosses the hat at Jensen, shoves him over, and climbs in the back of the car.
"Where was it?" Jensen asks.
"Under my pillow," Jared says, fishing out a handful of Chex mix.
Jensen pulls the beanie open and sniffs inside it suspiciously.
Coop reaches over to his panel and quietly raises the window between diver and passengers.
**
The thing is, compartmentalization and a sense of humor only get Jared so far.
Everyone and their brother has weighed in on their living arrangements. Jared could care less about any of it because he and Jensen are where they want to be, and it feels right. But there's a little voice in the back of Jared's head, asking him some really annoying questions. He thought he'd heard the last of that voice the day after he met Jensen, when he locked it in a cupboard in the back of his brain and turned down the volume. Mostly that voice is quiet, but some days, it blares on with the force of a foghorn.
Like, for instance, on Sunday mornings when Jensen comes out of his room sleepy and warm, and stands next to Jared at the kitchen counter while Jared looks out the kitchen window and Jensen pops in some toast. Their arms touch, and Jared's perfectly contented for about five seconds until that little voice screams, why now, Jared? Why wait until Sandy is out of the picture to ask him to move in? He drowns it with coffee and smothers it with Danish and scrambled eggs, and pretends he never heard it to begin with.
Or on Monday nights, which are usually one of the worst days in the shooting schedule. Most times they stumble in the door and grab a beer, and then they sit, staring into space, contemplating whether or not the money is actually worth the hours they put in. Sometimes they play games, but mostly Jared wants to hear Jensen sing, and he's shameless about it. So Jensen will get his guitar and strum out a melody, voice cracking hoarse with tiredness and overuse, and Jared will watch him greedily. He watches Jensen's long fingers cross the strings; he notices the way Jensen ducks his head and smiles when he knows Jared's eyes are on him.
And the little voice in Jared's head says, why are you thinking about the curve of his neck, Jared? Why do you want to know whether he's ticklish there?
He hates that goddamned little voice.
It won't shut up, no matter what he does. They've been roommates for about a month when Jared dumps some kibble on the horror of an air mattress and sends Sadie and Harley in to do what Jensen doesn't have the balls to do. Jensen comes home to find the deflated mattress in shreds and the dogs wallowing happily in the mess, and he turns accusing eyes on Jared.
Which is when the little voice chirps, Hey, Jared, your bed is big enough for both of you. Right?
"They did it," Jared says immediately, pointing to the dogs, who thump their tails in expectation of treats.
"Right," Jensen says. He sighs. "Now I'll have to buy an actual bed."
Jensen looks good in blue, Jared. Aren't your sheets blue?
Jared makes a strangled noise, which gets Jensen right there in close to him, which is not what he wanted at all. "Hey, man, I wasn't accusing you of ripping up the bed," Jensen says, his eyes dark with apology, which of course only makes it worse.
"I kind of did," Jared says, his face mashing itself up into what is probably a not-all-that-contrite look of apology. "I just...Jen, seriously. You need a real bed. This isn't some hostel. People are going to think I'm trying to get you out, not bring you in."
"What the hell do you care what anyone thinks?" Jensen is just way too close to him, and he smells like that glue they used on the fake motel wallpaper on set, and the strong spicy scent of Jared's soap (it comes in ten-packs, so what if Jensen stole five of them?), and there are still smudges of dirt on his face, and more than anything ever in the universe, Jared wants to wet his thumb and run it across Jensen's skin, erase those marks.
He shoves his hand in his pocket. "I only care that you get it," he says softly. "If this is home, it needs to be home."
Jensen regards him a moment, his eyes incredibly green, and then he seems to come to some kind of decision. "Okay," he says, just as softly.
The little voice, for once, is miraculously silent. Which is okay, because Jared is so busy trying not to sway into Jensen's space that he wouldn't have noticed if it had started up a brass band chorus.
One day later, Operation Get Jensen A Bed has been accomplished via ten minutes of shopping on the internet. The bed Jensen has delivered is a queen-sized floor model, nothing spectacular, and he gets a dresser to go along with it. "To set the TV on," he explains, while Jared rolls his eyes.
The minute the mattress and box springs go on the frame, Jared throws himself across it. "It's kinda hard," he says, rolling across it from top to bottom.
"I like it hard," Jensen answers, right as Jared stills face down on the mattress, his arms tucked up under him.
"I've heard that about you," he says automatically, partially muffled by his sleeve. He's kind of afraid to turn over and look at Jensen, but he does anyway, because it's all a joke. Sure it is. Jensen's grinning, but he's also pink beneath his ears and not quite meeting Jared's eyes.
Jared rolls off the bed and grabs a set of burgundy bedding from the floor. They were a housewarming present from Jared's sister, but they were the wrong size. Jared just never got around to giving them away, but now they'll come in handy. He helps Jensen make up the bed, tucking in his corners carefully like his mama taught him and smoothing wrinkles away.
He catches Jensen watching his hands, and the little voice whispers, bet his eyes would roll right back in his head if you touched him now. Bet he'd get goosebumps. Bet he'd--
When the pillow hits him in the face, he falls over backwards and lands on a pile of discarded furniture wrappings. Jensen holds his stomach and laughs, his face open and happy, and Jared makes grumpy faces and says, "Unfair, man. Was just tryin' to help!"
Jensen puts four pillows on the bed - two with cases, two without - and fluffs them with a whack. "I'm so done with this," he says.
"No dust ruffle?" Jared says, holding it out to him from the floor, and then bursts out laughing at the look of horror on Jensen's face. He gets to his feet and puts the dust ruffle in the pile of trash. "Come on, let's get somethin' to eat."
They spend their afternoon puttering around the house. Jensen marinates some steaks while Jared fires up the barbeque, and while they're sitting outside on the covered deck, a light rain begins. Jared goes inside and grabs two more beers and a couple hoodies, and they scoot closer to the warmth of the little fire pit, knees touching every so often when Jared sits up to poke at the steaks. It's warm and cozy and kind of domestic, the way they don't really talk much. Jared sees the little smiles playing across Jensen's lips, and he settles down in his chair, full of steak and happiness in equal proportions.
After, they hunker down in the living room on opposite ends of the couch, feet up on the coffee table. Jared's tired; he makes a stab at reading Monday's script, but it keeps blurring and stretching and he's read the same page a billion times without any clue what's on it. Jensen's got his nose buried in a book, glasses perched on the end of his nose and a hideous purple throw (a relic from Jensen's past, courtesy of his mom) wrapped around his shoulders. It looks warm. And comfy. And Jared's bedroom, where all his blankets are, is really far away.
Jared scoots closer and tugs at one end of the throw. Jensen glances sideways at him. "You're kidding, right?" he asks.
With a scowl, Jared manhandles Jensen until the end of the throw slips out from under his shoulders, and pulls it across his own arms. Jensen watches him with amusement. "Seriously, dude. You can have it," he says, even as Jared performs a complicated maneuver requiring that the throw go under Jensen's left arm and over Jared's right.
"Don't want it," Jared says, snuggling down under the scrap of throw he's managed to claim for his own with a contented sigh. His shoulder is mashed into Jensen's, and Jensen is pretty much trapped there with him, and it works really well for Jared. He leans back and closes his eyes.
Jensen sighs, and Jared can tell he's gone back to reading. Suits him just fine.
When he wakes up, it's dark, and rain is still beating at the windows. Jensen is tilted to the right, and somehow Jared has managed to use him as a body-pillow without crushing him. He snorts and sits up carefully.
Jensen jerks awake, turns blearily to Jared, and paws at the throw until it falls down in his lap. Then he smiles, yawns, and lurches to his feet. Jared watches him stagger down the hallway, and reluctantly gets up to go to his own room.
He gives it a good try, but. Now it's Jared who's not sleeping well.
It's not that the noise from the air mattress is keeping him awake, anymore; if anything, the house is too silent. Jared tries reading again, he tries late-night TV, he tries doing pushups on the bedroom floor until his arms shake and he can barely move. Nothing really helps, though. He can't turn his brain off; he can't stop the image of Jensen's stupid sleepy face, those happy contented post-barbeque smiles, from popping into his head.
He looks around for the dogs, but they aren't in the room. Probably sick of him. He pads downstairs to the den, because he has a ton of really boring books on the shelves down there. Or maybe a couple games of Guitar Hero on headphones. Or something. Only, when he gets there, he wanders around, does a couple restless circuits of the room, and then sinks into the couch.
Living with Jensen is right, it's comfortable. It's making up songs on guitar and singing them to each other and a few dozen friends, just to see whose lyrics are filthier. It's waking up to Jen's dorky hair and goofy grins, and seeing full-on happy smiles whenever he comes in the room. It's laughing all the time, not just on set; it's wanting to be with Jensen, knowing that when he comes home, he can be calm and happy with Jensen there.
Wanting to be with Jensen.
"I'm so fucked," Jared whispers to the empty room, and puts his hands over his face.
Tiny toenails clicking on the floorboards; Sadie and Harley, who pull up short beside the couch, tails wagging. Sadie gives an anxious whine, deep in her throat. "I'm okay, girl," he says, ruffling the fur behind her ears. She stamps her feet for a moment; Harley turns and goes, and Sadie lingers a moment, and then follows him. She stops in the doorway to give Jared a restrained bark.
"Shhh," he scolds. If Jensen is actually sleeping, the last thing he needs is Sadie to wake him up. "What d'you need, girl?"
She huffs and gallops away toward the kitchen.
Jared rolls his eyes and heads out after her. Maybe she needs water. Or something.
It's when he gets to the kitchen that he catches on. He stops in the doorway, surprised by the sight of Jensen at the table, half-eaten toast on a plate in front of him. The dogs are sitting beside him, looking up at him, and Harley's chin is on his knee. Jensen...well, Jensen doesn't even seem to notice. He's looking off somewhere into space.
Jared clears his throat; Jensen jerks in surprise and twists in the chair to look at him; his shirt is old and stretched out, and the smooth ridge of his collarbone peeks out, inviting. "Hey," Jared says, swallowing.
"Hey." Jensen runs a hand through his hair. "Sorry to steal your dogs. I think they see me as a human food bank."
"They know a sure thing when they see it." Jared pads over to the stove and stares at the boxes of cheap tea on the counter for a minute. "You want some tea or something?"
"Nah. Thanks."
"Me, either." Jared opens the fridge and stares into it, then finally closes the door without taking anything out.
"You feeling okay?" Jensen's frowning.
"Yeah. Just couldn't sleep."
"Me either."
"That new bed not working out?"
"It's not that." Jensen picked at a corner of his toast. With a sigh, he pushes back from the table and grabs his plate, takes it to the sink. The longer Jared looks at him, with the tag of his shirt sticking out in back and the drawstring on his sweats down to his knees on the left, the more he wants...wow. He really, really wants.
He can picture what it'd be like, here with Jensen, now, and for a long time. All sorts of weird images fly through his head: Jensen letting that silver hair come in around his temples and not hiding it any more; Jensen telling him about some fantastic movie he's going to star in; Jensen, staying here, always, not leaving, not going anywhere. Jensen, his.
It's so quiet in the kitchen, it's as if everything in the house has gone still, waiting.
In the silence, Jared makes up his mind. He pads up behind Jensen at the sink, and when he gets close enough, Jensen shivers. All the way down his body, and suddenly Jared's interested to know what it'd take to cause another one, just like that. He fits himself behind Jensen, the way they always fit together, but different; his hands are on Jensen's hips, and he barely dares to breathe, for fear Jensen will turn around and punch him in the face.
Jensen takes a shuddering breath and his hands come up, hover in mid-air over Jared's for a minute. Jared wants him to put them down, wants him to do something that will break this open; he's ready, whatever it is. Even if it's no.
But Jensen doesn't move. Apparently he's waiting, too. His heart is hammering against Jared's chest.
Jared wraps his arms around Jensen then, holding him, one palm flat on Jensen's warm stomach, the other over Jensen's heart. It's comfortable and natural and it feels right, and when he nuzzles into Jensen's neck, so carefully, Jensen tilts his head for more.
It would be ridiculous to ask Jensen if he's sure, because hell, Jared isn't even sure. But he lifts his head and kisses the corner of Jensen's mouth, drawing a sharp breath when Jensen's lips part for him. He leans in closer, and then he's stealing real kisses, slow ones, the kind that make Jensen push back against him and make little growly noises in his throat.
Jared stops, closes his eyes, and rubs his face against Jensen's short, soft hair.
"Let me," Jensen says, shoving back. Jared lets him go, but Jensen just turns around, and then he's licking his way into Jared's mouth, hands in Jared's hair.
They break apart and stare at each other for a long moment. A look of soft amusement comes over Jensen's face, and he says, "I can't believe you made me spend a couple thousand dollars on that damn bed."
"What?" Jared blinks, because apparently he's slow to catch up, and then Jensen's nose is cold where it's pressed against Jared's throat, and he's laughing, the bastard.
"Your seduction techniques need some work, man," Jensen says, muffled by Jared's neck, and just for that, Jared sets his teeth around Jensen's earlobe and bites, not very gently.
"Yeah," Jensen says, low. Which is right about when Jared's brain shorts out.
Fortunately, many of the things Jensen wants to do with him right about then don't require higher brain functions at all.
**
It's a cold, snowy night, full moon, and Jared and Jensen are closing down bars all over Vancouver. They're on Christmas break, sort of; a quick hiatus from shooting to return home, distribute presents, give everyone the stuff they've been accumulating on their travels, and then they'll be back in the mix, working hard.
Six months since Jared broke things off with Sandy; five months now since Jensen cut ties with Daneel. Three months, since Jensen caved and moved into that big old house with him, sharing the rent and the crappy coffee cups and the chores. Everything's changed since Jared kissed Jensen, turned their entire world upside down, and Jared would swear they're both as happy as they have ever been. Sometimes it confuses him, but he's given up trying to figure it out and just runs with it.
Jensen leans close, so close the tip of his nose brushes against Jared's ear, and says, "Jared. Take me home."
Jared bursts out laughing, tilts his head forward. Neither of them is all that drunk. "You drove, Jen."
Jensen moves closer; his lips touch Jared's ear when he says, "No, dumbass. Take me home."
Jared jerks back, turns to stare at Jensen, who's looking at him calmly, a half-smile on his face, bright and happy and full of hope. Jared's eyes drop to his lips, then to his throat, and snap back up to Jensen's steady gaze.
"Are you fucking with me?" Jared demands. Because it would be just like Jensen to mess with his head after so much tequila, it'd-
"Not yet," Jensen says, leaning back on the barstool.
Jared knocks over both their glasses, a salt shaker, and a bottle of steak sauce in his haste to get up from the table. "Pay the check," he says to Jensen, who fishes out his wallet and does just that.
Outside, snow is drifting down in silver sheets, but Jared doesn't mind; Jensen's beside him, roughhousing with him all the way to the car and ducking behind cars to steal furtive kisses in the dark. Jensen's laughing and smiling into those kisses like the world is made of sunshine, and for Jared it is, because he's already home.
end