New RPS fic - JA/JP, Jared Knows Jensen
So, yeah. Maybe I'm a little obsessed with them. THERE ARE WORSE THINGS TO BE IN LIFE.
Thanks to stone_princess for the KICKASS beta - you're wonderful! Thank you again!!
Title - Jared Knows Jensen
Pairing - JA/JP
Size - 16K
Rating - porn
Summary - Jared knows a lot of things about Jensen.
Authors Notes - So, seriously. There are a lot of Jensen Ackles "facts" in this. Quite honestly? Probably about half of them are true. (Or, they are, at least, according to the *koff* Jensen Ackles fansite interviews I've been reading like a loser lately.) A lot of it is made up, yes (for instance, I have NO IDEA if Jensen thinks Johnny Depp is hot. That might only exist in my head.) but some of the more bizarre ones ARE true (exhibit A - the stuffed pink elephant DOES exist, according to what I've read *g*)
Anyway - here 'tis!
Jared Knows Jensen
Jared knows a lot of things about Jensen.
He knows Jensen's favorite color is blue, and his favorite food is steak and his favorite song is some twangy crap by Garth Brooks. Jared tells him that that's lame and a cliché to boot. Jensen's a single guy from Texas; it's expected for him to like Garth Brooks. Whenever people ask Jared his favorite song he'll give them the name of some random Slayer or Metallica tune, just to shake things up. Jared's never even heard of half the shit he says he listens to, and sometimes, during an interview, he'll rattle something off and he'll know without even looking the face Jensen is making at him. The one that says, "Dude, you are so full of shit."
Jensen never admits to having a favorite movie--Jared knows this. People ask in interviews all the time, but Jensen is diplomatic and tries to never burn any bridges. He'd never pick a favorite anything, because what does that say about all the things he didn't pick?
When Jensen talks about Johnny Depp though, his cheeks flush pink and he drops his eyes a little. He says how he thinks Johnny is a "master at his craft" and "someone Jensen would really love to work with one day." What Jensen isn't saying is that he thinks that Johnny Depp is hot. Jared knows this because he knows Jensen, and hell, he thinks Johnny Depp is kind of hot himself.
Jared knows lots of stuff about Jensen. He knows about the ratty, stuffed pink elephant Jensen keeps shoved in his travel bag. How he's had it since he was six and scared of starting the first grade. There's a hole in the elephant's right leg from when Jensen threw it at his brother and his brother stepped on it when it hit the floor. Jensen doesn't tell that to too many people, but Jared knows.
He knows how Jensen's grandma still writes him letters and sends them to Vancouver when they're filming, or L.A. when they're off. He knows how Jensen's eyes go all crinkled and soft at the corners when he's talking about her. Jared knows how Jensen's accent gets as thick when he's talking about home as it does when he's tired or after a few beers.
There's nothing that Jensen hates more than waiting for someone. Jared knows this--that's why he's never late.
Jensen's a sarcastic son of a bitch. It took Jared three point two seconds to know that about him. The first day they worked together, Jared asked: "Can I get by here?" as he was trying to get to the coffee bar. Jensen turned around and stared at him with one eyebrow raised. "I don't know, can you?" he deadpanned.
Jared nodded his head, reached out, and took the cup of coffee Jensen had just finished fixing for himself. "That's cool," Jared said, smiling slowly. He took a sip of the coffee and started to walk away. "I'll just grab this one, thanks."
Jensen had really good aim. Jared knew that in the time it took him to snag Jensen's coffee that day to the time an empty cup hit him in the back of the head. It was another three point two seconds. Maybe less.
They go out sometimes--the two of them--and Jared knows when it's just a guy's night because Jensen wears his leather jacket over a plain colored t-shirt. He'll wear jeans and no jewelry and a pair of old Timberlands which still have the residue of thick, Texas mud stuck in the treads.
When it's a 'guys out to pick up girls night' Jared knows that too. He'll stop by Jensen's to get him and Jensen will be wearing a shirt--a real shirt. Something with an ugly print and buttons. He'll have on a nicer pair of jeans, and the Timberlands will be stuffed somewhere deep in the closet, traded for a pair of soft leather cowboy boots. The black ones with the few inch lift in the back (because as much as Jensen always says he doesn't care about the difference in their height, Jared knows that the three or four inches really pisses him off sometimes.) The boots have a leather strap that wraps twice around Jensen's ankle, with a chunky, silver buckle on the side.
Jared hates those boots. The boots mean that Jensen is looking for something that night. A girl something, a guy something. The boots mean that Jensen feels like drinking too much and talking too loud. The last time Jensen wore them Jared wound up in a bar fight with a hand-cast as a souvenir for three weeks. The boots are bad news.
The night is cool and damp. A Vancouver autumn night, and Jared stops the car in front of Jensen's place and bounds up the walk. There's a game on the satellite tonight that Jensen wants to watch (Dallas Mavericks. Jensen's favorite team, Jared knows) but when the door swings open under Jared's hand, he feels his plans for a quiet night slip through his fingers.
"Hey," Jensen says, pulling the door shut behind him. He smells too much like cologne, too much like want. "Ready to go?"
Jensen's shirt is white with stripes of some weird, blue pattern. He's wearing a thick, silver band on his finger and a skinny leather cord around his neck. Jared looks him in the eye and Jensen's just that much taller than usual.
The fucking boots.
"Yeah," Jared says flatly as Jensen walks past him and heads to the car. "Ready."
*
The bar is dimly lit and smells like warm beer and cigarette smoke. The stools are dark wood with high backs and hard seats. Jared's chair has one leg shorter than the other, so every time he leans forward for his drink he tilts to the left. The bartender is fat and surly and glares every time he gets them another beer like they're personally offending him by ordering. Jared watches the guy snarl as he slides two more bottles of Molson across the bar and paws through Jared's money with thick fingers. Jensen smiles and lifts his bottle, tipping it toward the bartender in a silent toast.
"You getting the distinct impression that we're not making friends here tonight?" he asks Jared quietly.
Jared takes a long pull and says out the side of his mouth, "Oh, yeah."
The bar is quiet enough though, and Jared knows that even if Jensen came out to pick someone up, he's just as happy eating stale pretzels and watching the Mavericks get their asses kicked on the TV hanging crookedly behind the bar. Jared takes another pull on his beer. He turns his head to say something and-
Jared knows from just the way Jensen is sitting up in his seat--knows by the way Jensen's back has gone straight and the way he's running a hand through his hair, making the spikes stick up even higher--that there's a girl on her way over.
Jensen turns his head and tosses a smile at Jared over his shoulder. Jared pastes a smile on his face. He orders another beer and gets ready to make small talk with the girl's friend.
*
Alicia is the girl talking to Jensen. Jared's talking to Michelle. They're nice enough--big fans of the show, locals from around the town--but Jensen's not really interested, Jared can tell.
When Jensen is interested in a girl he gets stupid sounding and nervous. He talks slower because he's concentrating on his enunciation so much. Jared can hardly remember that Jensen's from Texas when Jensen's talking to a girl he really likes. He cuts out all uses of "Well, hell," and "Good Goddamn," and instead says things like, "Oh, really," with his lips pursed and his hand on his chin.
Alicia and her friend are getting plenty of "Well, hell," responses, so Jared's not really concerned. When they pick up their drinks and say goodbye a few minutes later, Jensen turns to him and shrugs. He doesn't look too concerned either.
"You wanna get out of here?" Jensen asks. Jared can hear some of Jensen's twang working through. The way he held the held the first syllable of 'wanna' just a split-second too long. Jensen blinks his eyes slowly, and Jared knows he's had maybe one or two beers too many.
Jared stands up. "Yeah. Let's go."
*
It's even colder when they leave then when they got there, and Jared shivers a little as they walk through the parking lot. Jensen didn't even wear a jacket. He has his arms wrapped around himself and is shivering next to the car by the time Jared catches up with him.
"Turn the heater on." Jensen slides in and adjusts the temperature as Jared starts the car. The radio is off and the only thing Jared can hear is Jensen breathing and the muffled creaks of the interior under their bodies. He turns his head smiles. Jensen is blowing into his cupped hands. He's rubbing them together, and Jared reaches out and cuffs the side of his head.
"It's almost winter, ass. Try a jacket next time."
"Shut up, ass," Jensen mimics. Jared watches as Jensen drops his hands and rubs them on the thighs of his jeans. For some reason Jared left his hand resting on the seat by Jensen's head. For some other reason, Jensen leans into it.
Jensen's hair feels hard and spiky from his hair gel. Jared knows that Jensen doesn't really like his hair, but Jared thinks it suits him perfectly. Sharp, random, unpredictable. Jared looks away when he realizes he's actively thinking about Jensen's hair.
"Jared," Jensen says. His voice is a little too low. A little too soft. A little too much like it sounds in Jared's head, late at night, when he thinks about the things he's spent all day not letting himself think about.
The air in the car feels cold and crisp, and then Jensen is leaning over, into Jared's space and suddenly it's hotter than a Texas summer. Jared looks up and he knows what it means when Jensen looks at you like that.
"Jen," he says. His voice sounds like it's coming from somewhere else. Someplace where he's allowed to lean over and smell the bite of Jensen's cologne. Someplace where he can dip his head and lick across the warm spot under Jensen's ear.
Jensen's skin isn't smooth or soft. Jared's lips catch on the stubble on Jensen's throat. He kisses Jensen's jaw and shudders when Jensen moans his name. Jared can feel the word against his mouth. He runs his lips across Jensen's Adam's apple. Jensen's fingers are in Jared's hair, holding him as he licks across Jensen's skin.
Jared never knew it could be this good.
He never knew--never even let himself think that he would ever get Jensen for himself. If he had thought that, Jared thinks he might have imagined it differently. In a hotel on location somewhere, or, maybe in one of their bedrooms after a long day shooting and no one else to wind down with.
Steaming up the windows of Jared's car in the parking lot of some random bar never came into the equation.
Jensen's hands are bigger than Jared thought. His mouth is hotter and wetter than Jared ever expected, and he kisses Jared like a secret; all lips and teeth and tongue. Jensen slips his tongue in Jared's mouth, kisses the corner of his jaw. He runs his hands over Jared's face, down his chest, until he's fumbling with the buttons on Jared's jeans.
There's some part of Jared's brain that thinks that maybe he should stop this. It might make things awkward. It might make it impossible for them to work together.
Jared thinks that that part of his brain should shut the fuck up.
He knows Jensen, is the thing, and Jensen doesn't do anything lightly. He's not spontaneous and he's not flighty. He might have had a few beers tonight, but that didn't make Jensen want this all of a sudden, it just made him able to get it.
"You're not drunk, right?" Jared asks, just to be sure.
Jensen pops the button of Jared's jeans and says, "Right," against Jared's mouth.
"Oh, thank Christ," Jared pants. He pushes Jensen back against the door of the car and looks at him; mouth red and swollen from kissing, cheeks flushed so pink Jared can even see it in the dark of the car. Jensen's jeans are tight and straining against his dick, and he closes his eyes and breathes out as Jared snaps the buttons and drags the zipper down.
"Goddamn, Jared, yeah," Jensen breathes. Jared shoves Jensen's boxers down as far as he can, leans over, licks the head of Jensen's cock, and suddenly there are a thousand more things that Jared knows about Jensen.
Like how he thrusts his hips up, slow and steady as Jared sucks his cock deep into his throat. Like the way Jensen's fingers move through Jared's hair; not pulling or tugging, just kind of petting and then twisting around Jensen's fingers, holding him there as he thrusts up and up and up into Jared's mouth. The way Jensen's belly quivers when Jared runs his fingers across it. The way the skin between Jensen's stomach and side is softer than anything Jared has ever touched, and the way Jared's hand curves perfectly around Jensen's hip, like it was made to be there.
He knows what Jensen tastes like now, and he also knows that he could live to be a hundred, and he'd never forget.
Jared closes his eyes and moans deep in his throat. He feels Jensen's fingers tighten, hears Jensen say his name in a broken voice, and Jared pulls back because he wants to watch Jensen as he loses it. He wants to see as Jensen squeezes his eyes shut and breathes out roughly.
Jared wants to know what Jensen looks like when he comes.
How Jensen bites his lip and twists his head to the side. How he moves his hips faster, up off the seat and into Jared's hand. How Jared has to tighten his fingers--hard, harder than he ever imagined--as Jensen pants and moans, "Jesus," and "faster," and "fuck," and God, how fucking hot he is when his hips still and he comes all over Jared's fingers and hand?
Jared reaches down and grabs some crumpled napkins off the floor, and before he's even done wiping his hand Jensen is sitting up and reaching into Jared's boxers.
"Jen--shit--" Jared gasps. Jensen's hand is huge and hot and he has a callus on one of his fingers. Jared closes his eyes--this is gonna be embarrassing--because just watching Jensen, the whole thing, was just-
Jared closes his eyes and Jensen jerks him off--one stroke, two, three--by the time he gets to four Jared is coming all over his belly and Jensen's hand and hoping to god they can do this again sometime so he can maybe last more than fifteen seconds.
*
The next day Jared is half-excited and half-nervous about going to the set. Jensen seemed perfectly fine in the car the rest of the way home the night before. He even gave Jared a smirk and a punch to the shoulder type thing before he got out, but-
A night is a long time to think things over, and no matter how much Jared knows about Jensen, he has no idea how he's going to act today.
Jared's fixing his coffee when he feels Jensen's shoulder bump into his. He turns his head and smiles. Jensen smiles back.
"Morning," Jensen drawls.
Jared sips his coffee. "Morning."
Jensen never eats breakfast, Jared knows this. So he's surprised when Jensen grabs a blueberry muffin and peels the paper off the bottom.
"I thought you didn't eat breakfast," Jared says. His voice sounds oddly accusatory. "I mean-I didn't realize you ate breakfast sometimes."
Jensen narrows his eyes. Jared thought he had every one of Jensen's expressions catalogued, but this was a new one. "Sometimes I do."
Jared shrugs. "I didn't know that."
It's cold still and Jared zips his jacket higher up. He sips his coffee. Adds another packet of sugar.
"Maybe there's a lot of things about me you don't know," Jensen finally says.
Jared watches him. Jensen's giving him another new look, but Jared isn't worried. Whatever this look means, it seems to include Jared, which is fine by him.
"Yeah," Jared says. He turns around and looks out onto the set. Jensen stands next to him and their shoulders bump again. "Maybe," Jared says and smiles.
Jared doesn't know a lot of things about Jensen. He can't wait to find them out.
*
Thanks to stone_princess for the KICKASS beta - you're wonderful! Thank you again!!
Title - Jared Knows Jensen
Pairing - JA/JP
Size - 16K
Rating - porn
Summary - Jared knows a lot of things about Jensen.
Authors Notes - So, seriously. There are a lot of Jensen Ackles "facts" in this. Quite honestly? Probably about half of them are true. (Or, they are, at least, according to the *koff* Jensen Ackles fansite interviews I've been reading like a loser lately.) A lot of it is made up, yes (for instance, I have NO IDEA if Jensen thinks Johnny Depp is hot. That might only exist in my head.) but some of the more bizarre ones ARE true (exhibit A - the stuffed pink elephant DOES exist, according to what I've read *g*)
Anyway - here 'tis!
Jared Knows Jensen
Jared knows a lot of things about Jensen.
He knows Jensen's favorite color is blue, and his favorite food is steak and his favorite song is some twangy crap by Garth Brooks. Jared tells him that that's lame and a cliché to boot. Jensen's a single guy from Texas; it's expected for him to like Garth Brooks. Whenever people ask Jared his favorite song he'll give them the name of some random Slayer or Metallica tune, just to shake things up. Jared's never even heard of half the shit he says he listens to, and sometimes, during an interview, he'll rattle something off and he'll know without even looking the face Jensen is making at him. The one that says, "Dude, you are so full of shit."
Jensen never admits to having a favorite movie--Jared knows this. People ask in interviews all the time, but Jensen is diplomatic and tries to never burn any bridges. He'd never pick a favorite anything, because what does that say about all the things he didn't pick?
When Jensen talks about Johnny Depp though, his cheeks flush pink and he drops his eyes a little. He says how he thinks Johnny is a "master at his craft" and "someone Jensen would really love to work with one day." What Jensen isn't saying is that he thinks that Johnny Depp is hot. Jared knows this because he knows Jensen, and hell, he thinks Johnny Depp is kind of hot himself.
Jared knows lots of stuff about Jensen. He knows about the ratty, stuffed pink elephant Jensen keeps shoved in his travel bag. How he's had it since he was six and scared of starting the first grade. There's a hole in the elephant's right leg from when Jensen threw it at his brother and his brother stepped on it when it hit the floor. Jensen doesn't tell that to too many people, but Jared knows.
He knows how Jensen's grandma still writes him letters and sends them to Vancouver when they're filming, or L.A. when they're off. He knows how Jensen's eyes go all crinkled and soft at the corners when he's talking about her. Jared knows how Jensen's accent gets as thick when he's talking about home as it does when he's tired or after a few beers.
There's nothing that Jensen hates more than waiting for someone. Jared knows this--that's why he's never late.
Jensen's a sarcastic son of a bitch. It took Jared three point two seconds to know that about him. The first day they worked together, Jared asked: "Can I get by here?" as he was trying to get to the coffee bar. Jensen turned around and stared at him with one eyebrow raised. "I don't know, can you?" he deadpanned.
Jared nodded his head, reached out, and took the cup of coffee Jensen had just finished fixing for himself. "That's cool," Jared said, smiling slowly. He took a sip of the coffee and started to walk away. "I'll just grab this one, thanks."
Jensen had really good aim. Jared knew that in the time it took him to snag Jensen's coffee that day to the time an empty cup hit him in the back of the head. It was another three point two seconds. Maybe less.
They go out sometimes--the two of them--and Jared knows when it's just a guy's night because Jensen wears his leather jacket over a plain colored t-shirt. He'll wear jeans and no jewelry and a pair of old Timberlands which still have the residue of thick, Texas mud stuck in the treads.
When it's a 'guys out to pick up girls night' Jared knows that too. He'll stop by Jensen's to get him and Jensen will be wearing a shirt--a real shirt. Something with an ugly print and buttons. He'll have on a nicer pair of jeans, and the Timberlands will be stuffed somewhere deep in the closet, traded for a pair of soft leather cowboy boots. The black ones with the few inch lift in the back (because as much as Jensen always says he doesn't care about the difference in their height, Jared knows that the three or four inches really pisses him off sometimes.) The boots have a leather strap that wraps twice around Jensen's ankle, with a chunky, silver buckle on the side.
Jared hates those boots. The boots mean that Jensen is looking for something that night. A girl something, a guy something. The boots mean that Jensen feels like drinking too much and talking too loud. The last time Jensen wore them Jared wound up in a bar fight with a hand-cast as a souvenir for three weeks. The boots are bad news.
The night is cool and damp. A Vancouver autumn night, and Jared stops the car in front of Jensen's place and bounds up the walk. There's a game on the satellite tonight that Jensen wants to watch (Dallas Mavericks. Jensen's favorite team, Jared knows) but when the door swings open under Jared's hand, he feels his plans for a quiet night slip through his fingers.
"Hey," Jensen says, pulling the door shut behind him. He smells too much like cologne, too much like want. "Ready to go?"
Jensen's shirt is white with stripes of some weird, blue pattern. He's wearing a thick, silver band on his finger and a skinny leather cord around his neck. Jared looks him in the eye and Jensen's just that much taller than usual.
The fucking boots.
"Yeah," Jared says flatly as Jensen walks past him and heads to the car. "Ready."
*
The bar is dimly lit and smells like warm beer and cigarette smoke. The stools are dark wood with high backs and hard seats. Jared's chair has one leg shorter than the other, so every time he leans forward for his drink he tilts to the left. The bartender is fat and surly and glares every time he gets them another beer like they're personally offending him by ordering. Jared watches the guy snarl as he slides two more bottles of Molson across the bar and paws through Jared's money with thick fingers. Jensen smiles and lifts his bottle, tipping it toward the bartender in a silent toast.
"You getting the distinct impression that we're not making friends here tonight?" he asks Jared quietly.
Jared takes a long pull and says out the side of his mouth, "Oh, yeah."
The bar is quiet enough though, and Jared knows that even if Jensen came out to pick someone up, he's just as happy eating stale pretzels and watching the Mavericks get their asses kicked on the TV hanging crookedly behind the bar. Jared takes another pull on his beer. He turns his head to say something and-
Jared knows from just the way Jensen is sitting up in his seat--knows by the way Jensen's back has gone straight and the way he's running a hand through his hair, making the spikes stick up even higher--that there's a girl on her way over.
Jensen turns his head and tosses a smile at Jared over his shoulder. Jared pastes a smile on his face. He orders another beer and gets ready to make small talk with the girl's friend.
*
Alicia is the girl talking to Jensen. Jared's talking to Michelle. They're nice enough--big fans of the show, locals from around the town--but Jensen's not really interested, Jared can tell.
When Jensen is interested in a girl he gets stupid sounding and nervous. He talks slower because he's concentrating on his enunciation so much. Jared can hardly remember that Jensen's from Texas when Jensen's talking to a girl he really likes. He cuts out all uses of "Well, hell," and "Good Goddamn," and instead says things like, "Oh, really," with his lips pursed and his hand on his chin.
Alicia and her friend are getting plenty of "Well, hell," responses, so Jared's not really concerned. When they pick up their drinks and say goodbye a few minutes later, Jensen turns to him and shrugs. He doesn't look too concerned either.
"You wanna get out of here?" Jensen asks. Jared can hear some of Jensen's twang working through. The way he held the held the first syllable of 'wanna' just a split-second too long. Jensen blinks his eyes slowly, and Jared knows he's had maybe one or two beers too many.
Jared stands up. "Yeah. Let's go."
*
It's even colder when they leave then when they got there, and Jared shivers a little as they walk through the parking lot. Jensen didn't even wear a jacket. He has his arms wrapped around himself and is shivering next to the car by the time Jared catches up with him.
"Turn the heater on." Jensen slides in and adjusts the temperature as Jared starts the car. The radio is off and the only thing Jared can hear is Jensen breathing and the muffled creaks of the interior under their bodies. He turns his head smiles. Jensen is blowing into his cupped hands. He's rubbing them together, and Jared reaches out and cuffs the side of his head.
"It's almost winter, ass. Try a jacket next time."
"Shut up, ass," Jensen mimics. Jared watches as Jensen drops his hands and rubs them on the thighs of his jeans. For some reason Jared left his hand resting on the seat by Jensen's head. For some other reason, Jensen leans into it.
Jensen's hair feels hard and spiky from his hair gel. Jared knows that Jensen doesn't really like his hair, but Jared thinks it suits him perfectly. Sharp, random, unpredictable. Jared looks away when he realizes he's actively thinking about Jensen's hair.
"Jared," Jensen says. His voice is a little too low. A little too soft. A little too much like it sounds in Jared's head, late at night, when he thinks about the things he's spent all day not letting himself think about.
The air in the car feels cold and crisp, and then Jensen is leaning over, into Jared's space and suddenly it's hotter than a Texas summer. Jared looks up and he knows what it means when Jensen looks at you like that.
"Jen," he says. His voice sounds like it's coming from somewhere else. Someplace where he's allowed to lean over and smell the bite of Jensen's cologne. Someplace where he can dip his head and lick across the warm spot under Jensen's ear.
Jensen's skin isn't smooth or soft. Jared's lips catch on the stubble on Jensen's throat. He kisses Jensen's jaw and shudders when Jensen moans his name. Jared can feel the word against his mouth. He runs his lips across Jensen's Adam's apple. Jensen's fingers are in Jared's hair, holding him as he licks across Jensen's skin.
Jared never knew it could be this good.
He never knew--never even let himself think that he would ever get Jensen for himself. If he had thought that, Jared thinks he might have imagined it differently. In a hotel on location somewhere, or, maybe in one of their bedrooms after a long day shooting and no one else to wind down with.
Steaming up the windows of Jared's car in the parking lot of some random bar never came into the equation.
Jensen's hands are bigger than Jared thought. His mouth is hotter and wetter than Jared ever expected, and he kisses Jared like a secret; all lips and teeth and tongue. Jensen slips his tongue in Jared's mouth, kisses the corner of his jaw. He runs his hands over Jared's face, down his chest, until he's fumbling with the buttons on Jared's jeans.
There's some part of Jared's brain that thinks that maybe he should stop this. It might make things awkward. It might make it impossible for them to work together.
Jared thinks that that part of his brain should shut the fuck up.
He knows Jensen, is the thing, and Jensen doesn't do anything lightly. He's not spontaneous and he's not flighty. He might have had a few beers tonight, but that didn't make Jensen want this all of a sudden, it just made him able to get it.
"You're not drunk, right?" Jared asks, just to be sure.
Jensen pops the button of Jared's jeans and says, "Right," against Jared's mouth.
"Oh, thank Christ," Jared pants. He pushes Jensen back against the door of the car and looks at him; mouth red and swollen from kissing, cheeks flushed so pink Jared can even see it in the dark of the car. Jensen's jeans are tight and straining against his dick, and he closes his eyes and breathes out as Jared snaps the buttons and drags the zipper down.
"Goddamn, Jared, yeah," Jensen breathes. Jared shoves Jensen's boxers down as far as he can, leans over, licks the head of Jensen's cock, and suddenly there are a thousand more things that Jared knows about Jensen.
Like how he thrusts his hips up, slow and steady as Jared sucks his cock deep into his throat. Like the way Jensen's fingers move through Jared's hair; not pulling or tugging, just kind of petting and then twisting around Jensen's fingers, holding him there as he thrusts up and up and up into Jared's mouth. The way Jensen's belly quivers when Jared runs his fingers across it. The way the skin between Jensen's stomach and side is softer than anything Jared has ever touched, and the way Jared's hand curves perfectly around Jensen's hip, like it was made to be there.
He knows what Jensen tastes like now, and he also knows that he could live to be a hundred, and he'd never forget.
Jared closes his eyes and moans deep in his throat. He feels Jensen's fingers tighten, hears Jensen say his name in a broken voice, and Jared pulls back because he wants to watch Jensen as he loses it. He wants to see as Jensen squeezes his eyes shut and breathes out roughly.
Jared wants to know what Jensen looks like when he comes.
How Jensen bites his lip and twists his head to the side. How he moves his hips faster, up off the seat and into Jared's hand. How Jared has to tighten his fingers--hard, harder than he ever imagined--as Jensen pants and moans, "Jesus," and "faster," and "fuck," and God, how fucking hot he is when his hips still and he comes all over Jared's fingers and hand?
Jared reaches down and grabs some crumpled napkins off the floor, and before he's even done wiping his hand Jensen is sitting up and reaching into Jared's boxers.
"Jen--shit--" Jared gasps. Jensen's hand is huge and hot and he has a callus on one of his fingers. Jared closes his eyes--this is gonna be embarrassing--because just watching Jensen, the whole thing, was just-
Jared closes his eyes and Jensen jerks him off--one stroke, two, three--by the time he gets to four Jared is coming all over his belly and Jensen's hand and hoping to god they can do this again sometime so he can maybe last more than fifteen seconds.
*
The next day Jared is half-excited and half-nervous about going to the set. Jensen seemed perfectly fine in the car the rest of the way home the night before. He even gave Jared a smirk and a punch to the shoulder type thing before he got out, but-
A night is a long time to think things over, and no matter how much Jared knows about Jensen, he has no idea how he's going to act today.
Jared's fixing his coffee when he feels Jensen's shoulder bump into his. He turns his head and smiles. Jensen smiles back.
"Morning," Jensen drawls.
Jared sips his coffee. "Morning."
Jensen never eats breakfast, Jared knows this. So he's surprised when Jensen grabs a blueberry muffin and peels the paper off the bottom.
"I thought you didn't eat breakfast," Jared says. His voice sounds oddly accusatory. "I mean-I didn't realize you ate breakfast sometimes."
Jensen narrows his eyes. Jared thought he had every one of Jensen's expressions catalogued, but this was a new one. "Sometimes I do."
Jared shrugs. "I didn't know that."
It's cold still and Jared zips his jacket higher up. He sips his coffee. Adds another packet of sugar.
"Maybe there's a lot of things about me you don't know," Jensen finally says.
Jared watches him. Jensen's giving him another new look, but Jared isn't worried. Whatever this look means, it seems to include Jared, which is fine by him.
"Yeah," Jared says. He turns around and looks out onto the set. Jensen stands next to him and their shoulders bump again. "Maybe," Jared says and smiles.
Jared doesn't know a lot of things about Jensen. He can't wait to find them out.
*