Fic: Oh Vienna. A "Doors" timestamp. RPS. AU J2. NC-17 1/2
Posting this at the last minute before leaving town. Back in two weeks.
Title: Oh Vienna (A timestamp for The Doors of Time)
Author: felisblanco
Pairing/people: Jensen/Jared
Wordcount: 9443 words
Rating: NC-17
Summary:
They're in Vienna. Vienna! The city of music! The city of Mozart! OMG!!eleventy!! Or "The one where Jensen has a musical acid trip and Jared takes lots of pictures."
Author’s note: Written for honscot for her generous bid at the help_queensland auction. I hope it fits what you were hoping for. *hugs*
Takes place right after the epilogue of The Doors of Time. Unbeta'd because I ran out of time. Some of the music pieces are a bit long. Just pause them, or your reading, when needed, whichever you prefer. Pretty pics made prettier by winchesterxgirl. Thank you, hon! [I can't believe I forgot to credit you. I was in such a hurry I didn't remember until we were on our way and by that time I was internetless for the next ten days. *sighs* Sorry, bb. *snuggles*] [ETA2. And thank you, raina_at for info help about Vienna! *hugs* Sorry, I forgot. Jeez, where was my brain that day?]
Nine hours. Nine hours being stuck in a metal tube filled with people and scents and thoughts and there was no breeze to cool his mind, no grass to sink his fingers into, no sleep, he couldn’t sleep because sleeping means dreaming and he’s so tired, oh God so tired. His fingers feel numb, hot, itchy. Ebony and ivory, or just plastic, they’re all plastic now but the body is wood and the tangents and wires, vibrating, vibrating… God, he needs. Needs it now because everything is too bright and loud and he’s so tired, so tired.
“Hang in there. Just a little further.”
Someone jostles Jensen’s shoulder and he clutches Jared’s hand tighter, clinging to it like a baby to its mother’s heartbeat. His ears are filled with words he doesn’t understand, everything smells different and the air is vibrating with… Europe. Centuries of history, of tragedy and triumph, of generations lost and cultures preserved. Of art and literature and music, music, music.
He breathes in deep and lets it out with a shudder, eyes squeezed shut against the sea of people. All those eyes watching him, those voices talking, those thoughts swirling around in a typhoon of languages. He can’t, he can’t...
“Jensen, you with me?” he hears Jared say, far, far away, the scent of saffron barely detectable over the chaos of smells surrounding him.
Jensen nods, squeezing Jared’s hand even tighter. He’s swaying, moving with the waves of a thousand sensations as they crash into him, trying to break through the barrier.
“I need to get our bags. Sit.”
He’s pushed down, at the last moment swinging the backpack off his shoulder before he squishes Minna underneath him. He can feel her through the thin material, squirming, claws poking through to scratch at his thighs, her angry meows muffled by the white noise surrounding them.
“Sshh,” he sooths, voice shaking. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“I’ll be right over there, it will only take a few minutes,” Jared says quietly. “Jensen? You gonna be all right?”
He nods but when Jared’s fingers start to slip away Jensen grabs them tighter on instinct, unable to let go. Jared stops. His grip shifts, secure, reassuring. He brings Jensen’s hand up, kissing the knuckles then turns his hand and presses his lips to the wrist.
Jensen breathes out. “Sorry. Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed.
“It’s all right,” Jared says gently. “But I really have to go get our bags or we’ll never get out of here.” There’s a pause and then, “Hey, would you mind keeping my friend company while I go fetch our bags? Just hold his hand so he knows he’s not alone?”
Jensen flinches. What? The thought of a stranger touching him, restraining him even, is terrifying. Not to mention the humiliation of being handed over like a helpless child. “Jared, no. I-”
Short slender fingers come to rest upon his hand, gripping his thumb tightly. “I’ll take care of you,” a bright voice says in a clear British accent. “What’s your name? My name’s Isabel. I’m six.”
Jensen relaxes instantly. He doesn’t even hitch his breath when Jared moves away, patting Jensen’s knee reassuringly as the small hand replaces Jared’s gigantic one.
“Jensen,” Jensen says then adds, “I’m twenty-nine.” It seems only polite.
“Are you blind?” He feels the air move as she waves her free arm in front of his face and the darkness behind his eyes swirls with bright orange. Her mother shushes her and tells her she’s being rude but Jensen just smiles and shakes his head.
“No. I just don’t like crowds. They make me nervous.”
“I’ll protect you,” she says boldly. “I’m really strong and brave. Just like my mummy. She’s a policewoman.” A woman, her mother, laughs, sounding a little embarrassed, but she doesn’t interfere. “What do you do, mister Jensen?”
“I’m a piano teacher.” The heat from her small sticky hand spreads through his body like a wave of calmness, easing the pressure of his chest and making it a lot easier to breathe. “Do you like music?”
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
Jared’s only gone for a few minutes but by the time he returns there’s a small group of people gathered where he left Jensen. Shit. He pushes his way through the crowd in panic. He never should have left Jensen alone. What of he’s zoned out or even worse, fallen asleep? How the hell are they going to explain an enchanted forest in the middle of a fucking airport?
“And he wasn’t big like you, he was just five,” he hears Jensen say as he gets closer. “When he played they had to lift him up on the seat and his feet would dangle, like this.”
Jensen is sitting on the bench, swinging his legs for the now giggling girl. He’s smiling and gesturing with his hands as he talks. He seems completely unaware of the steadily growing audience. Jared can’t help smiling. As shy as Jensen can be, children have a way of bringing him out of his shell, of making him feel interesting instead of just weird and different.
“He played an instrument called harpsichord,” Jensen continues, his voice hoarse, the words coming slowly, sluggishly. “Which is like a piano but instead of hitting the strings with hammers, it plucks them.”
Jared holds his breath when Jensen mimics plucking strings with his fingers, but when no notes pop out of thin air he lets it out again. Sometimes he forgets how well disciplined Jensen is after all those years of teaching. Still, Jared knows how much it takes out on Jensen, keeping his magic in check, and however much he’s enjoying the attention he looks ready to fall over any second.
“Hey,” Jared says and lays a hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “You ready to go?”
Jensen looks up at him, pupils blown wide in forest green eyes. He’s pale, sweaty, and clearly exhausted but the smile is genuine and happy.
“Jared.” He leans his head against Jared’s arm, his eyelids drooping. “We’re talking Mozart,” he murmurs, words coming out a little slurred. “I love Mozart.”
Jared’s chest warms with a sudden rush of affection. ‘And I love you,’ he thinks. ‘God, do I love you.’
“I know,” he says softly, rescuing Jensen’s backpack where it’s sliding onto the floor before hauling Jensen to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you to the hotel.”
Jensen plasters himself to Jared’s side, like a piece of a puzzle slotting into place, his eyes falling closed and his lips parting on a relieved sigh. If it wasn’t for Jared’s arm around his waist he’d be sliding to the floor in a heap of bones and muscles.
“Is he all right?” the girl’s mother asks, looking slightly alarmed.
Jared nods, offering her a grateful smile. “Just tired. Narcolepsy,” he adds awkwardly and feels Jensen hiccup with silent laughter. “Thanks for looking after him,” Jared tells the clearly disappointed girl. “I hope you have a nice trip.”
She nods solemnly and waves as Jared turns them away. “Bye, mister Jensen.”
Jensen hums, head nodding just a little. The backpack starts sliding off Jared’s shoulder and he hoists it up higher which makes him almost lose his grip on Jensen. He swears he can feel Minna squirming inside the bag, as ridiculous as that sounds.
“Let me help you with that, sir,” a voice says and he turns his head to find a stewardess at his side. She slides the backpack off his shoulder and puts it on top of the cart carrying their bags. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full,” she adds with a smile. “Why don’t you let me push this for you?”
Jared tightens his grip on Jensen, he’s practically carrying him by this point. Jensen seems to be falling asleep on his feet, or possibly just slipping away, Jared isn’t sure.
“Thank you. He’s a little out of it. We’ve been up since five this morning,” he starts then notices the airline logo on her uniform. “Guess you know all about that.” He laughs, embarrassed.
“Row twenty-six, right?” she asks, smiling when he looks at her startled. “I was stuck serving business class but the girls wouldn’t shut up about you two. Apparently you’re the ‘cutest couple ever’.”
Jared blushes deep red. It still unnerves him a little, being out in the open about their relationship. Not because he’s uncomfortable with it but because he knows too many other people are. And he would hate to bring that kind of attention to Jensen. He might be protected against physical harm but that doesn’t mean he can’t be hurt.
“That’s Jensen. He gets cuddly when he’s nervous,” Jared tells her.
She laughs. “Well, if I had such a big, handsome boyfriend I’d be cuddly, too,” she teases and Jensen hums in agreement into Jared’s neck, making him blush even further.
“You should see him when he’s horny,” he blurts out without thinking and spends the taxi ride to the hotel wondering if his cheeks will ever regain their normal color.
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
“I’ve never had sex in a hotel room,” a voice whispers into Jared’s ear, rousing him from deep sleep.
“Wha’?” he mumbles and blinks his eyes half-open, groggily taking in the unfamiliar room, the sound of foreign voices outside the open window, the warmth of Jensen’s breath on his cheek.
“Sex in a hotel room.” Jensen kisses him on the slope on his neck. “We should do that.” The voice is heated, the kisses teasing. A hand slides up Jared’s thigh under the sheet.
Jared squirms, a lazy smile widening across his face as he spreads his legs, just a little. “Of all the ‘never’ places available you pick hotel room?” he teases. “How about Europe? You’ve never had sex in Europe.”
Jensen’s hand stops for a moment before sliding up to grab one of Jared’s buttcheeks “I’ve never had sex in a hotel room,” he says firmly and the possessive tone in his voice makes Jared shiver just a little.
Jared would tell Jensen that nothing about their sex life, or even life in general, reminds him of what he had with Sandy but he’s not sure acknowledging that Jensen has a problem with it would do either of them any good. So instead he rolls over on his back and pulls Jensen down on top of him.
“I plan on having sex with you in far more exciting places than just this room,” he promises, smiling when Jensen’s cheek flush. “Dude, we’re in Europe. We’re obligated to have crazy European sex.”
Jensen laughs. “I never should have let you watch Eurotrip,” he sighs dramatically.
“Oh, but this is definitely where I parked my car,” Jared quotes with a leer as he threads his fingers into Jensen’s hair, pulling him in for a kiss.
“We should… we should close the window,” Jensen gasps, fingers digging into Jared’s shoulders. His whole body is flushed, his chest heaving, his back arching just a little higher with every thrust. “I’m gonna… Oh god. Jared! We need to… Jared!”
“In a minute,” Jared groans. “I can’t… Jesus. Yes. So good. You’re so…”
“Jared! Window, we need to… Ungh!”
“Well, at least we didn’t break anything,” Jared says lamely. He grunts when Jensen hits him in the chest, face red with embarrassment. “C’mon. I bet no one even noticed.”
Through the open window they hear loud voices talking. Rough, breathless, utterly confused.
The word orgasm sounds very similar in German, Jared notes as he fights off the pillow Jensen is trying to suffocate him with.
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
It’s always a little disconcerting waking up in a strange place he can’t remember how he got to.
The girl in the lobby offers him a smile as they pass and says she hopes he’s feeling better. He smiles back and says, ‘Thank you, I’m good,” and hopes she doesn’t notice the bewildered look in his eyes. The doorman cheerfully tells him in a heavily accented voice that he looks ‘much healthier now, mein herr’ and Jensen nods and smiles and grips Jared’s hand tighter.
Jensen doesn’t remember either of them. In fact, he has no recollection of anything after they left the airport.
“Was I that bad?” he asks Jared in a low voice.
“Depends on your definition of ‘bad’,” Jared teases but he sobers up quickly when Jensen looks away, mortified. “I’m kidding. You were just very pale and didn’t say much and they got a bit worried. I told them you had to be heavily sedated because you’re so scared of flying.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He grins. “You more than made up for it this morning.”
Jensen can’t help smiling even if he’s blushing like a schoolgirl. “Next time we’re closing the window before we start.”
“You’re no fun,” Jared sighs dramatically. “So, where first?”
Jensen licks his lips. “Can we just… Is there a park somewhere close by?”
Jared looks at him, amusement quickly making way for concern. “Yeah, sure. Let me check.” He pulls the map out of his jacket pocket, unfolding and turning it this way and that, trying to figure out where they are. “Here. This one is pretty close. I think.” He frowns. “It’s all in meters.” He folds the map and puts his arm around Jensen’s shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly. “You good to walk?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Just… edgy.”
Jared nods. “Okay. This way.”
They head down the street and then turn right. Jensen has no idea where they’re going but Jared usually has a pretty good sense of direction and Jensen is more than willing to put himself in Jared’s capable hands. It leaves him free to let his eyes and mind wander, trying to take in all the wonders around them.
Everything is so different here from back home. Not just the architecture and the language but everything. It’s so… old. Old memories, old history dating back to before it was written. Grey shadows and warm feelings. He can taste salt and dust and gunpowder, can smell fear and love, hope and despair. Every time he closes his eyes he feels like he’s falling, dropping into an abyss of sensations, draining, weakening him. Confusing the hell out of him.
He needs to get his defenses back up. Just needs to relax and find his balance. A little dirt, some flowers and trees and he’ll be fine. He can cope without his piano, he’s not a junkie. Really.
His fingers twitch and he shoves his hands in his pockets, breathing noisily through his nose. Where is this damn park?
At the first sight of trees he starts breathing more easily. The moment his feet touch the soft ground his shoulders relax. He slips out from under Jared’s arm, quickly kicking off his shoes and tugging at his socks before stepping out on the grass. Oh God, this feels good.
“Uhm, I’m not sure you’re allowed to walk on the… Okay, then.” Jared huffs out an awkward laugh.
Jensen closes his eyes and walks across the lawn, the soft grass caressing his ankles, the ground a little lumpy under his feet. He draws in a deep breath, smelling at least twenty different kinds of flowers and herbs. He extends his arms and his fingers touch bark, rough and cool. Oh! He turns towards the tree, running his fingers over the bark before giving in and hugging the trunk. Grins when an indignant voice snaps at him to keep his hands to himself, ‘The nerve! This is a public park! Pervert!’ He hears someone laugh above him, like pearls dancing on glass, and he looks up.
“Hello there. Not as grumpy as your American cousins, are you?” he says with a grin
The laughter cuts off and then a pinecone is hurled down, hitting him right in the forehead. Ow. When he looks back up there’s a tiny fairy peeking through the leaves, sparkling eyes glaring at him.
“Sorry,” he says, waving at it. “I didn’t mean to be rude.” An angry flutter of wings is all the answer he gets.
He walks on, absently aware of Jared following on the path, keeping close. There’s a big marble statue ahead, with a flowerbed in front of it arranged in the form of a musical clef. Oh, is that…?
“Your master,” Jared calls out, his voice bright and happy. “Go pay your respect.”
Jensen laughs. He walks closer and gazes up at the image of Mozart. Melodramatic to the point of flamboyant, even in stone. “Look at him,” he says awed. “Isn’t he amazing?”
“Yeah,” Jared says, right by his ear. His arms wrap around Jensen’s waist, his chin coming to rest upon Jensen’s shoulder, pressing their cheeks together. “Absolutely amazing.”
Jensen closes his eyes and leans back, basking in the warmth of Jared’s body pressed against his. Music dances through the trees, rustling the leaves. Mozart, of course. The Magic Flute.
They stand there for a long time, listening to the Queen of the Night, trilling her aria. Well, Jensen is, he has no idea what Jared hears.
“You feel better?” Jared asks after a while, rubbing a hand over Jensen’s stomach. Jensen hums, smiling.
“Okay, put your shoes back on, there’s something you need to see.”
He opens his eyes. Jared is holding his shoes and socks, dangling them in front of him. He must have picked them up earlier, knowing Jensen was just as likely to forget he’d worn any. Jensen reluctantly accepts them. He likes being barefoot. “Where are we going?”
“Trust me, you’ll love this.” Jared looks giddy, bouncing on his feet with a big grin on his face. Jensen hardly has his shoes on before Jared’s grabbed his hand and starts pulling him along the path. Doesn’t take long before they’re facing a huge glass building.
“Is that a greenhouse?”
Jared grins. “Not just a greenhouse. Something much better. C’mon.”
It is. It’s amazing. So many colors. Oh wow.
“Is... is this real?” Jensen whispers. “Can you see them?”
Jared laughs and squeezes his hand. “Yeah. It’s a butterfly house. Isn’t it cool?”
Jensen nods. The air is tropical, hot and humid. There are butterflies everywhere. Shimmering, shining. Multicolored, single-colored, big, small, fluttering about and settling on leaves and flowers. A blue one, the kind of color he’s only seen in his dreams, flutters over to sit on his hand. He doesn’t dare to move or even breathe, lest it flies away.
“I had a dream like this once,” he whispers. “You were kissing me and there were a hundred butterflies around us, in every color of the world. And then I woke up and it was raining and you… you weren’t there. I cried for an hour. So stupid. I knew it was just a dream.”
“No,” Jared says, turning him around. “Not a dream. A premonition.”
It’s even better than he remembered.
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
It’s high noon by the time they leave. They find a small restaurant to have lunch where they can sit outside in the sun. Jensen gets an extra cup of coffee to help with his jitters. He feels a lot better now but his fingers are still itching, twitching, drumming upon his thighs the rhythm to a fast nervous melody that would drive Jared crazy if he could hear it.
“Still edgy?” Jared asks suddenly, bringing him out of his thoughts.
He shrugs, curls his fingers into fists. “I’m okay.”
Jared shakes his head, smiling. “You are the worst liar ever. C’mon. This is Vienna, the city of classical music. There has to be a piano somewhere that you can use.”
He signals the waiter, a wafer-thin twinky boy with a knowing grin and a flirty glint in his eye that makes Jensen feel slightly uncomfortable. He uncurls one hand to grab Jared’s on top of the table, just in case.
“My friend here is a pianist,” Jared says, ignoring the way the waiter smirks at the word ‘friend’. “Is there any place we can go where he can play? He needs his fix,” he jokes and Jensen kicks him under the table, even if it’s the truth.
“Piano?” The waiter snorts. “All proper restaurants in Vienna have pianos. See?” He points through the window at a baby grand, standing in one corner of the restaurant.
Jensen is up from his chair and moving before the boy gets any further, not even bothering to ask for permission.
“Jensen,” he hears Jared warn, sounding a little nervous.
“I know,” he calls back. “I’ll be careful.”
“Is he any good?” he hears the waiter ask but by then he’s reached his destination so Jared’s answer eludes him. The piano is luring him in, like a siren, the pull so strong he’s surprised he didn’t feel it, sitting outside.
“Oh,” he says, breathless. “You are beautiful. Such a pretty little thing.”
She hums, pleased, her strings singing in anticipation. He runs his fingers over the keys, too light to make a sound, and it’s like stepping into a warm shower after hours out in the cold. The tremble in his hands disappears as all the jumbled pieces in his mind settle into place. He sits down on the low bench, adjusting it slightly. Tries the pedals, presses down on a few keys. Oh yes, this. This is exactly what he’s been missing.
Tchaikovsky: June: Barcarolle From The Seasons, Op.37B / Ilona Prunyi (4:52)
By the time he becomes aware of his surroundings again it’s been two hours and the restaurant is packed with people, applauding like crazy. He looks up to find Jared leaning against the piano’s belly, watching him with a proud, almost smug, look on his face.
“Congratulations on your first solo concert abroad,” he says, grinning. “How does it feel?”
Jensen blinks. Breathes in. “We should probably go now,” he says in a low voice.
Jared straightens up, instantly on alert. “You okay?”
He nods. Clears his throat. “All that magic I’ve been swallowing? It’s… very arousing.”
Jared stares at him. Blinks.
“Okay, we’re going now,” he says and grabs Jensen’s hand pulling him to his feet and out of the restaurant. A woman brushes up against them and a spark of arousal hits Jensen straight in the groin. Her eyes widen, face flushing as she jerks away, and he knows she felt it. Shit.
“Sorry. Gotta go. Sorry.”
They practically run out of there. He’s panting, sweat running down his back, knees turning weak.
“Here,” Jared says, pulling on his arm and suddenly he’s back up against a wall with Jared devouring his mouth. Jesus, yes!
His fingers are in Jared’s hair, tugging, stroking, hanging on for dear life. He’s riding Jared’s thigh, his dick so hard it almost hurts. Jared let’s go of his mouth and Jensen’s head falls back as he sucks in air, banging against the brick wall. His eyes flutter open, noting the dark alley, the smell of trash, the thankful absence of an audience. He closes his eyes again, the moan wedged in his throat finally daring to escape.
“Fuck, you’re killing me.” Jared groans and drops kisses along Jensen’s jaw and down his throat. “Jesus, you… Oh God.”
His hands, his amazing big hands, are fumbling at Jensen’s pants, popping the button and working the zipper and then oh God, yes.
“Fuck,” Jensen grunts, his hips jerking forward. He can never quite get used to how it feels having someone else’s hand on his dick. Having Jared’s hand on his dick. “Fuckfuckfuck.”
“Think we’ll be in enough trouble if we get caught doing this,” Jared says with a choked laugh.
“Fuck,” Jensen repeats, this time in disappointment. He’s aching for Jared to flip him over and take him right there, up against the wall. Aching as much as he was to get his hands on a piano two hours ago. He can so easily imagine it, his cheek pressed into the wall, fingers clawing for purchase, the breeze brushing his naked skin, pants around his knees and Jared pushing into him. Pushing and filling him up and…
“Oh fuck,” Jared groans. “Stop it. I’m gonna… Jesus, Jensen, stop those thoughts or I swear I’ll do it. I’ll take you right here and then we’ll get arrested and deported and you can never visit Vienna ever again.”
Jensen squeezes his eyes shut. It’s no use. Now the idea is there he can’t unsee it. Can’t stop the images from unfolding. Of Jared’s hands holding on to his hips, his teeth sinking into Jensen’s shoulder as he pushes and thrusts and…
“Jensen!”
In desperation Jensen grabs Jared’s head in his hands, pressing his palms to each side as he kisses him hard. Then presses their foreheads together and lets go of everything.
“Jesus, what are you…? Oh. Oh God. Oh. God.”
The world goes white before his eyes.
“We gotta stop having public sex,” Jared mumbles as they awkwardly hurry past the restaurant ten minutes later. “Do you think they, you know?”
“Possibly,” Jensen says, still a little out of breath. He risks a glance over then quickly turns his head away, face beet red. “Oh yeah. Definitely.”
Jared chokes on a laugh. “You know, I was actually kidding about the crazy European sex. Jesus.”
“Don’t think it counts as crazy unless there’s at least leather involved,” Jensen points out and then they’re laughing and laughing until they’re doubled over, gasping for breath and people passing by stare at them like they’re mad.
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
The city is singing, he can hear it. In the leaves of the trees rustling in the warm summer wind. In the sound of a million footsteps, present and past, running, walking, marching, skipping. In the wings of the doves, fluttering down from the rooftops to pick up breadcrumbs beneath the tables of the coffee houses. In the tolling of the bells of Stephansdom, calling the faithful to mass.
In the music of old, of new, of times yet to come. Soaring, whispering, crying, laughing… Music, music, music!
A warm palm blankets his hand, long fingers stroking over his wrist. “Jensen, you with me?”
“Can you hear it?” he whispers, tilting his head to better catch the sweet song of a sole violin. So nervous and hopeful. Young, yet old. Oh so old.
Jared shifts in his seat, the sound of his chair scraping the pavement joining the choir. “Depends on what you’re listening to,” he answers. His voice is warm and smooth, like hot chocolate and cream.
Jensen blinks his eyes open. Jared is watching him, smiling. There are traces of strawberry cake at the corner of his mouth, red juice staining his lips. The espresso cup, dwarfed to the size of a thimble in Jared’s giant hand, still holds a few sips of bittersweet coffee. One long leg rests bent upon a bony knee, pale skin showing at the ankle. The spindly chair creaks under Jared’s weight with every breath he takes. He still has the ghosts of Jensen’s fingerprints all over his skin.
God, he’s beautiful.
“The music,” Jensen breathes out. “It’s everywhere.”
Jared blinks. He opens his mouth as if to speak but then he closes it again, looking partly puzzled, partly awed. He tilts his head a little, listening, then leans back in the creaky chair, an expectant look on his face. “Tell me about it,” he says.
So Jensen does. With words and thoughts and flailing hands and a laugh and a smile and a voice that chokes up when he least expects it. He sees the smile play upon Jared’s lips, and the way his eyes flicker with wonder and love and a hint of jealousy at all the things he can’t see, and Jensen thinks, ‘This can’t be real. I’m going to wake up any moment now.’
Children from a different time run by, laughing. An old woman shoots them a curious glance before hurrying past, head bowed. A group of tourists goes by, their cameras clicking away like the keys of a typewriter. Minna, the sneaky thief that she is, reaches a paw over the edge of the table to steal whipped cream from Jared’s plate. Past and present, dreams and reality, all mix together in one exotic package.
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
Continued in Part 2
Sorry for the code shit. Apparently Safari hates embedded players, Chrome just starts playing everyone at once [edit. uhm, that was on hubby's PC, works fine on my Mac] and my own computer hates me. *groans*
Title: Oh Vienna (A timestamp for The Doors of Time)
Author: felisblanco
Pairing/people: Jensen/Jared
Wordcount: 9443 words
Rating: NC-17
Summary:
They're in Vienna. Vienna! The city of music! The city of Mozart! OMG!!eleventy!! Or "The one where Jensen has a musical acid trip and Jared takes lots of pictures."
Author’s note: Written for honscot for her generous bid at the help_queensland auction. I hope it fits what you were hoping for. *hugs*
Takes place right after the epilogue of The Doors of Time. Unbeta'd because I ran out of time. Some of the music pieces are a bit long. Just pause them, or your reading, when needed, whichever you prefer. Pretty pics made prettier by winchesterxgirl. Thank you, hon! [I can't believe I forgot to credit you. I was in such a hurry I didn't remember until we were on our way and by that time I was internetless for the next ten days. *sighs* Sorry, bb. *snuggles*] [ETA2. And thank you, raina_at for info help about Vienna! *hugs* Sorry, I forgot. Jeez, where was my brain that day?]
Nine hours. Nine hours being stuck in a metal tube filled with people and scents and thoughts and there was no breeze to cool his mind, no grass to sink his fingers into, no sleep, he couldn’t sleep because sleeping means dreaming and he’s so tired, oh God so tired. His fingers feel numb, hot, itchy. Ebony and ivory, or just plastic, they’re all plastic now but the body is wood and the tangents and wires, vibrating, vibrating… God, he needs. Needs it now because everything is too bright and loud and he’s so tired, so tired.
“Hang in there. Just a little further.”
Someone jostles Jensen’s shoulder and he clutches Jared’s hand tighter, clinging to it like a baby to its mother’s heartbeat. His ears are filled with words he doesn’t understand, everything smells different and the air is vibrating with… Europe. Centuries of history, of tragedy and triumph, of generations lost and cultures preserved. Of art and literature and music, music, music.
He breathes in deep and lets it out with a shudder, eyes squeezed shut against the sea of people. All those eyes watching him, those voices talking, those thoughts swirling around in a typhoon of languages. He can’t, he can’t...
“Jensen, you with me?” he hears Jared say, far, far away, the scent of saffron barely detectable over the chaos of smells surrounding him.
Jensen nods, squeezing Jared’s hand even tighter. He’s swaying, moving with the waves of a thousand sensations as they crash into him, trying to break through the barrier.
“I need to get our bags. Sit.”
He’s pushed down, at the last moment swinging the backpack off his shoulder before he squishes Minna underneath him. He can feel her through the thin material, squirming, claws poking through to scratch at his thighs, her angry meows muffled by the white noise surrounding them.
“Sshh,” he sooths, voice shaking. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“I’ll be right over there, it will only take a few minutes,” Jared says quietly. “Jensen? You gonna be all right?”
He nods but when Jared’s fingers start to slip away Jensen grabs them tighter on instinct, unable to let go. Jared stops. His grip shifts, secure, reassuring. He brings Jensen’s hand up, kissing the knuckles then turns his hand and presses his lips to the wrist.
Jensen breathes out. “Sorry. Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed.
“It’s all right,” Jared says gently. “But I really have to go get our bags or we’ll never get out of here.” There’s a pause and then, “Hey, would you mind keeping my friend company while I go fetch our bags? Just hold his hand so he knows he’s not alone?”
Jensen flinches. What? The thought of a stranger touching him, restraining him even, is terrifying. Not to mention the humiliation of being handed over like a helpless child. “Jared, no. I-”
Short slender fingers come to rest upon his hand, gripping his thumb tightly. “I’ll take care of you,” a bright voice says in a clear British accent. “What’s your name? My name’s Isabel. I’m six.”
Jensen relaxes instantly. He doesn’t even hitch his breath when Jared moves away, patting Jensen’s knee reassuringly as the small hand replaces Jared’s gigantic one.
“Jensen,” Jensen says then adds, “I’m twenty-nine.” It seems only polite.
“Are you blind?” He feels the air move as she waves her free arm in front of his face and the darkness behind his eyes swirls with bright orange. Her mother shushes her and tells her she’s being rude but Jensen just smiles and shakes his head.
“No. I just don’t like crowds. They make me nervous.”
“I’ll protect you,” she says boldly. “I’m really strong and brave. Just like my mummy. She’s a policewoman.” A woman, her mother, laughs, sounding a little embarrassed, but she doesn’t interfere. “What do you do, mister Jensen?”
“I’m a piano teacher.” The heat from her small sticky hand spreads through his body like a wave of calmness, easing the pressure of his chest and making it a lot easier to breathe. “Do you like music?”
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
Jared’s only gone for a few minutes but by the time he returns there’s a small group of people gathered where he left Jensen. Shit. He pushes his way through the crowd in panic. He never should have left Jensen alone. What of he’s zoned out or even worse, fallen asleep? How the hell are they going to explain an enchanted forest in the middle of a fucking airport?
“And he wasn’t big like you, he was just five,” he hears Jensen say as he gets closer. “When he played they had to lift him up on the seat and his feet would dangle, like this.”
Jensen is sitting on the bench, swinging his legs for the now giggling girl. He’s smiling and gesturing with his hands as he talks. He seems completely unaware of the steadily growing audience. Jared can’t help smiling. As shy as Jensen can be, children have a way of bringing him out of his shell, of making him feel interesting instead of just weird and different.
“He played an instrument called harpsichord,” Jensen continues, his voice hoarse, the words coming slowly, sluggishly. “Which is like a piano but instead of hitting the strings with hammers, it plucks them.”
Jared holds his breath when Jensen mimics plucking strings with his fingers, but when no notes pop out of thin air he lets it out again. Sometimes he forgets how well disciplined Jensen is after all those years of teaching. Still, Jared knows how much it takes out on Jensen, keeping his magic in check, and however much he’s enjoying the attention he looks ready to fall over any second.
“Hey,” Jared says and lays a hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “You ready to go?”
Jensen looks up at him, pupils blown wide in forest green eyes. He’s pale, sweaty, and clearly exhausted but the smile is genuine and happy.
“Jared.” He leans his head against Jared’s arm, his eyelids drooping. “We’re talking Mozart,” he murmurs, words coming out a little slurred. “I love Mozart.”
Jared’s chest warms with a sudden rush of affection. ‘And I love you,’ he thinks. ‘God, do I love you.’
“I know,” he says softly, rescuing Jensen’s backpack where it’s sliding onto the floor before hauling Jensen to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you to the hotel.”
Jensen plasters himself to Jared’s side, like a piece of a puzzle slotting into place, his eyes falling closed and his lips parting on a relieved sigh. If it wasn’t for Jared’s arm around his waist he’d be sliding to the floor in a heap of bones and muscles.
“Is he all right?” the girl’s mother asks, looking slightly alarmed.
Jared nods, offering her a grateful smile. “Just tired. Narcolepsy,” he adds awkwardly and feels Jensen hiccup with silent laughter. “Thanks for looking after him,” Jared tells the clearly disappointed girl. “I hope you have a nice trip.”
She nods solemnly and waves as Jared turns them away. “Bye, mister Jensen.”
Jensen hums, head nodding just a little. The backpack starts sliding off Jared’s shoulder and he hoists it up higher which makes him almost lose his grip on Jensen. He swears he can feel Minna squirming inside the bag, as ridiculous as that sounds.
“Let me help you with that, sir,” a voice says and he turns his head to find a stewardess at his side. She slides the backpack off his shoulder and puts it on top of the cart carrying their bags. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full,” she adds with a smile. “Why don’t you let me push this for you?”
Jared tightens his grip on Jensen, he’s practically carrying him by this point. Jensen seems to be falling asleep on his feet, or possibly just slipping away, Jared isn’t sure.
“Thank you. He’s a little out of it. We’ve been up since five this morning,” he starts then notices the airline logo on her uniform. “Guess you know all about that.” He laughs, embarrassed.
“Row twenty-six, right?” she asks, smiling when he looks at her startled. “I was stuck serving business class but the girls wouldn’t shut up about you two. Apparently you’re the ‘cutest couple ever’.”
Jared blushes deep red. It still unnerves him a little, being out in the open about their relationship. Not because he’s uncomfortable with it but because he knows too many other people are. And he would hate to bring that kind of attention to Jensen. He might be protected against physical harm but that doesn’t mean he can’t be hurt.
“That’s Jensen. He gets cuddly when he’s nervous,” Jared tells her.
She laughs. “Well, if I had such a big, handsome boyfriend I’d be cuddly, too,” she teases and Jensen hums in agreement into Jared’s neck, making him blush even further.
“You should see him when he’s horny,” he blurts out without thinking and spends the taxi ride to the hotel wondering if his cheeks will ever regain their normal color.
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
“I’ve never had sex in a hotel room,” a voice whispers into Jared’s ear, rousing him from deep sleep.
“Wha’?” he mumbles and blinks his eyes half-open, groggily taking in the unfamiliar room, the sound of foreign voices outside the open window, the warmth of Jensen’s breath on his cheek.
“Sex in a hotel room.” Jensen kisses him on the slope on his neck. “We should do that.” The voice is heated, the kisses teasing. A hand slides up Jared’s thigh under the sheet.
Jared squirms, a lazy smile widening across his face as he spreads his legs, just a little. “Of all the ‘never’ places available you pick hotel room?” he teases. “How about Europe? You’ve never had sex in Europe.”
Jensen’s hand stops for a moment before sliding up to grab one of Jared’s buttcheeks “I’ve never had sex in a hotel room,” he says firmly and the possessive tone in his voice makes Jared shiver just a little.
Jared would tell Jensen that nothing about their sex life, or even life in general, reminds him of what he had with Sandy but he’s not sure acknowledging that Jensen has a problem with it would do either of them any good. So instead he rolls over on his back and pulls Jensen down on top of him.
“I plan on having sex with you in far more exciting places than just this room,” he promises, smiling when Jensen’s cheek flush. “Dude, we’re in Europe. We’re obligated to have crazy European sex.”
Jensen laughs. “I never should have let you watch Eurotrip,” he sighs dramatically.
“Oh, but this is definitely where I parked my car,” Jared quotes with a leer as he threads his fingers into Jensen’s hair, pulling him in for a kiss.
“We should… we should close the window,” Jensen gasps, fingers digging into Jared’s shoulders. His whole body is flushed, his chest heaving, his back arching just a little higher with every thrust. “I’m gonna… Oh god. Jared! We need to… Jared!”
“In a minute,” Jared groans. “I can’t… Jesus. Yes. So good. You’re so…”
“Jared! Window, we need to… Ungh!”
“Well, at least we didn’t break anything,” Jared says lamely. He grunts when Jensen hits him in the chest, face red with embarrassment. “C’mon. I bet no one even noticed.”
Through the open window they hear loud voices talking. Rough, breathless, utterly confused.
The word orgasm sounds very similar in German, Jared notes as he fights off the pillow Jensen is trying to suffocate him with.
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
It’s always a little disconcerting waking up in a strange place he can’t remember how he got to.
The girl in the lobby offers him a smile as they pass and says she hopes he’s feeling better. He smiles back and says, ‘Thank you, I’m good,” and hopes she doesn’t notice the bewildered look in his eyes. The doorman cheerfully tells him in a heavily accented voice that he looks ‘much healthier now, mein herr’ and Jensen nods and smiles and grips Jared’s hand tighter.
Jensen doesn’t remember either of them. In fact, he has no recollection of anything after they left the airport.
“Was I that bad?” he asks Jared in a low voice.
“Depends on your definition of ‘bad’,” Jared teases but he sobers up quickly when Jensen looks away, mortified. “I’m kidding. You were just very pale and didn’t say much and they got a bit worried. I told them you had to be heavily sedated because you’re so scared of flying.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He grins. “You more than made up for it this morning.”
Jensen can’t help smiling even if he’s blushing like a schoolgirl. “Next time we’re closing the window before we start.”
“You’re no fun,” Jared sighs dramatically. “So, where first?”
Jensen licks his lips. “Can we just… Is there a park somewhere close by?”
Jared looks at him, amusement quickly making way for concern. “Yeah, sure. Let me check.” He pulls the map out of his jacket pocket, unfolding and turning it this way and that, trying to figure out where they are. “Here. This one is pretty close. I think.” He frowns. “It’s all in meters.” He folds the map and puts his arm around Jensen’s shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly. “You good to walk?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Just… edgy.”
Jared nods. “Okay. This way.”
They head down the street and then turn right. Jensen has no idea where they’re going but Jared usually has a pretty good sense of direction and Jensen is more than willing to put himself in Jared’s capable hands. It leaves him free to let his eyes and mind wander, trying to take in all the wonders around them.
Everything is so different here from back home. Not just the architecture and the language but everything. It’s so… old. Old memories, old history dating back to before it was written. Grey shadows and warm feelings. He can taste salt and dust and gunpowder, can smell fear and love, hope and despair. Every time he closes his eyes he feels like he’s falling, dropping into an abyss of sensations, draining, weakening him. Confusing the hell out of him.
He needs to get his defenses back up. Just needs to relax and find his balance. A little dirt, some flowers and trees and he’ll be fine. He can cope without his piano, he’s not a junkie. Really.
His fingers twitch and he shoves his hands in his pockets, breathing noisily through his nose. Where is this damn park?
At the first sight of trees he starts breathing more easily. The moment his feet touch the soft ground his shoulders relax. He slips out from under Jared’s arm, quickly kicking off his shoes and tugging at his socks before stepping out on the grass. Oh God, this feels good.
“Uhm, I’m not sure you’re allowed to walk on the… Okay, then.” Jared huffs out an awkward laugh.
Jensen closes his eyes and walks across the lawn, the soft grass caressing his ankles, the ground a little lumpy under his feet. He draws in a deep breath, smelling at least twenty different kinds of flowers and herbs. He extends his arms and his fingers touch bark, rough and cool. Oh! He turns towards the tree, running his fingers over the bark before giving in and hugging the trunk. Grins when an indignant voice snaps at him to keep his hands to himself, ‘The nerve! This is a public park! Pervert!’ He hears someone laugh above him, like pearls dancing on glass, and he looks up.
“Hello there. Not as grumpy as your American cousins, are you?” he says with a grin
The laughter cuts off and then a pinecone is hurled down, hitting him right in the forehead. Ow. When he looks back up there’s a tiny fairy peeking through the leaves, sparkling eyes glaring at him.
“Sorry,” he says, waving at it. “I didn’t mean to be rude.” An angry flutter of wings is all the answer he gets.
He walks on, absently aware of Jared following on the path, keeping close. There’s a big marble statue ahead, with a flowerbed in front of it arranged in the form of a musical clef. Oh, is that…?
“Your master,” Jared calls out, his voice bright and happy. “Go pay your respect.”
Jensen laughs. He walks closer and gazes up at the image of Mozart. Melodramatic to the point of flamboyant, even in stone. “Look at him,” he says awed. “Isn’t he amazing?”
“Yeah,” Jared says, right by his ear. His arms wrap around Jensen’s waist, his chin coming to rest upon Jensen’s shoulder, pressing their cheeks together. “Absolutely amazing.”
Jensen closes his eyes and leans back, basking in the warmth of Jared’s body pressed against his. Music dances through the trees, rustling the leaves. Mozart, of course. The Magic Flute.
They stand there for a long time, listening to the Queen of the Night, trilling her aria. Well, Jensen is, he has no idea what Jared hears.
“You feel better?” Jared asks after a while, rubbing a hand over Jensen’s stomach. Jensen hums, smiling.
“Okay, put your shoes back on, there’s something you need to see.”
He opens his eyes. Jared is holding his shoes and socks, dangling them in front of him. He must have picked them up earlier, knowing Jensen was just as likely to forget he’d worn any. Jensen reluctantly accepts them. He likes being barefoot. “Where are we going?”
“Trust me, you’ll love this.” Jared looks giddy, bouncing on his feet with a big grin on his face. Jensen hardly has his shoes on before Jared’s grabbed his hand and starts pulling him along the path. Doesn’t take long before they’re facing a huge glass building.
“Is that a greenhouse?”
Jared grins. “Not just a greenhouse. Something much better. C’mon.”
It is. It’s amazing. So many colors. Oh wow.
“Is... is this real?” Jensen whispers. “Can you see them?”
Jared laughs and squeezes his hand. “Yeah. It’s a butterfly house. Isn’t it cool?”
Jensen nods. The air is tropical, hot and humid. There are butterflies everywhere. Shimmering, shining. Multicolored, single-colored, big, small, fluttering about and settling on leaves and flowers. A blue one, the kind of color he’s only seen in his dreams, flutters over to sit on his hand. He doesn’t dare to move or even breathe, lest it flies away.
“I had a dream like this once,” he whispers. “You were kissing me and there were a hundred butterflies around us, in every color of the world. And then I woke up and it was raining and you… you weren’t there. I cried for an hour. So stupid. I knew it was just a dream.”
“No,” Jared says, turning him around. “Not a dream. A premonition.”
It’s even better than he remembered.
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
It’s high noon by the time they leave. They find a small restaurant to have lunch where they can sit outside in the sun. Jensen gets an extra cup of coffee to help with his jitters. He feels a lot better now but his fingers are still itching, twitching, drumming upon his thighs the rhythm to a fast nervous melody that would drive Jared crazy if he could hear it.
“Still edgy?” Jared asks suddenly, bringing him out of his thoughts.
He shrugs, curls his fingers into fists. “I’m okay.”
Jared shakes his head, smiling. “You are the worst liar ever. C’mon. This is Vienna, the city of classical music. There has to be a piano somewhere that you can use.”
He signals the waiter, a wafer-thin twinky boy with a knowing grin and a flirty glint in his eye that makes Jensen feel slightly uncomfortable. He uncurls one hand to grab Jared’s on top of the table, just in case.
“My friend here is a pianist,” Jared says, ignoring the way the waiter smirks at the word ‘friend’. “Is there any place we can go where he can play? He needs his fix,” he jokes and Jensen kicks him under the table, even if it’s the truth.
“Piano?” The waiter snorts. “All proper restaurants in Vienna have pianos. See?” He points through the window at a baby grand, standing in one corner of the restaurant.
Jensen is up from his chair and moving before the boy gets any further, not even bothering to ask for permission.
“Jensen,” he hears Jared warn, sounding a little nervous.
“I know,” he calls back. “I’ll be careful.”
“Is he any good?” he hears the waiter ask but by then he’s reached his destination so Jared’s answer eludes him. The piano is luring him in, like a siren, the pull so strong he’s surprised he didn’t feel it, sitting outside.
“Oh,” he says, breathless. “You are beautiful. Such a pretty little thing.”
She hums, pleased, her strings singing in anticipation. He runs his fingers over the keys, too light to make a sound, and it’s like stepping into a warm shower after hours out in the cold. The tremble in his hands disappears as all the jumbled pieces in his mind settle into place. He sits down on the low bench, adjusting it slightly. Tries the pedals, presses down on a few keys. Oh yes, this. This is exactly what he’s been missing.
Tchaikovsky: June: Barcarolle From The Seasons, Op.37B / Ilona Prunyi (4:52)
By the time he becomes aware of his surroundings again it’s been two hours and the restaurant is packed with people, applauding like crazy. He looks up to find Jared leaning against the piano’s belly, watching him with a proud, almost smug, look on his face.
“Congratulations on your first solo concert abroad,” he says, grinning. “How does it feel?”
Jensen blinks. Breathes in. “We should probably go now,” he says in a low voice.
Jared straightens up, instantly on alert. “You okay?”
He nods. Clears his throat. “All that magic I’ve been swallowing? It’s… very arousing.”
Jared stares at him. Blinks.
“Okay, we’re going now,” he says and grabs Jensen’s hand pulling him to his feet and out of the restaurant. A woman brushes up against them and a spark of arousal hits Jensen straight in the groin. Her eyes widen, face flushing as she jerks away, and he knows she felt it. Shit.
“Sorry. Gotta go. Sorry.”
They practically run out of there. He’s panting, sweat running down his back, knees turning weak.
“Here,” Jared says, pulling on his arm and suddenly he’s back up against a wall with Jared devouring his mouth. Jesus, yes!
His fingers are in Jared’s hair, tugging, stroking, hanging on for dear life. He’s riding Jared’s thigh, his dick so hard it almost hurts. Jared let’s go of his mouth and Jensen’s head falls back as he sucks in air, banging against the brick wall. His eyes flutter open, noting the dark alley, the smell of trash, the thankful absence of an audience. He closes his eyes again, the moan wedged in his throat finally daring to escape.
“Fuck, you’re killing me.” Jared groans and drops kisses along Jensen’s jaw and down his throat. “Jesus, you… Oh God.”
His hands, his amazing big hands, are fumbling at Jensen’s pants, popping the button and working the zipper and then oh God, yes.
“Fuck,” Jensen grunts, his hips jerking forward. He can never quite get used to how it feels having someone else’s hand on his dick. Having Jared’s hand on his dick. “Fuckfuckfuck.”
“Think we’ll be in enough trouble if we get caught doing this,” Jared says with a choked laugh.
“Fuck,” Jensen repeats, this time in disappointment. He’s aching for Jared to flip him over and take him right there, up against the wall. Aching as much as he was to get his hands on a piano two hours ago. He can so easily imagine it, his cheek pressed into the wall, fingers clawing for purchase, the breeze brushing his naked skin, pants around his knees and Jared pushing into him. Pushing and filling him up and…
“Oh fuck,” Jared groans. “Stop it. I’m gonna… Jesus, Jensen, stop those thoughts or I swear I’ll do it. I’ll take you right here and then we’ll get arrested and deported and you can never visit Vienna ever again.”
Jensen squeezes his eyes shut. It’s no use. Now the idea is there he can’t unsee it. Can’t stop the images from unfolding. Of Jared’s hands holding on to his hips, his teeth sinking into Jensen’s shoulder as he pushes and thrusts and…
“Jensen!”
In desperation Jensen grabs Jared’s head in his hands, pressing his palms to each side as he kisses him hard. Then presses their foreheads together and lets go of everything.
“Jesus, what are you…? Oh. Oh God. Oh. God.”
The world goes white before his eyes.
“We gotta stop having public sex,” Jared mumbles as they awkwardly hurry past the restaurant ten minutes later. “Do you think they, you know?”
“Possibly,” Jensen says, still a little out of breath. He risks a glance over then quickly turns his head away, face beet red. “Oh yeah. Definitely.”
Jared chokes on a laugh. “You know, I was actually kidding about the crazy European sex. Jesus.”
“Don’t think it counts as crazy unless there’s at least leather involved,” Jensen points out and then they’re laughing and laughing until they’re doubled over, gasping for breath and people passing by stare at them like they’re mad.
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
The city is singing, he can hear it. In the leaves of the trees rustling in the warm summer wind. In the sound of a million footsteps, present and past, running, walking, marching, skipping. In the wings of the doves, fluttering down from the rooftops to pick up breadcrumbs beneath the tables of the coffee houses. In the tolling of the bells of Stephansdom, calling the faithful to mass.
In the music of old, of new, of times yet to come. Soaring, whispering, crying, laughing… Music, music, music!
A warm palm blankets his hand, long fingers stroking over his wrist. “Jensen, you with me?”
“Can you hear it?” he whispers, tilting his head to better catch the sweet song of a sole violin. So nervous and hopeful. Young, yet old. Oh so old.
Jared shifts in his seat, the sound of his chair scraping the pavement joining the choir. “Depends on what you’re listening to,” he answers. His voice is warm and smooth, like hot chocolate and cream.
Jensen blinks his eyes open. Jared is watching him, smiling. There are traces of strawberry cake at the corner of his mouth, red juice staining his lips. The espresso cup, dwarfed to the size of a thimble in Jared’s giant hand, still holds a few sips of bittersweet coffee. One long leg rests bent upon a bony knee, pale skin showing at the ankle. The spindly chair creaks under Jared’s weight with every breath he takes. He still has the ghosts of Jensen’s fingerprints all over his skin.
God, he’s beautiful.
“The music,” Jensen breathes out. “It’s everywhere.”
Jared blinks. He opens his mouth as if to speak but then he closes it again, looking partly puzzled, partly awed. He tilts his head a little, listening, then leans back in the creaky chair, an expectant look on his face. “Tell me about it,” he says.
So Jensen does. With words and thoughts and flailing hands and a laugh and a smile and a voice that chokes up when he least expects it. He sees the smile play upon Jared’s lips, and the way his eyes flicker with wonder and love and a hint of jealousy at all the things he can’t see, and Jensen thinks, ‘This can’t be real. I’m going to wake up any moment now.’
Children from a different time run by, laughing. An old woman shoots them a curious glance before hurrying past, head bowed. A group of tourists goes by, their cameras clicking away like the keys of a typewriter. Minna, the sneaky thief that she is, reaches a paw over the edge of the table to steal whipped cream from Jared’s plate. Past and present, dreams and reality, all mix together in one exotic package.
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
Continued in Part 2
Sorry for the code shit. Apparently Safari hates embedded players, Chrome just starts playing everyone at once [edit. uhm, that was on hubby's PC, works fine on my Mac] and my own computer hates me. *groans*