Fic: 'All That's Left To Chart' (Jared/Jensen; NC-17) 4/5
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Master Post | Artwork and Soundtrack
Afterwards, Jensen’s walking through the foyer, through the living room, distracted and high-strung.
His coat goes down, and he does too, on the couch, legs spread wide. He doesn’t stay sitting long because Jared’s body is a drug, this euphoria washing over him. Jensen can get why Jared’s always out at parties, late, schmoozing and having a good time. Because the alcohol’s settling in his body now, good, a flushed heat that leaves him breathless and aware. This body handles it differently than his own; he isn't a lightweight now (or not a lighweight in Jared’s world, where drinking is a marathon that lasts hours as opposed to getting slightly toasted within an hour’s time).
Most of all, Jensen’s spiralling, too, feeling like for a moment he finally did what he meant to do in New York, like he's finally letting himself be himself, whatever that is. To say what he’s always known and he is not thinking about that look on Jared’s…his, whatever, his face.
He’s not thinking for a moment that maybe, he was a little too hard, no, because Jared's had this coming, right, isn’t that what Danneel always tried to tell him?
He stops thinking about it. Instead, he goes and opens up Jared’s liquor cabinet and skims his fingers-Jared’s fingers-over the expensive bottles of wine, maybe this one’s a gift from Madonna or something, and he decides, announcing to Harley and Sadie when he lets them out of the second bedroom, “It’s time for tequila.”
And music. Jared's got a lot of music too, but he needs familiar music. There aren’t any vinyl records or tapes in Jared’s ridiculous collection, it’s all electronic or CDs, and nothing familiar. But Jensen’s on a mission and wow, the tequila is amazing, so he has no reason to give up. It’s about ten minutes of punching buttons on Jared’s ten thousand remotes for his stupid entertainment center before Jensen finally figures out how to get the iPod to work in sync with the surround sound system.
The song that comes on is awful and unfamiliar but that isn’t surprising.
“Hey, Sadie,” Jensen says, crawling on the ground next to her, growling affectionately, rubbing her ears, “I forgive you for always licking me in my sleep. You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”
She doesn’t answer, which sucks because that would be kind of awesome, because then he’d be like the Dog Whisperer and not just someone who woke up one day with the amazing power of switching bodies with his asshole ex-boyfriend.
Sadie backs out of Jensen’s hands, shaking him off and hunting behind the sofa, uncovering that stupid white Valentine’s bear-the break-up bear-and hightailing it back to the bedroom, Harley following after her.
Whatever. He needs to turn off this Umbrella song and put on some real music. Scrolls down Jared’s list of artists and, “Johnny Cash! Oh thank the lord.”
The first song is one that Jensen doesn’t even think he’s heard before, but he puts it on because there can’t be some person out there with Johnny’s name and not be “The Man in Black”. It starts off familiar, but Cash’s voice is older and Jensen doesn’t know why but he’s slumped down next to Jared’s pointy coffee table, the hard edge poking him in the back, tequila bottle clutched in his outstretched hand.
He’s totally not thinking about anything right now. Or like, anything at all. Just, thinking about patterns and Occam’s Razor. The simplest solution is the answer. Not the complicated story where maybe he and Jared screwed up, couldn’t get it working because they were scared and stupid and maybe were kind of freaking in love and didn’t know how to deal with it-
Jensen’s never been in love before.
He takes a long pull off the tequila bottle. And hopes he won’t regret that in the morning.
Sad songs and tequila don’t mix at all and it’s a relief when “Hurt” finishes, Jensen screwing his eyes shut, trying to push the pounding out of his mind.
Then the next song comes up, another one he’s not familiar with, and he crawls back over to the stereo, wavering a little as he tries to read the screen. “Rusty Cage” (Soundgarden) but it’s clearly Johnny Cash singing.
Jensen had no idea Johnny Cash was in Soundgarden too. Huh. Maybe the music industry isn’t completely vain and meaningless.
By that time, Jensen’s kind of giggling but he’s not alone, the dogs are there.
“You guys are awesome,” Jensen says as Jared-ly as possible, full on smarm and attempting to wink only it makes him dizzy and he kind of falls over.
Jared does not have a mythic alcohol tolerance. If Jensen hadn’t given Jared the big fuck-you kiss off, he’d so call Jared up to mock him. Jared. Damn it. He needs to keep drinking. And see if Jared’s got “Cocaine Blues” on his magical iPod. He think he might see “Folsom Prison Blues” listed farther down.
He’s also standing, which is great. Jensen doesn’t think crawling around, even when you’re alone, is something to be proud of-and then there’s the door buzzer.
Whatever, let ‘em up, Jensen needs some company. Misery, no, victory, needs company and-
Jensen opens the door to Sandy.
“Heeeeey,” Jensen says.
“Hey, Jared,” she says with a tiny grin as she plays with the hem of her jacket sleeve. She looks up. “I left, um, my purse?”
Jensen knows that she wasn’t at the dinner party. And she’s really dressed up: a glittery sheer black dress under her jacket; it’s really shiny and kind of distracting but she’s smiling bright. Like, really bright.
“You have a purse,” Jensen points out, his hand almost brushing a little too close to her side, uh-almost, possibly brushes her breast.
“Jared!” Sandy laughs. “This is just a Coach purse. I left a Louis Vuitton here, remember? A month ago? I texted you, didn’t you get my message?”
Jensen does not remember. Jared might have forwarded some of his texts and e-mails to Jensen but Jared’s kept his iPhone and Blackberry with the kind of single-minded determination of true addicts. So, no, Jensen has no clue. But then, he also doesn’t know why Sandy’s leaning up towards him, all smiles and then says, “Jensen's not here?”
Jensen is here. Technically. Jensen’s still stuck on the fact that Sandy has a real nice smile. Like, wow. And Sandy’s like, really, really nice.
And Jensen? He’s really, really drunk.
Jensen’s awesome right now, too. He starts laughing after her question and by the time he’s done, he doesn’t know what she said, but man, it was pretty damn funny.
“Jared? Jensen’s not here?”
“Ja-Jensen? Jensen's… really drunk. Bad drunk. Sent him ‘off.” He waves his hand a little and his body almost follows the motion, slipping into the hallway, he has to steady himself by clutching the doorway, nodding for emphasis. “Come on in, Sandy, come right on in. You want some tequila? I think we deserve some tequila.”
He might nearly trip over an ottoman, but Sandy grabs him, and they twirl, unintentionally, until she lands on him, a light thump on his chest.
“Hey there,” Jensen chuckles, pushing the messy perfect hair away from her face, cradling it. “How we’d get down here?”
“This is where we should be," Sandy says all of a sudden and oh my God, his body’s reacting. It’s almost painfully obvious, he thinks, trying to adjust himself underneath her. That’s funny, too, and Jensen would laugh but then like, Sandy's hand is brushing his stomach and that feels-it feels good.
“Oh,” Jensen says and maybe, maybe he should, like… stopping would probably be… be good.
“Remember when we did body shots at that resort in Antigua?” She smiles again, her tongue peeking out between her teeth. “Do you have any limes?”
“Um,” Jensen begins, tries to say no I don’t remember, because I’m not Jared and oh my God, what are you doing? But Sandy darts out of his hands, pulls his shirt up, tongue brushing at the top of his belly button. He can't help but shudder and then her hand's skimming down, unbuckling him, and her hand's at his fly and-
Fuck Jared. Fuck him so, so much, because it's just Jared's body responding to direct touch. Fuck, Jared probably does walk around half-hard all day and now, Jensen's hard and aching and Sandy’s… Sandy’s real good with her tongue, licking a path down his stomach.
Jensen’s mind is almost gathering together and he's about to stop this before it goes too far but then Jensen remembers that he didn’t bother wearing underwear because Jared’s is just all silk and ridiculous. Then his jeans are undone and, uh, pretty much the moment Sandy’s mouth is wet and licking him he goes, “Ughhh-oh, oh, ohgodohmygod”-only more embarrassing than that.
And then whatever thoughts he has in his head die and all that’s left is don't stop.
*
Never. That’s how many times Jared has been dumped in his entire life. And the one time he effectively gets shut down, it’s by Jensen Ackles. So Jared’s unspecified Plan A, which mostly involved somehow figuring out a way for things to magically fall back into place, to get to be himself again, is kind of shot.
There’s always Plan B.
Plan B, Jared reasons, involves a shitload of alcohol and hopefully forgetting every single second of Jensen telling Jared… God, he needs to forget.
Then. There’s always Plan… C.
Plan C has him hanging off Chad, jacket hitched up around his shoulder and neck, an odd angle as he jabs his key in the door lock. They get inside Jensen’s apartment, the place just as tiny and messy as ever. Chad closes the door behind him, standing like he’s waiting to be praised, his arms out like Jared’ll fall into them.
Good move, because he does.
“You going to pass out on me again, Jenny?”
“Shut up,” Jared slurs. His chest burns from the alcohol and more, a bone-deep ache that rises up just as his legs give out again.
Thank God for Chad. Chad, his buddy, his friend. Chad saved his life. Or at least, saved Jared from spending the rest of the night lying facedown on the street.
Chad always hits up the bars if a party ends before 2 A.M. and he must’ve seen Jared, uh, Jensen’s body, but hey, it’s Jared all the same. He’d prodded the awkward mess that was Jared with his shoe, waking Jared from his stupor when he’d bent over, blowing cigarette smoke right in Jared’s face, mumbling, “You alive?”
Yes, Jared’s alive and in hell. A hell where too many people think he’s a jerk and where stupid Jensen has Jared’s body and he’s going to die in Jensen’s body, probably due to alcohol poisoning.
It was a long, long cab ride, with Chad attempting to massage Jared’s shoulders, telling him stories that Jared already knows, about how Chad met Jared, only they were different, a skewed perspective. Jared would rather spend the night puking in a gutter than listen to Chad saying, “Jared wasn’t always like this, you know. He was a good guy. I mean, he’s still cool. But you get what I mean.”
Jared’s kind of disgusted at himself for nodding in agreement.
So, now they’re at Jensen’s apartment, with Jared resisting the urge to throw up on Chad’s shirt.
Chad hoists him up, hand wavering over Jared’s ass like he’s thinking twice about carrying Jared over to the bedroom. “Come on. We’re getting you to bed, Jen.”
He settles for throwing Jared’s arm around his shoulder again, tugging him along down the narrow hallway, past Jensen’s dresser, tiny framed pictures, bookcase of textbooks. It’s all neat and cozy, and the nausea settles to a low thrum of a headache as they wander past.
Jared falls face first on the bed when they reach it, slowly dragging his stubbled face against cotton sheets. The unfamiliar texture of the bed is disorienting; so is Chad with his jacket off, shirt unbuttoned.
“Hey there, Jenny. You gonna blow chunks or something?”
Jared has to laugh a little, which kicks his headache up a notch.
“I’m gonna be fine. Room ain’t spinning,” Jared slurs, amazed at how Jensen’s tongue gets all thick with Texas, almost as bad as when Jared’s really trashed. Jared is drunk, but it’s not his voice. It’s stupid Jensen’s, all gravely and hot and making him remember: the slick heat of Jensen’s mouth biting down where shoulder meets neck. Because Jensen, he used to make this crazy noise that was just… just real nice.
Jared shifts his hips as his dick hardens, not comfortable belly-down on the mattress any more.
“Hey buddy, you wanna help me here?”
“Oh, yeah,” Chad says, a weird bubbly edge to his voice. “I’m all about helping.”
All those times Chad’s said to Jared regarding tasks at the studio, fuck that shit. Let the interns deal with it, notwithstanding.
Chad gets on the bed on his knees, and then he rolls Jared over with one hand. Jared wouldn’t mind just crashing, a long nap where he’d wake up and find out that this was just the worst dream ever. But then it would mean he hasn’t woken up for weeks and unless he’s living in some Vanilla Sky nightmare, and that would suck.
The one where Chad keeps on murmuring Jenny, Jenny, brushing his hand over Jared’s face, trying to get Jared to focus on him. Jared would rather not focus but then he notices that Chad’s rubbing the medallion he's wearing with two fingers, kissing it.
“I wore this the first time I met you, remember? When you and Jared hooked up?” Chad says, hands wandering south and Jared would put a stop to it but he figures, why the fuck not? It’s not like Chad’s ever gonna believe he’s Jared. It’s Chad’s ridiculous get laid medallion that Chad picked up at Spring Break ’05. Hasn’t gotten him any luckier than Chad normally is just being The Chad.
“You’re always wearin’ it,” Jared says and laughs because Chad looks so freaking earnest, his eyes squinty and serious, brushing Jared’s stomach, where his shirt rode up a little, exposing skin. “Man, you wanna fuck me, don’t you?”
It’s bold and bare, laid out the way Jared’s always been. It should be a hint but Chad just smiles and breathes gin and cigarettes into Jared’s face, “Yeah I do, Jenny.”
With that, he starts to strip off Jared's jacket and shirt and Jared doesn’t really think about stopping, because that’s not weird even if it’s Chad and he keeps on staring at Jared like that. Next thing to go are going to be his pants and then there’s no turning back. See, any other time, they'd laugh about it. Clap each other on the back, joke about how drunk they are, call it a day. Any other time, when the universe wasn’t playing this huge cosmic joke on Jared.
“Yeah, that night, I hooked up with the wrong person and I know you did too. We're going to fix that… tonight.”
“I don’t think we’re fixing anything that’s broken,” Jared says, trying not to roll his eyes when Chad nearly gets stuck tugging his own shirt over his head. Good to know that Chad’s just as suave as he always brags.
“You're so pretty, when I saw those lips, couldn't believe it, hotter than girls, man,” Chad’s saying, and he half-humps Jared as he’s pulling his pants down. Then he grabs weakly for Jared’s chin and head, fingers running over the stubble under his bottom lip, rubbing at his jaw, then back up to push a finger in between Jared’s lips.
Which might’ve been hot if it weren’t Chad doing it and if he were doing it right, because now it’s more like… More like being poked in the mouth. Jared has to shake Chad off before Chad descends, missing Jared’s mouth by a lot. Getting kissed on the ear is not sexy when it’s all sloppy tongue dancing under his earlobe, a pool of saliva dribbling down his neck.
Jared is aware that stopping would be a really good idea. It’s still not his body and Chad’s his friend and Jared might have an open policy but certain people are off-limits. Only now Chad’s grabbing his ass now and thinking? Yeah, the thinking part of his brain is kind of shot. Jared’s also aware that his brain feels like death rolled over or warmed over, or whatever.
He half-laughs, half-groans, murmuring, “Chad, maybe we should, uh, get some sleep or-,” but Chad continues.
He sucks a line of kisses down Jared’s neck, awkward as all hell, murmuring nonsense against Jared’s skin as he leaves trails of saliva. “God, you’re so fucking hot. You and Jared, used to picture it-fuck, baby, we’re hot too.”
The only thing Jared can think is: basketball’s never going to be the same again.
Which is probably not the kind of thought that helps Jared at all as he makes him kind of laugh a little and if Chad was sober and not Chad, it might ruin the moment. Although this kind of moment isn’t really a kind of moment to remember, drunken hook-up sex.
When Chad pulls down Jared’s boxers, it hits Jared way too late and way too hard, the silliness of their situation turning real, no longer a joke, ha-ha, screwing his friend, no it’s way, way worse than that. Jensen’s words coming back to haunt him-I never had you-and Jared’s experiencing that stupid, stupid moment of clarity, the slosh of his brain making a small, fragile connection, little reminder. A breath escaping that he shouldn’t lose, but then, he’s lost enough tonight, more than he ever realized before.
Jensen’s the first guy Jared’s ever fucked. The only guy Jared’s ever really wanted to fuck, because for all his past antics, he’s never gone to that point with a guy, ever, and it’s like Jensen was meant to introduce Jared to the wonderful gay side of his bisexuality.
And he’s also the last and only one so far to get a piece of Jared’s ass, by the way Chad’s acting. His hands are all over the place, poking Jared here and there, a tug on Jared’s dick-Jensen’s dick-that proves that Chad’s never fucked around with a guy. Or if he has, man, Jared feels really sorry for that guy.
Jared bats Chad’s hand away, gripping it a little too hard but Chad doesn’t notice, groaning, “Jenny,” a couple too many times for comfort. “Jen, don’t be shy, baby.”
He thinks it’s beyond annoying to hear those nicknames coming out of Chad’s mouth.
Chad’s mumbling these compliments and nicknames, rumpled and humping Jared until he blows his load with a drawn-out moan, sticky wetness all over Jared’s leg.
After that, Chad breathes out heavy against Jared’s neck, eyes half-lidded, slurred kiss against Jared’s neck. “Jenny-Jen-Jenny.”
God, he’s not drunk enough for this.
He pats Chad’s arm, twisting out of Chad’s arm thrown over his chest. Jared looks down at his wilting hard-on, the mess on his leg and wonders if crawling to the bathroom to throw up is a good idea. It feels like he just cheated on Jensen, which makes no fucking sense. He didn’t even get to come.
Chad says blearily as he licks his lips, “How’s about we start round two?”
To his credit, Chad stays awake for about ten more seconds before he promptly passes out.
And Jared?
Jared kind of doesn’t fall asleep until after he takes one of the longest and coldest showers in his entire life.
“I’m such a fucking asshole,” Jared says, but it's lost to the rush of water, the rattle of pipes.
*
Sandy’s soft, warm, and smells nice, too, a vast improvement. Jared’s hands are large and pale against her skin as she snuggles up to Jensen, snoring lightly against the skin of his chest, his dress shirt open. He stares at the ceiling and worries Jared’s lip, feels his arm unwrap around her shoulders. His arms are too big, too thick, to sleep with them tucked against his sides, but he does it anyway.
Sandy’s a vast improvement, sure. But, Jensen decides, she’s missing exactly what Jensen needs.
Which is a cock.
“Yep, still gay,” he murmurs, and even after all these weeks, Jared’s voice startles him.
*
The morning after Jared feels exactly how he expected to: hungover, with a side of ass and… pain. Thankfully, those two things didn’t go together last night. His thoughts are all jumbled and so are his clothes, having pulling on the baggiest pair of sweatpants Jensen owns and a faded old t-shirt to go with them. The wireless Guitar Hero controller only enables him in his laziness, getting scores lower than fifty percent on his early morning plays, totally blowing “Free Bird.”
He’s used to blowing it anyway on a good day, but at least those times he had Jensen around to raise an eyebrow and quietly judge him before he went back to reading a book.
Shit, shit. The last thing Jared needs is to be lying around on the couch watching TV. Next thing he knows, he’ll be eating a pizza and sleeping in until three in the afternoon.
Actually, he has done that. Huh. He's squinting at the empty pizza box on the floor when his phone goes off. The tingling ringtone and his focused stare at the box makes him think the box is vibrating.
Maybe it is.
Jared takes the call. “Yeah?”
There’s nothing on the other end, only a cough, then heavy breathing.
Jared groans. “Look, Chad, I was drunk and-”
“Jared?”
Fuck. Awesome timing.
“Jensen?” Jared straightens, the all-over-assiness feeling getting a shot of pain and angst to go with it. He shifts his weight and ends up on his elbows, looking down the length of his belly, bare, shirt riding up and showing him Jensen’s abs. Warm abs. Ridges of muscle that he used to spider walk his fingers over, and this, this is like his own personal hell.
In fact, that’s exactly it: this isn't actually happening. Jared’s probably still somewhere on the street, covered in newspapers and garbage, moaning about Jensen Fucking Ackles and having delusions of… his own voice, telling him off. But then that’d mean there was no Chad to the rescue and judging by the state of the dried come on his jeans on the bedroom floor, it did happen.
Jared runs his fingers through his hair, short bristles sticking up at odd angles. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know why I got some weird voicemail from Chad this morning, would you?”
Off Jared’s groan, Jensen chuckles. He sighs, long and drawn out, Jared easily imagining Jensen rubbing the back of his neck. “Forget it. I’m not going to ask.”
It’s weird because normally, Jared’s good at talking on the phone. Negotiating, shooting the breeze, whatever-it comes naturally to him, being sociable. But now, it’s fucking odd, having his voice on the other end. Jensen’s voice, and that it’s Jensen calling, after last night. The last person Jared wants to hear or see is Jensen, not out of anger but out of acknowledgement, because all the things Jensen said last night? They’re true.
But he still woke up and saw Jensen’s reflection staring back at him, morose and hungover. A sight of his own state of being and a sight he never wants to inflict upon Jensen, ever.
Jared charges on ahead, saying, “About last night.”
“Yeah. I, uh-Yeah, Jared. About that-”
“You were right. I have been acting like an asshole,” Jared says slowly, immediately regrets hearing the words in Jensen’s voice. “Pretty fucking good wake-up call, if I do say so myself. Since it was from myself. Oh God, I’m not making any sense, am I? Never mind. It’s just that maybe I was, I’ve been. Kind of a dick. To you. And I shouldn’t have been like that. I’m sorry.”
It’s probably the worst apology ever but it eases something inside, a little piece of himself slotting back into place. It feels kind of like a welcome: welcome to the world of being human.
Jensen’s hesitating again, before he exhales. “Good. Because I wasn’t going to say I’m sorry. Oh shit. Um. That came out wrong. I-You know, I used to be a journalist, got a degree and everything. I used to be good with words.”
“You are,” Jared says with a low chuckle. “I get it. Hey. Hey, Jensen?”
“Yeah?”
Now it’s time for Jared to pause. He has no idea if he’s even in the position to suggest this, considering what Jensen said to him. But maybe it’s time for being a damn grown-up and ignoring his own hurt, his own feelings, and try to make things right.
“Since I figure it’s been weeks and you’re getting as sick of my mug as I am of yours, I think there’s only one solution to this.”
Jensen laughs, the type that always has Jared grinning afterwards, even if it’s hearing his own laugh back at him. “Oh God, since sex was one of your suggestions, I don’t know if I want to hear this.”
“That was a good idea. Don’t knock it,” Jared says, tapping the guitar controller idly.
There’s a groan on the other line, then a shuffling noise like Jensen’s walking around the apartment. “I’m listening, Jared.”
He moves to sit up, like making decisions from a position that won’t enable passing out will do him good. It does. “Start over fresh. We keep going in different directions, we’re not going to get anything done. How about we work together?”
“…I’d like that,” Jensen says after a few seconds. “I’d like that a lot.”
*
Working together, finally, isn’t as hard as Jensen thinks it will be. The first step, though, has them both meeting up in Jared’s apartment, and Jared looks like crap. He’s haggard, dark circles under his eyes when he pulls off his sunglasses, sharing a look of understanding with Jensen before the dogs bowl him over. The look fades just as suddenly when Sadie’s licking his face and he’s smiling, mouthing, “Thanks.”
Calling in a few favors isn’t as hard either, maybe more awkward when Chad’s coughing on his end after Jensen calls him and says, “Hey, Chad, I think you owe me one.”
Jensen’s spared the details when it comes to that, thank God. Anyway, he can't really protest-he can protest some, because what the hell, it’s Chad-but then again, on his end, there was Sandy.
He calls up the girls in reception and talks with them for a while, putting on a slight touch of charm. Jared’s at the laptop sending e-mails, giving a rueful smile as he does it, even quirking an eyebrow when Jensen gets his way, easy. They patch him through without a problem and after an hour of phone calls, he’s wrangled the schedule for his own benefit.
An interview with Carrie Underwood on a Friday-it might skew a little older in the viewer demos, Jared tells him, but she’s country, and Jensen thinks he can manage that. After last time, the producers were scared to put him in front of the camera again, thinking he’d cave under pressure. He’s not in the studio face-to-face with them to assure them he’ll do well, but he is face-to-paper, Jared holding up notes for Jensen to look at as he speaks into the phone, talk about being a team player and being mature for the benefit of the show and network.
That last part is kind of hard to take seriously when Jared does this horrible victory dance afterwards, complete with the Robot. In Jensen’s body.
Jensen thinks they should’ve put ‘no dancing’ in the ground rules. The last time Jensen danced was kind of never. Well, there was a season of being a high school cheerleader but he’s made sure that never ever gets out because he’s pretty sure even Danneel wouldn’t let him live that one down.
“That way, you’ll alleviate any worries they might have in the future…” Jensen trails off, rubs the back of his neck. Jared’s already at the computer again, little dance coming to a standstill as he looks down at the screen.
“And this way, you’ll have something else in your future,” Jared says. He turns the laptop around and stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Jensen, looking at it.
The e-mail’s a back-and-forth conversation that's taken place over days, coming to a conclusion now. Turns out Jared was already working behind the scenes and setting up a correspondence with some producers, namedropping mutual acquaintances here and there. MTV’s latest mad scheme is an overhaul of the news program for young adults and they’re in need of a rotating group of interviewers for segments. From what Jensen can see, he’s sent them some of Jensen’s work and resume-but the crux of it is that they loved his recent piece, ‘Sex and the Big Bang Theory’, and want him to come in for an audition.
Jensen sighs. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jared.”
“Why not?” Off Jensen’s look, Jared’s getting hyper now, touching Jensen on the arm. He pulls away, though, realizing that it’s not like that anymore. Can’t be. The warmth and eagerness in his eyes and posture remains nonetheless. “What’s the harm in trying? You can get out there, be yourself, and if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But they’ve got connections, man, and if you impress them, they might drop in a line over at Newsweek or-or maybe even the Times. There aren't any screaming girls or flashing lights. Just you and your subject, one on one. Investigative journalism. Remember that?”
Jensen does remember it, like all those days and nights researching for his graduate studies. At the job he has now, he doesn’t really get the same excitement out of it when he knows that it’s a dead end and won’t go anywhere. With the little importance they place on his articles, it’s hard to muster up any energy to try for more, to do more.
Jared’s looking at him eye to eye, a rare moment where he’s open and honest, no smile coming on. Just stating the facts.
“That’s if anyone wants to hear me being a geek,” Jensen says, still unable to shake off the uneasiness. “It’s not as interesting as music or movies.”
“Fuck any of that.” Now, Jared claps a hand on Jensen’s shoulder, any urge he might’ve had to pull it away apparently gone. “You’re one of the most interesting, intelligent people I know. You’re funny, Jensen, you’re smart and talented and-and if you just let them see that, like you’ve shown me… They’ll love it. God knows they’ll value it more than I should have.”
It’s a little unnerving how Jared still makes Jensen able to feel like this, all flustered and harried, this unrelenting rush of energy that has him almost blushing. He shrugs as Jared pulls his hand away, starts to bring up a new e-mail.
“All right,” Jensen says, and even he’s amazed by how he sounds excited about it, “I’ll do it.”
“Good, because I’m booked for this Friday.”
“Friday?” Jensen’s eyes widen. “But that’s the same day of the TRL taping!”
“Yeah. No shit. They’re doing this later in the day, so it’ll finish a little after yours. Worry about your stuff. I’ll handle this,” Jared says, all business. He lifts his head and grins at Jensen, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “You are dealing with an expert here.”
Jensen’s eyes roll before he knows it, murmuring. “I’m so grateful.”
“You’re damn right you are,” Jared says, a pleased-as-hell look on his face as he goes back to typing.
Jensen has to squash down this sudden urge to kiss Jared. It’s like he’s seeing, for the first time, the person he’s always hoped was there, under all the bravado and showboating. The way he bounces his leg restlessly as he’s typing, wipes his hand back over his head, pushes his hair back-Jared’s own longer hair that he doesn’t have right now-little quirks of movement all completely belong to Jared. It makes it easier now to see Jared’s essence throughout Jensen’s body.
But then it’s harder, too, because it’s a new and innocent essence that he realizes he wants, badly, and finds it hard to resist.
*
The week is a blur of frenzied work and phone calls on both fronts, the adjustment to friends instead than boyfriends happening not quite naturally or easily, but it's working for Jared. It’s got to, for the good of their careers, but most importantly of all, the good of their sanities.
They don’t move in together again, but Jared’s always visits Jensen, playing with the dogs, ordering takeout, and watching a game or two after work. Bad buddy cop movies, bad horror movies; the night after a shopping spree at Virgin Megastore has them watching movies until three in the morning-the only night Jared stays over-and they're bleary eyed but they’re both grinning the next day at their jobs.
Barely ten minutes into setting up on Friday, Jared looks up to see Jensen rushing in, sweaty and breathing heavy in gulps, his hair a bird’s nest. He uncoils the string of his backstage pass from his neck, palms on his knees as he breathes out, collects himself. It’s a whole sucking air and gasping thing that Jared thinks makes his body sound like a vacuum, a weird sound that dies down as Jensen stares at Jared.
Jared’s running through his lines in his head, flipping index cards in his clasped palms, singing under his breath.
Jared had taken to singing once in a while, alone, hidden, the past few… weeks. Whatever Jared’s said about Jensen’s body-both the good and the bad-his voice, fuck, he’s never had any complaints about Jensen’s voice. As much as it had the power to make Jared antsy, it had the power to turn him on. Sent a thrill right through him, like narcissism at its finest, hearing his ‘own’ voice and relaxing from it.
Jensen straightens and he stares for a moment, before the cameras shift into place, and the guest is brought in. Jared tries to stop thinking about the way Jensen’s staring at him as he stops singing. He turns in his chair and greets the guest. The guest is a guy who’s written a book claiming that within thirty to forty years, robots will look human enough, real enough that humans will be able to fall in love and have sex with them.
All love bot jokes aside, once Jared gets the green light and countdown, he’s already leaning, body no longer tense. Wearing a crisp charcoal grey suit and white dress shirt, no tie, he looks good. ‘Good’ being the limit of attraction that Jared allows himself to think about. Bad enough it’s been weeks of restraining himself-as in, not being able to cup this face in his hands, to press this mouth against his own-and to… drag it all up again, that won’t do any good.
Still, the audition segment starts off smoothly when Jared’s on. He pours on the charm, letting Jensen’s body do the work for him-it becomes a balance between his own easygoing nature and Jensen wanting to get down to the facts. He looks at Jensen’s notes from time to time, but Jared lets the conversation flow naturally, a trait that’d annoy his producers-always stick to the script- but it works, here. It has the author laughing and divulging more than he should, joking too. The subject matter’s a little more entertainment than scientific than Jensen would probably like, judging by the way he shakes his head in amusement as he stands off to the side, but Jared knows it’s a start. It’ll gauge ‘Jensen’s’ highs and lows.
The twenty-odd minutes fly by when they call, “Cut!” for the final time. Jared stands up and shakes the author's hand, getting a, “Thanks,” in return. Soon the producers sweep up the author and talk with him, nodding at Jared to stay put.
Jensen comes by with his arms folded, raising an eyebrow.
“So, what’d you think?” Jared asks, the eagerness spilling forth, grinning.
“What…Where’d the singing come from?”
It throws Jared off, leaving him fussing with some lint on one of his thighs. He hesitates, and then looks back up again. “You know, you never let me tell you this and screw it, man, I just gotta tell you. Your voice. It's amazing.”
That seems to throw Jensen off too. He’s quiet for a moment before he says, “I thought you didn’t like it.”
“I’ve always liked it. You just didn’t do it enough!” Jared waggles his finger, gesturing for Jensen to come closer, which he does. “I had a business proposition for Chad.”
“Is that what-?”
“No! God, no. I’ve been trying to see if he’ll help me tape you in the studio.”
Jensen’s eyebrows rise. “You’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”
“Backup, Jensen. No singing upfront, no having to have an image, just, there're a lot CDs made in New York. And a good backup singer, dependable, reliable, well, it's something. And, and I'd get to hear your voice. You know. If we ever get out of this-thing.”
“Jared Padalecki, life coach,” Jensen deadpans, unfolding his arms to let them swing loosely by his sides. Then he gestures at the set, at the overhead lights, saying, “You don’t have to do all of this for me.”
“Yeah, I do.” Jared stands up. “Because it’s time I focus on someone who's not me for a change.”
Then it hits him right there, the show, enough that Jared hits himself on the forehead, hands out. “Oh my God, the taping! I didn’t even ask! How’d it go?”
Jensen peers around Jared, left and right, checking his surroundings. He gives him his stony expression, and Jared’s high starts to sink again, somewhere right between his knees. But just as soon as that happens, a smile comes onto Jensen’s face, bright and cheerful.
He might’ve said, “It went great,” but Jared’s got his arms around Jensen’s shoulders, hugging him tight as he laughs.
He’s gleeful, holding onto Jensen before he knows it, that burst of energy that he gets around him whenever something goes well. It’s been a damn long time since this has happened, Jared can tell, feeling how Jensen tenses underneath him for a few seconds. Then Jensen’s leaning his head against Jared’s, a soft brush of hair against Jared’s cheek.
After a moment, Jared pulls back, an apology on his tongue. Instead, he says, shakily, “Congratulations. Congrats, Jensen. You did it. I knew you had it in you.”
He pulls away, ignoring the urge to move in again when Jensen hesitates, takes a step forward. Jensen nods a little too emphatically, looking down at his shoes. Wearing his hosting clothes-blazer, t-shirt, and jeans, artfully rumpled and not too showy-Jensen looks like he’s wearing a mask. His body language is relaxed but it’s not him, and now Jared misses seeing Jensen as he is, really is, more than ever.
“What’re you doing after this?” Jensen asks, his voice faint before he looks up.
The producers are gesturing for Jared to come over, smiling. Could be a show, could be genuine, point is that he’s got to go over there and find out for himself.
Jared claps a hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “Taking the first step on your new career as a TV science journalist, that’s what.”
He grins and starts to go before Jensen grabs his jacket, stopping him.
“Do you want to come over to your place?” Jensen asks. He licks his lips, Jared imagining the fullness that isn’t there, displacement smoothed over by an illusion in his head, like he can see Jensen, even if he’s looking at his own body. And his body is nervous, Jared can tell.
But he covers it up again, this habit that has Jared wishing for him not to, now, not to hide anything. Let it all show. Jensen cuts him off, adding, “We can watch the taping. It’s on the TiVo.”
Jared smiles, his fingers brushing the back of Jensen’s hand as he pulls away. It's the barest touch and he feels this all over air of good that’s new, that doesn’t come out of partying.
“Don’t forget the beer!” Jared calls over his shoulder as he heads towards the producers.
Part Five
Afterwards, Jensen’s walking through the foyer, through the living room, distracted and high-strung.
His coat goes down, and he does too, on the couch, legs spread wide. He doesn’t stay sitting long because Jared’s body is a drug, this euphoria washing over him. Jensen can get why Jared’s always out at parties, late, schmoozing and having a good time. Because the alcohol’s settling in his body now, good, a flushed heat that leaves him breathless and aware. This body handles it differently than his own; he isn't a lightweight now (or not a lighweight in Jared’s world, where drinking is a marathon that lasts hours as opposed to getting slightly toasted within an hour’s time).
Most of all, Jensen’s spiralling, too, feeling like for a moment he finally did what he meant to do in New York, like he's finally letting himself be himself, whatever that is. To say what he’s always known and he is not thinking about that look on Jared’s…his, whatever, his face.
He’s not thinking for a moment that maybe, he was a little too hard, no, because Jared's had this coming, right, isn’t that what Danneel always tried to tell him?
He stops thinking about it. Instead, he goes and opens up Jared’s liquor cabinet and skims his fingers-Jared’s fingers-over the expensive bottles of wine, maybe this one’s a gift from Madonna or something, and he decides, announcing to Harley and Sadie when he lets them out of the second bedroom, “It’s time for tequila.”
And music. Jared's got a lot of music too, but he needs familiar music. There aren’t any vinyl records or tapes in Jared’s ridiculous collection, it’s all electronic or CDs, and nothing familiar. But Jensen’s on a mission and wow, the tequila is amazing, so he has no reason to give up. It’s about ten minutes of punching buttons on Jared’s ten thousand remotes for his stupid entertainment center before Jensen finally figures out how to get the iPod to work in sync with the surround sound system.
The song that comes on is awful and unfamiliar but that isn’t surprising.
“Hey, Sadie,” Jensen says, crawling on the ground next to her, growling affectionately, rubbing her ears, “I forgive you for always licking me in my sleep. You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”
She doesn’t answer, which sucks because that would be kind of awesome, because then he’d be like the Dog Whisperer and not just someone who woke up one day with the amazing power of switching bodies with his asshole ex-boyfriend.
Sadie backs out of Jensen’s hands, shaking him off and hunting behind the sofa, uncovering that stupid white Valentine’s bear-the break-up bear-and hightailing it back to the bedroom, Harley following after her.
Whatever. He needs to turn off this Umbrella song and put on some real music. Scrolls down Jared’s list of artists and, “Johnny Cash! Oh thank the lord.”
The first song is one that Jensen doesn’t even think he’s heard before, but he puts it on because there can’t be some person out there with Johnny’s name and not be “The Man in Black”. It starts off familiar, but Cash’s voice is older and Jensen doesn’t know why but he’s slumped down next to Jared’s pointy coffee table, the hard edge poking him in the back, tequila bottle clutched in his outstretched hand.
He’s totally not thinking about anything right now. Or like, anything at all. Just, thinking about patterns and Occam’s Razor. The simplest solution is the answer. Not the complicated story where maybe he and Jared screwed up, couldn’t get it working because they were scared and stupid and maybe were kind of freaking in love and didn’t know how to deal with it-
Jensen’s never been in love before.
He takes a long pull off the tequila bottle. And hopes he won’t regret that in the morning.
Sad songs and tequila don’t mix at all and it’s a relief when “Hurt” finishes, Jensen screwing his eyes shut, trying to push the pounding out of his mind.
Then the next song comes up, another one he’s not familiar with, and he crawls back over to the stereo, wavering a little as he tries to read the screen. “Rusty Cage” (Soundgarden) but it’s clearly Johnny Cash singing.
Jensen had no idea Johnny Cash was in Soundgarden too. Huh. Maybe the music industry isn’t completely vain and meaningless.
By that time, Jensen’s kind of giggling but he’s not alone, the dogs are there.
“You guys are awesome,” Jensen says as Jared-ly as possible, full on smarm and attempting to wink only it makes him dizzy and he kind of falls over.
Jared does not have a mythic alcohol tolerance. If Jensen hadn’t given Jared the big fuck-you kiss off, he’d so call Jared up to mock him. Jared. Damn it. He needs to keep drinking. And see if Jared’s got “Cocaine Blues” on his magical iPod. He think he might see “Folsom Prison Blues” listed farther down.
He’s also standing, which is great. Jensen doesn’t think crawling around, even when you’re alone, is something to be proud of-and then there’s the door buzzer.
Whatever, let ‘em up, Jensen needs some company. Misery, no, victory, needs company and-
Jensen opens the door to Sandy.
“Heeeeey,” Jensen says.
“Hey, Jared,” she says with a tiny grin as she plays with the hem of her jacket sleeve. She looks up. “I left, um, my purse?”
Jensen knows that she wasn’t at the dinner party. And she’s really dressed up: a glittery sheer black dress under her jacket; it’s really shiny and kind of distracting but she’s smiling bright. Like, really bright.
“You have a purse,” Jensen points out, his hand almost brushing a little too close to her side, uh-almost, possibly brushes her breast.
“Jared!” Sandy laughs. “This is just a Coach purse. I left a Louis Vuitton here, remember? A month ago? I texted you, didn’t you get my message?”
Jensen does not remember. Jared might have forwarded some of his texts and e-mails to Jensen but Jared’s kept his iPhone and Blackberry with the kind of single-minded determination of true addicts. So, no, Jensen has no clue. But then, he also doesn’t know why Sandy’s leaning up towards him, all smiles and then says, “Jensen's not here?”
Jensen is here. Technically. Jensen’s still stuck on the fact that Sandy has a real nice smile. Like, wow. And Sandy’s like, really, really nice.
And Jensen? He’s really, really drunk.
Jensen’s awesome right now, too. He starts laughing after her question and by the time he’s done, he doesn’t know what she said, but man, it was pretty damn funny.
“Jared? Jensen’s not here?”
“Ja-Jensen? Jensen's… really drunk. Bad drunk. Sent him ‘off.” He waves his hand a little and his body almost follows the motion, slipping into the hallway, he has to steady himself by clutching the doorway, nodding for emphasis. “Come on in, Sandy, come right on in. You want some tequila? I think we deserve some tequila.”
He might nearly trip over an ottoman, but Sandy grabs him, and they twirl, unintentionally, until she lands on him, a light thump on his chest.
“Hey there,” Jensen chuckles, pushing the messy perfect hair away from her face, cradling it. “How we’d get down here?”
“This is where we should be," Sandy says all of a sudden and oh my God, his body’s reacting. It’s almost painfully obvious, he thinks, trying to adjust himself underneath her. That’s funny, too, and Jensen would laugh but then like, Sandy's hand is brushing his stomach and that feels-it feels good.
“Oh,” Jensen says and maybe, maybe he should, like… stopping would probably be… be good.
“Remember when we did body shots at that resort in Antigua?” She smiles again, her tongue peeking out between her teeth. “Do you have any limes?”
“Um,” Jensen begins, tries to say no I don’t remember, because I’m not Jared and oh my God, what are you doing? But Sandy darts out of his hands, pulls his shirt up, tongue brushing at the top of his belly button. He can't help but shudder and then her hand's skimming down, unbuckling him, and her hand's at his fly and-
Fuck Jared. Fuck him so, so much, because it's just Jared's body responding to direct touch. Fuck, Jared probably does walk around half-hard all day and now, Jensen's hard and aching and Sandy’s… Sandy’s real good with her tongue, licking a path down his stomach.
Jensen’s mind is almost gathering together and he's about to stop this before it goes too far but then Jensen remembers that he didn’t bother wearing underwear because Jared’s is just all silk and ridiculous. Then his jeans are undone and, uh, pretty much the moment Sandy’s mouth is wet and licking him he goes, “Ughhh-oh, oh, ohgodohmygod”-only more embarrassing than that.
And then whatever thoughts he has in his head die and all that’s left is don't stop.
*
Never. That’s how many times Jared has been dumped in his entire life. And the one time he effectively gets shut down, it’s by Jensen Ackles. So Jared’s unspecified Plan A, which mostly involved somehow figuring out a way for things to magically fall back into place, to get to be himself again, is kind of shot.
There’s always Plan B.
Plan B, Jared reasons, involves a shitload of alcohol and hopefully forgetting every single second of Jensen telling Jared… God, he needs to forget.
Then. There’s always Plan… C.
Plan C has him hanging off Chad, jacket hitched up around his shoulder and neck, an odd angle as he jabs his key in the door lock. They get inside Jensen’s apartment, the place just as tiny and messy as ever. Chad closes the door behind him, standing like he’s waiting to be praised, his arms out like Jared’ll fall into them.
Good move, because he does.
“You going to pass out on me again, Jenny?”
“Shut up,” Jared slurs. His chest burns from the alcohol and more, a bone-deep ache that rises up just as his legs give out again.
Thank God for Chad. Chad, his buddy, his friend. Chad saved his life. Or at least, saved Jared from spending the rest of the night lying facedown on the street.
Chad always hits up the bars if a party ends before 2 A.M. and he must’ve seen Jared, uh, Jensen’s body, but hey, it’s Jared all the same. He’d prodded the awkward mess that was Jared with his shoe, waking Jared from his stupor when he’d bent over, blowing cigarette smoke right in Jared’s face, mumbling, “You alive?”
Yes, Jared’s alive and in hell. A hell where too many people think he’s a jerk and where stupid Jensen has Jared’s body and he’s going to die in Jensen’s body, probably due to alcohol poisoning.
It was a long, long cab ride, with Chad attempting to massage Jared’s shoulders, telling him stories that Jared already knows, about how Chad met Jared, only they were different, a skewed perspective. Jared would rather spend the night puking in a gutter than listen to Chad saying, “Jared wasn’t always like this, you know. He was a good guy. I mean, he’s still cool. But you get what I mean.”
Jared’s kind of disgusted at himself for nodding in agreement.
So, now they’re at Jensen’s apartment, with Jared resisting the urge to throw up on Chad’s shirt.
Chad hoists him up, hand wavering over Jared’s ass like he’s thinking twice about carrying Jared over to the bedroom. “Come on. We’re getting you to bed, Jen.”
He settles for throwing Jared’s arm around his shoulder again, tugging him along down the narrow hallway, past Jensen’s dresser, tiny framed pictures, bookcase of textbooks. It’s all neat and cozy, and the nausea settles to a low thrum of a headache as they wander past.
Jared falls face first on the bed when they reach it, slowly dragging his stubbled face against cotton sheets. The unfamiliar texture of the bed is disorienting; so is Chad with his jacket off, shirt unbuttoned.
“Hey there, Jenny. You gonna blow chunks or something?”
Jared has to laugh a little, which kicks his headache up a notch.
“I’m gonna be fine. Room ain’t spinning,” Jared slurs, amazed at how Jensen’s tongue gets all thick with Texas, almost as bad as when Jared’s really trashed. Jared is drunk, but it’s not his voice. It’s stupid Jensen’s, all gravely and hot and making him remember: the slick heat of Jensen’s mouth biting down where shoulder meets neck. Because Jensen, he used to make this crazy noise that was just… just real nice.
Jared shifts his hips as his dick hardens, not comfortable belly-down on the mattress any more.
“Hey buddy, you wanna help me here?”
“Oh, yeah,” Chad says, a weird bubbly edge to his voice. “I’m all about helping.”
All those times Chad’s said to Jared regarding tasks at the studio, fuck that shit. Let the interns deal with it, notwithstanding.
Chad gets on the bed on his knees, and then he rolls Jared over with one hand. Jared wouldn’t mind just crashing, a long nap where he’d wake up and find out that this was just the worst dream ever. But then it would mean he hasn’t woken up for weeks and unless he’s living in some Vanilla Sky nightmare, and that would suck.
The one where Chad keeps on murmuring Jenny, Jenny, brushing his hand over Jared’s face, trying to get Jared to focus on him. Jared would rather not focus but then he notices that Chad’s rubbing the medallion he's wearing with two fingers, kissing it.
“I wore this the first time I met you, remember? When you and Jared hooked up?” Chad says, hands wandering south and Jared would put a stop to it but he figures, why the fuck not? It’s not like Chad’s ever gonna believe he’s Jared. It’s Chad’s ridiculous get laid medallion that Chad picked up at Spring Break ’05. Hasn’t gotten him any luckier than Chad normally is just being The Chad.
“You’re always wearin’ it,” Jared says and laughs because Chad looks so freaking earnest, his eyes squinty and serious, brushing Jared’s stomach, where his shirt rode up a little, exposing skin. “Man, you wanna fuck me, don’t you?”
It’s bold and bare, laid out the way Jared’s always been. It should be a hint but Chad just smiles and breathes gin and cigarettes into Jared’s face, “Yeah I do, Jenny.”
With that, he starts to strip off Jared's jacket and shirt and Jared doesn’t really think about stopping, because that’s not weird even if it’s Chad and he keeps on staring at Jared like that. Next thing to go are going to be his pants and then there’s no turning back. See, any other time, they'd laugh about it. Clap each other on the back, joke about how drunk they are, call it a day. Any other time, when the universe wasn’t playing this huge cosmic joke on Jared.
“Yeah, that night, I hooked up with the wrong person and I know you did too. We're going to fix that… tonight.”
“I don’t think we’re fixing anything that’s broken,” Jared says, trying not to roll his eyes when Chad nearly gets stuck tugging his own shirt over his head. Good to know that Chad’s just as suave as he always brags.
“You're so pretty, when I saw those lips, couldn't believe it, hotter than girls, man,” Chad’s saying, and he half-humps Jared as he’s pulling his pants down. Then he grabs weakly for Jared’s chin and head, fingers running over the stubble under his bottom lip, rubbing at his jaw, then back up to push a finger in between Jared’s lips.
Which might’ve been hot if it weren’t Chad doing it and if he were doing it right, because now it’s more like… More like being poked in the mouth. Jared has to shake Chad off before Chad descends, missing Jared’s mouth by a lot. Getting kissed on the ear is not sexy when it’s all sloppy tongue dancing under his earlobe, a pool of saliva dribbling down his neck.
Jared is aware that stopping would be a really good idea. It’s still not his body and Chad’s his friend and Jared might have an open policy but certain people are off-limits. Only now Chad’s grabbing his ass now and thinking? Yeah, the thinking part of his brain is kind of shot. Jared’s also aware that his brain feels like death rolled over or warmed over, or whatever.
He half-laughs, half-groans, murmuring, “Chad, maybe we should, uh, get some sleep or-,” but Chad continues.
He sucks a line of kisses down Jared’s neck, awkward as all hell, murmuring nonsense against Jared’s skin as he leaves trails of saliva. “God, you’re so fucking hot. You and Jared, used to picture it-fuck, baby, we’re hot too.”
The only thing Jared can think is: basketball’s never going to be the same again.
Which is probably not the kind of thought that helps Jared at all as he makes him kind of laugh a little and if Chad was sober and not Chad, it might ruin the moment. Although this kind of moment isn’t really a kind of moment to remember, drunken hook-up sex.
When Chad pulls down Jared’s boxers, it hits Jared way too late and way too hard, the silliness of their situation turning real, no longer a joke, ha-ha, screwing his friend, no it’s way, way worse than that. Jensen’s words coming back to haunt him-I never had you-and Jared’s experiencing that stupid, stupid moment of clarity, the slosh of his brain making a small, fragile connection, little reminder. A breath escaping that he shouldn’t lose, but then, he’s lost enough tonight, more than he ever realized before.
Jensen’s the first guy Jared’s ever fucked. The only guy Jared’s ever really wanted to fuck, because for all his past antics, he’s never gone to that point with a guy, ever, and it’s like Jensen was meant to introduce Jared to the wonderful gay side of his bisexuality.
And he’s also the last and only one so far to get a piece of Jared’s ass, by the way Chad’s acting. His hands are all over the place, poking Jared here and there, a tug on Jared’s dick-Jensen’s dick-that proves that Chad’s never fucked around with a guy. Or if he has, man, Jared feels really sorry for that guy.
Jared bats Chad’s hand away, gripping it a little too hard but Chad doesn’t notice, groaning, “Jenny,” a couple too many times for comfort. “Jen, don’t be shy, baby.”
He thinks it’s beyond annoying to hear those nicknames coming out of Chad’s mouth.
Chad’s mumbling these compliments and nicknames, rumpled and humping Jared until he blows his load with a drawn-out moan, sticky wetness all over Jared’s leg.
After that, Chad breathes out heavy against Jared’s neck, eyes half-lidded, slurred kiss against Jared’s neck. “Jenny-Jen-Jenny.”
God, he’s not drunk enough for this.
He pats Chad’s arm, twisting out of Chad’s arm thrown over his chest. Jared looks down at his wilting hard-on, the mess on his leg and wonders if crawling to the bathroom to throw up is a good idea. It feels like he just cheated on Jensen, which makes no fucking sense. He didn’t even get to come.
Chad says blearily as he licks his lips, “How’s about we start round two?”
To his credit, Chad stays awake for about ten more seconds before he promptly passes out.
And Jared?
Jared kind of doesn’t fall asleep until after he takes one of the longest and coldest showers in his entire life.
“I’m such a fucking asshole,” Jared says, but it's lost to the rush of water, the rattle of pipes.
*
Sandy’s soft, warm, and smells nice, too, a vast improvement. Jared’s hands are large and pale against her skin as she snuggles up to Jensen, snoring lightly against the skin of his chest, his dress shirt open. He stares at the ceiling and worries Jared’s lip, feels his arm unwrap around her shoulders. His arms are too big, too thick, to sleep with them tucked against his sides, but he does it anyway.
Sandy’s a vast improvement, sure. But, Jensen decides, she’s missing exactly what Jensen needs.
Which is a cock.
“Yep, still gay,” he murmurs, and even after all these weeks, Jared’s voice startles him.
*
The morning after Jared feels exactly how he expected to: hungover, with a side of ass and… pain. Thankfully, those two things didn’t go together last night. His thoughts are all jumbled and so are his clothes, having pulling on the baggiest pair of sweatpants Jensen owns and a faded old t-shirt to go with them. The wireless Guitar Hero controller only enables him in his laziness, getting scores lower than fifty percent on his early morning plays, totally blowing “Free Bird.”
He’s used to blowing it anyway on a good day, but at least those times he had Jensen around to raise an eyebrow and quietly judge him before he went back to reading a book.
Shit, shit. The last thing Jared needs is to be lying around on the couch watching TV. Next thing he knows, he’ll be eating a pizza and sleeping in until three in the afternoon.
Actually, he has done that. Huh. He's squinting at the empty pizza box on the floor when his phone goes off. The tingling ringtone and his focused stare at the box makes him think the box is vibrating.
Maybe it is.
Jared takes the call. “Yeah?”
There’s nothing on the other end, only a cough, then heavy breathing.
Jared groans. “Look, Chad, I was drunk and-”
“Jared?”
Fuck. Awesome timing.
“Jensen?” Jared straightens, the all-over-assiness feeling getting a shot of pain and angst to go with it. He shifts his weight and ends up on his elbows, looking down the length of his belly, bare, shirt riding up and showing him Jensen’s abs. Warm abs. Ridges of muscle that he used to spider walk his fingers over, and this, this is like his own personal hell.
In fact, that’s exactly it: this isn't actually happening. Jared’s probably still somewhere on the street, covered in newspapers and garbage, moaning about Jensen Fucking Ackles and having delusions of… his own voice, telling him off. But then that’d mean there was no Chad to the rescue and judging by the state of the dried come on his jeans on the bedroom floor, it did happen.
Jared runs his fingers through his hair, short bristles sticking up at odd angles. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know why I got some weird voicemail from Chad this morning, would you?”
Off Jared’s groan, Jensen chuckles. He sighs, long and drawn out, Jared easily imagining Jensen rubbing the back of his neck. “Forget it. I’m not going to ask.”
It’s weird because normally, Jared’s good at talking on the phone. Negotiating, shooting the breeze, whatever-it comes naturally to him, being sociable. But now, it’s fucking odd, having his voice on the other end. Jensen’s voice, and that it’s Jensen calling, after last night. The last person Jared wants to hear or see is Jensen, not out of anger but out of acknowledgement, because all the things Jensen said last night? They’re true.
But he still woke up and saw Jensen’s reflection staring back at him, morose and hungover. A sight of his own state of being and a sight he never wants to inflict upon Jensen, ever.
Jared charges on ahead, saying, “About last night.”
“Yeah. I, uh-Yeah, Jared. About that-”
“You were right. I have been acting like an asshole,” Jared says slowly, immediately regrets hearing the words in Jensen’s voice. “Pretty fucking good wake-up call, if I do say so myself. Since it was from myself. Oh God, I’m not making any sense, am I? Never mind. It’s just that maybe I was, I’ve been. Kind of a dick. To you. And I shouldn’t have been like that. I’m sorry.”
It’s probably the worst apology ever but it eases something inside, a little piece of himself slotting back into place. It feels kind of like a welcome: welcome to the world of being human.
Jensen’s hesitating again, before he exhales. “Good. Because I wasn’t going to say I’m sorry. Oh shit. Um. That came out wrong. I-You know, I used to be a journalist, got a degree and everything. I used to be good with words.”
“You are,” Jared says with a low chuckle. “I get it. Hey. Hey, Jensen?”
“Yeah?”
Now it’s time for Jared to pause. He has no idea if he’s even in the position to suggest this, considering what Jensen said to him. But maybe it’s time for being a damn grown-up and ignoring his own hurt, his own feelings, and try to make things right.
“Since I figure it’s been weeks and you’re getting as sick of my mug as I am of yours, I think there’s only one solution to this.”
Jensen laughs, the type that always has Jared grinning afterwards, even if it’s hearing his own laugh back at him. “Oh God, since sex was one of your suggestions, I don’t know if I want to hear this.”
“That was a good idea. Don’t knock it,” Jared says, tapping the guitar controller idly.
There’s a groan on the other line, then a shuffling noise like Jensen’s walking around the apartment. “I’m listening, Jared.”
He moves to sit up, like making decisions from a position that won’t enable passing out will do him good. It does. “Start over fresh. We keep going in different directions, we’re not going to get anything done. How about we work together?”
“…I’d like that,” Jensen says after a few seconds. “I’d like that a lot.”
*
Working together, finally, isn’t as hard as Jensen thinks it will be. The first step, though, has them both meeting up in Jared’s apartment, and Jared looks like crap. He’s haggard, dark circles under his eyes when he pulls off his sunglasses, sharing a look of understanding with Jensen before the dogs bowl him over. The look fades just as suddenly when Sadie’s licking his face and he’s smiling, mouthing, “Thanks.”
Calling in a few favors isn’t as hard either, maybe more awkward when Chad’s coughing on his end after Jensen calls him and says, “Hey, Chad, I think you owe me one.”
Jensen’s spared the details when it comes to that, thank God. Anyway, he can't really protest-he can protest some, because what the hell, it’s Chad-but then again, on his end, there was Sandy.
He calls up the girls in reception and talks with them for a while, putting on a slight touch of charm. Jared’s at the laptop sending e-mails, giving a rueful smile as he does it, even quirking an eyebrow when Jensen gets his way, easy. They patch him through without a problem and after an hour of phone calls, he’s wrangled the schedule for his own benefit.
An interview with Carrie Underwood on a Friday-it might skew a little older in the viewer demos, Jared tells him, but she’s country, and Jensen thinks he can manage that. After last time, the producers were scared to put him in front of the camera again, thinking he’d cave under pressure. He’s not in the studio face-to-face with them to assure them he’ll do well, but he is face-to-paper, Jared holding up notes for Jensen to look at as he speaks into the phone, talk about being a team player and being mature for the benefit of the show and network.
That last part is kind of hard to take seriously when Jared does this horrible victory dance afterwards, complete with the Robot. In Jensen’s body.
Jensen thinks they should’ve put ‘no dancing’ in the ground rules. The last time Jensen danced was kind of never. Well, there was a season of being a high school cheerleader but he’s made sure that never ever gets out because he’s pretty sure even Danneel wouldn’t let him live that one down.
“That way, you’ll alleviate any worries they might have in the future…” Jensen trails off, rubs the back of his neck. Jared’s already at the computer again, little dance coming to a standstill as he looks down at the screen.
“And this way, you’ll have something else in your future,” Jared says. He turns the laptop around and stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Jensen, looking at it.
The e-mail’s a back-and-forth conversation that's taken place over days, coming to a conclusion now. Turns out Jared was already working behind the scenes and setting up a correspondence with some producers, namedropping mutual acquaintances here and there. MTV’s latest mad scheme is an overhaul of the news program for young adults and they’re in need of a rotating group of interviewers for segments. From what Jensen can see, he’s sent them some of Jensen’s work and resume-but the crux of it is that they loved his recent piece, ‘Sex and the Big Bang Theory’, and want him to come in for an audition.
Jensen sighs. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jared.”
“Why not?” Off Jensen’s look, Jared’s getting hyper now, touching Jensen on the arm. He pulls away, though, realizing that it’s not like that anymore. Can’t be. The warmth and eagerness in his eyes and posture remains nonetheless. “What’s the harm in trying? You can get out there, be yourself, and if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But they’ve got connections, man, and if you impress them, they might drop in a line over at Newsweek or-or maybe even the Times. There aren't any screaming girls or flashing lights. Just you and your subject, one on one. Investigative journalism. Remember that?”
Jensen does remember it, like all those days and nights researching for his graduate studies. At the job he has now, he doesn’t really get the same excitement out of it when he knows that it’s a dead end and won’t go anywhere. With the little importance they place on his articles, it’s hard to muster up any energy to try for more, to do more.
Jared’s looking at him eye to eye, a rare moment where he’s open and honest, no smile coming on. Just stating the facts.
“That’s if anyone wants to hear me being a geek,” Jensen says, still unable to shake off the uneasiness. “It’s not as interesting as music or movies.”
“Fuck any of that.” Now, Jared claps a hand on Jensen’s shoulder, any urge he might’ve had to pull it away apparently gone. “You’re one of the most interesting, intelligent people I know. You’re funny, Jensen, you’re smart and talented and-and if you just let them see that, like you’ve shown me… They’ll love it. God knows they’ll value it more than I should have.”
It’s a little unnerving how Jared still makes Jensen able to feel like this, all flustered and harried, this unrelenting rush of energy that has him almost blushing. He shrugs as Jared pulls his hand away, starts to bring up a new e-mail.
“All right,” Jensen says, and even he’s amazed by how he sounds excited about it, “I’ll do it.”
“Good, because I’m booked for this Friday.”
“Friday?” Jensen’s eyes widen. “But that’s the same day of the TRL taping!”
“Yeah. No shit. They’re doing this later in the day, so it’ll finish a little after yours. Worry about your stuff. I’ll handle this,” Jared says, all business. He lifts his head and grins at Jensen, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “You are dealing with an expert here.”
Jensen’s eyes roll before he knows it, murmuring. “I’m so grateful.”
“You’re damn right you are,” Jared says, a pleased-as-hell look on his face as he goes back to typing.
Jensen has to squash down this sudden urge to kiss Jared. It’s like he’s seeing, for the first time, the person he’s always hoped was there, under all the bravado and showboating. The way he bounces his leg restlessly as he’s typing, wipes his hand back over his head, pushes his hair back-Jared’s own longer hair that he doesn’t have right now-little quirks of movement all completely belong to Jared. It makes it easier now to see Jared’s essence throughout Jensen’s body.
But then it’s harder, too, because it’s a new and innocent essence that he realizes he wants, badly, and finds it hard to resist.
*
The week is a blur of frenzied work and phone calls on both fronts, the adjustment to friends instead than boyfriends happening not quite naturally or easily, but it's working for Jared. It’s got to, for the good of their careers, but most importantly of all, the good of their sanities.
They don’t move in together again, but Jared’s always visits Jensen, playing with the dogs, ordering takeout, and watching a game or two after work. Bad buddy cop movies, bad horror movies; the night after a shopping spree at Virgin Megastore has them watching movies until three in the morning-the only night Jared stays over-and they're bleary eyed but they’re both grinning the next day at their jobs.
Barely ten minutes into setting up on Friday, Jared looks up to see Jensen rushing in, sweaty and breathing heavy in gulps, his hair a bird’s nest. He uncoils the string of his backstage pass from his neck, palms on his knees as he breathes out, collects himself. It’s a whole sucking air and gasping thing that Jared thinks makes his body sound like a vacuum, a weird sound that dies down as Jensen stares at Jared.
Jared’s running through his lines in his head, flipping index cards in his clasped palms, singing under his breath.
Jared had taken to singing once in a while, alone, hidden, the past few… weeks. Whatever Jared’s said about Jensen’s body-both the good and the bad-his voice, fuck, he’s never had any complaints about Jensen’s voice. As much as it had the power to make Jared antsy, it had the power to turn him on. Sent a thrill right through him, like narcissism at its finest, hearing his ‘own’ voice and relaxing from it.
Jensen straightens and he stares for a moment, before the cameras shift into place, and the guest is brought in. Jared tries to stop thinking about the way Jensen’s staring at him as he stops singing. He turns in his chair and greets the guest. The guest is a guy who’s written a book claiming that within thirty to forty years, robots will look human enough, real enough that humans will be able to fall in love and have sex with them.
All love bot jokes aside, once Jared gets the green light and countdown, he’s already leaning, body no longer tense. Wearing a crisp charcoal grey suit and white dress shirt, no tie, he looks good. ‘Good’ being the limit of attraction that Jared allows himself to think about. Bad enough it’s been weeks of restraining himself-as in, not being able to cup this face in his hands, to press this mouth against his own-and to… drag it all up again, that won’t do any good.
Still, the audition segment starts off smoothly when Jared’s on. He pours on the charm, letting Jensen’s body do the work for him-it becomes a balance between his own easygoing nature and Jensen wanting to get down to the facts. He looks at Jensen’s notes from time to time, but Jared lets the conversation flow naturally, a trait that’d annoy his producers-always stick to the script- but it works, here. It has the author laughing and divulging more than he should, joking too. The subject matter’s a little more entertainment than scientific than Jensen would probably like, judging by the way he shakes his head in amusement as he stands off to the side, but Jared knows it’s a start. It’ll gauge ‘Jensen’s’ highs and lows.
The twenty-odd minutes fly by when they call, “Cut!” for the final time. Jared stands up and shakes the author's hand, getting a, “Thanks,” in return. Soon the producers sweep up the author and talk with him, nodding at Jared to stay put.
Jensen comes by with his arms folded, raising an eyebrow.
“So, what’d you think?” Jared asks, the eagerness spilling forth, grinning.
“What…Where’d the singing come from?”
It throws Jared off, leaving him fussing with some lint on one of his thighs. He hesitates, and then looks back up again. “You know, you never let me tell you this and screw it, man, I just gotta tell you. Your voice. It's amazing.”
That seems to throw Jensen off too. He’s quiet for a moment before he says, “I thought you didn’t like it.”
“I’ve always liked it. You just didn’t do it enough!” Jared waggles his finger, gesturing for Jensen to come closer, which he does. “I had a business proposition for Chad.”
“Is that what-?”
“No! God, no. I’ve been trying to see if he’ll help me tape you in the studio.”
Jensen’s eyebrows rise. “You’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”
“Backup, Jensen. No singing upfront, no having to have an image, just, there're a lot CDs made in New York. And a good backup singer, dependable, reliable, well, it's something. And, and I'd get to hear your voice. You know. If we ever get out of this-thing.”
“Jared Padalecki, life coach,” Jensen deadpans, unfolding his arms to let them swing loosely by his sides. Then he gestures at the set, at the overhead lights, saying, “You don’t have to do all of this for me.”
“Yeah, I do.” Jared stands up. “Because it’s time I focus on someone who's not me for a change.”
Then it hits him right there, the show, enough that Jared hits himself on the forehead, hands out. “Oh my God, the taping! I didn’t even ask! How’d it go?”
Jensen peers around Jared, left and right, checking his surroundings. He gives him his stony expression, and Jared’s high starts to sink again, somewhere right between his knees. But just as soon as that happens, a smile comes onto Jensen’s face, bright and cheerful.
He might’ve said, “It went great,” but Jared’s got his arms around Jensen’s shoulders, hugging him tight as he laughs.
He’s gleeful, holding onto Jensen before he knows it, that burst of energy that he gets around him whenever something goes well. It’s been a damn long time since this has happened, Jared can tell, feeling how Jensen tenses underneath him for a few seconds. Then Jensen’s leaning his head against Jared’s, a soft brush of hair against Jared’s cheek.
After a moment, Jared pulls back, an apology on his tongue. Instead, he says, shakily, “Congratulations. Congrats, Jensen. You did it. I knew you had it in you.”
He pulls away, ignoring the urge to move in again when Jensen hesitates, takes a step forward. Jensen nods a little too emphatically, looking down at his shoes. Wearing his hosting clothes-blazer, t-shirt, and jeans, artfully rumpled and not too showy-Jensen looks like he’s wearing a mask. His body language is relaxed but it’s not him, and now Jared misses seeing Jensen as he is, really is, more than ever.
“What’re you doing after this?” Jensen asks, his voice faint before he looks up.
The producers are gesturing for Jared to come over, smiling. Could be a show, could be genuine, point is that he’s got to go over there and find out for himself.
Jared claps a hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “Taking the first step on your new career as a TV science journalist, that’s what.”
He grins and starts to go before Jensen grabs his jacket, stopping him.
“Do you want to come over to your place?” Jensen asks. He licks his lips, Jared imagining the fullness that isn’t there, displacement smoothed over by an illusion in his head, like he can see Jensen, even if he’s looking at his own body. And his body is nervous, Jared can tell.
But he covers it up again, this habit that has Jared wishing for him not to, now, not to hide anything. Let it all show. Jensen cuts him off, adding, “We can watch the taping. It’s on the TiVo.”
Jared smiles, his fingers brushing the back of Jensen’s hand as he pulls away. It's the barest touch and he feels this all over air of good that’s new, that doesn’t come out of partying.
“Don’t forget the beer!” Jared calls over his shoulder as he heads towards the producers.
Part Five