Fic: 'All That's Left To Chart' (Jared/Jensen; NC-17) 2/5
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Master Post | Artwork and Soundtrack
The next day they’re up bright and early. It's awkward and hectic as they go through their morning routine. From the moment he wakes up-sees Jensen’s fingers, thicker, silver ring-Jared is cranky and groaning. The fact that the strong smell of bacon and eggs makes his stomach growl hungrily-fucking Jensen's stomach, totally off his diet-and the fact that he can’t do jack shit about Jensen’s hair doesn’t help. Neither does seeing Jensen hunched over at the kitchen table, with Jared’s hair pulled into pigtails wrapped in rubber bands. The sweatpants and shirt Jensen wears do nothing for Jared’s figure, though they do at least look tighter on Jensen now that he’s in Jared’s body.
“Kept getting in my eyes,” Jensen says by way of explanation, pushing a stack of papers along the table. “Did some research. We’ve got an appointment at nine.”
Jared sits across from Jensen, eyes half-lidded. “With what, an astrologist?”
Jensen sips his mug of coffee. “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”
Jared doesn’t get a chance to protest because soon enough he’s at a doctor’s office, tapping his foot restlessly. Jensen throws him dirty looks over a magazine, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. He’s wearing a dark jacket, plain white dress shirt and tight ripped jeans. Jared told him that ‘he’ wouldn’t be caught dead with some of Jensen’s old clothes if they had to go out, so after a short trip back to Jared’s apartment-Lily’s holding the dogs for the weekend, thank God-to get a fresh change of clothes, they’re here.
They’re up shit’s creek without a paddle because two hours later they’ve got nothing other than strange looks, three psychologist recommendations, and a one for a proctologist.
“This blows,” Jared says when they enter his apartment, immediately pulling out his iPhone from Jensen’s baggy slacks pocket-that has got to change-and starting to check his voicemail. It’s a weekend and a Sunday, meaning the message flow could be slower, but the idea that this all might be some bad prank and the punch line explanation might be buried in the sea of voicemails gives him some comfort.
Jensen follows him into the apartment with a set of two suitcases and his messenger bag, papers clenched between his teeth. They’d gone back to Jensen’s apartment to pack up his things, rumpled clothes peeking out of battered suitcases. The harried, busy look is all Jensen’s, even the case of bedhead Jared’s body is now sporting, no thanks to being tied up by rubber bands before the doctor’s visit.
He’s gotta pick his battles, so the clothes win out over the hair, Jared reasons.
“You know, it’s kind of ironic,” Jensen says, later, opening up his laptop from his seat on Jared’s leather couch. “that it takes the scientifically impossible for you to agree to us living together in order to fix this.”
“Only because of the risk of us getting our molecules all scrambled up overnight,” Jared points out, waggles his fingers. It’s a whole bunch of reasons, actually. It’s not just the comforts of his home-his stuff, music, the dogs-but the fact that he can’t exactly let his own body be seen at Jensen’s building for a long stretch of time. “And because no way in hell am I moving ‘upstate’. Not to mention if anyone sees you in my body living at your place, they’ll start asking questions about us.”
“It’s 110th street!”
“That’s almost the Bronx.”
Jensen ignores him and looks down at his screen, murmuring as he clicks. “You’re going to have to turn in my article at the end of the week if I don’t call in sick tomorrow.”
“You wouldn’t,” Jared says, lowering his iPhone. “I got a meeting tomorrow. And-”
His stomach clenches at the thought of Jensen filming. The death of Jared Padalecki’s career in forty two minutes or less, news at eleven. He can’t even bring himself to continue-or he does, voice all squeaked out and unclear-because Jensen can’t even sit or walk like him properly, much less carry on a conversation with an actor or musician on national television. Then there’s the whole fact that he might be moving to Los Angeles in a couple of weeks if he doesn’t screw up at his job, and that option is looking less likely when he’s not even in his own body.
Off Jared’s nauseous look, Jensen shakes his head. “I think I know how to chat somebody up and stare at a girl’s chest for a half-hour, Jared. I won’t enjoy it, but your job’s a lot easier compared to mine.”
“Excuse me for forgetting the daily rigors of typing and making sure the coffee filter is clean!”
“What are you, twelve?”
“No,” Jared snaps. He isn’t normally this irritable-at least, not to this extent. Jensen's whole body is tenser than Jared's usually is. It’s like his muscles cramp from the exertion of the way Jared stands, straight, feet wide apart. But it’s hard because he’s going through the motions, looking up ahead and not down, at himself. It’s like he’s being yelled at by his own body, an uptight and shy version that’s reprimanding him. And the funny thing is, even with the shit that’s gone down lately, he still feels this sort off-this sort of longing, like Jensen isn’t there, but is there. Surrounding and vacant.
Or all the stress in this body could just be because Jensen’s got his own built-in emergency worry switch.
Something he’ll have to get used to, because it looks like they’re heading towards Plan B, the one he hadn't wanted to think about: be each other.
Before that, he’s gotta lay out some ground rules.
Jared puffs out his cheeks, scrubbing through hair until it sticks up oddly, and says, voice strained, “Fine. Rules. First, no jerking off. I don’t care, think of something gross, Paris Hilton’s vag or something, just don’t do it. Only touching should happen is aiming when you’re pissing, washing in the shower, and keeping it from getting stuck in a zipper. Two: Don’t get my dick stuck in a zipper. Three: No haircuts. My haircut is written in my contract. So, um, Three is read my contract and don’t lose my job. Or I’ll do something horrible to your body. Four: Don’t slack off on my workouts, man. Five: Eat something, Jesus Christ, I get hungry. Six: Don't let my body overheat, I-”
Jensen rolls his eyes, and says, “I know, Jared. You get disgustingly sweaty. It's unpleasant for everyone.”
Jared flips him the bird, getting a smirk in return.
“So we’re really gonna do this,” Jared says, ignores the urge to clear his throat, try to change the pitch, the whole voice. “Be each other until this-this thing reverses itself.”
“It should reverse,” Jensen says. He looks up, and even if it’s Jared’s eyes, the gaze is all Jensen’s, firm but optimistic. “It can’t be that hard.”
Jared moans and wipes his face, unfamiliar hair tickling his fingers. “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”
*
Getting into the MTV studio is easier than Jensen thinks it will be, considering that he's feeling less like Jared, MTV VJ and more like Jensen, Dork In A Jared Suit. The morning was one of the worst in his memory. Jared doesn’t have a personal assistant, preferring to take care of his own ‘stuff’, or have Jensen remind him. Jensen gets primped and prodded, shirts and jeans thrown at him. He’d dress himself but Jared won’t let him, even if Jensen knows what looks good on him. Little less garish logos, less artfully ripped jeans-something calmer, relaxed.
Now is when he feels naked, holding his messenger bag tight against his chest as he gets the go ahead and enters the building. It’s like he’s waiting for them to pick him out, find his soul or consciousness or whatever buried deep down in Jared’s body. Like they’ll point him out, how much he doesn’t belong.
Jensen goes through the studio, a chorus of greetings from co-workers following him. Past the cubicles, down a series of hallways. Jensen smiles weakly at the girls who shout their hello’s, their looks weird. On his face, or his ass, or his chest, many of the gazes, checking him out from all angles. He's blushing, all out butterflies in his stomach. Out of a side room, he hears a loud “Jared!” and then Chad slings an arm around Jensen’s shoulders.
“Hey, man! Where were you this weekend? I left like a dozen messages.”
“I was sick,” Jensen ventures, his voice small. He clears his throat and adds, “Didn’t feel like partying.”
“Oh, that’s cool. That’s cool.” Chad pulls back and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “You going in? There’s a staff meeting. Chris’ll have your head if you bail.”
Jensen nods and follows Chad into the room he points to: a spacious room with a large table in the center, impeccably dressed people already seated. The walls are covered in a slew of posters and clippings, old and new, different genres and different musicians. He feels tempted to stand by and look at the walls, but instead Jensen hustles over to the remaining empty chair, smiling pleasantly.
Jensen is the tallest one at the table and slouching isn’t going to help hide himself. Jared’s body isn’t that bigger than his own, but sometimes it’s strange to notice how a few more inches, breadth, and pounds makes him this commanding presence, a feeling Jensen has never been acquainted with-because he’s never found any reason to.
He gets off easy in the first half-hour, when they’re just talking about upcoming schedules, dropping his name here and there. Jensen takes notes, shifting awkwardly in his chair to cover his notebook. The body is all Jared but the handwriting’s all Jensen’s, smooth and legible under Jared’s rushed and messy print. He laughs and nods at the right times, even if it’s stilted and awkward. The meeting isn’t all that different from the ones he’s called into do at the newspaper, only the industry, topics and co-workers are entirely… different. Maybe it’s a little different.
“… that good, Jared?”
“What?” is what comes out of Jensen’s mouth, finds himself sitting straighter than before, and he immediately nods and tries to look down at the notebook in front of him. There are scribbles all over the margins, text blends into tiny little drawings, shapes and happy faces, and a really awful version of himself, because his hair doesn’t stick out like that. He looks at the last page Jared had written on, a small list of guests, and Jensen has no clue about half of them, the rest still pretty vague.
Jared is always surrounded by music, on his stereo or in his iPod, but it’s the record collection that Jensen always drifted towards. These new musicians are unfamiliar, and that’s not even thinking about the actors.
Then, Jensen reads off the Post-It Jared stuck on the last page: “That is, uh, ‘awesome’. It’s awesome. Um. ‘Dude’.”
The words sound lame coming out of his mouth and his neck is hot under the collar of his t-shirt. While he might need notes on responses, the fact that Jared actually writes out crap like that-like he doesn’t think Jensen’ll know how he talks or how he reacts-that pisses Jensen off. Jensen smiles tightly and without looking, draws a big circle around a date on the paper. According to Jared and the current discussion, Jared's been on and off the air recently, behind the scenes work-and whatever work in L.A. that’s moving Jared there, Jensen realizes-preventing him from being at the studio five days a week. Jensen’s hoping this whole switching thing won’t last too long, because if it’s not hard enough trying to work together despite their differences, it’s going to get a hell of a lot more complicated when Jared has to move across the country. But after taking a leave of on-air duty to work on show stuff, Jensen learns from the meeting, Jared agreed to come back soon enough.
Giving Jensen a few days to prepare to be filmed live on national television.
And where his stomach should normally clench, it rumbles, the bottomless pit of Jared's body mocking his worry.
*
Over at the Daily News, the day consists of online games, YouTube, and a lot of fake typing.
Jensen’s luggage fails to have any hidden compartment with a set of normal-looking outfits. For all the world you’d think the kid had come from anywhere but Texas, a land where t-shirts and jeans were required. It’s all slacks, button-downs and polo shirts. At the start of their relationship, Jared hadn’t had any problem with the clothes that Jensen wore-in the early months, Jared thought Jensen was adorable in the dorky clothes. But at some point Jared started to mind them, growing increasingly annoyed at the fact that Jensen was covering up his body so much. Jared could try to ignore it because in the long run, it was Jensen, part and parcel, and he wasn’t paying attention to clothes, the outside. Just laughing at a joke they shared, instead, looking over at him and feeling good because he was there.
Except now that he’s wearing Jensen's body-and isn’t that a kick in the ass, what, his soul is like... moving Jensen’s body around and that’s too deep at this morning hour-the clothes feel too awkward to wear, like a mask on top of another one.
He gets off easy for the day when there’s no article to turn in; it’s a slow news day, Jensen explains on the phone when Jared calls him over lunch, keeping the call short because he’s got work at Jared’s job; Jared doesn’t let him off the phone until he gets an earful because, what the hell. He shouldn’t even be here; Jared should be at his job, not Jensen, and this whole thing sucks so much. Jared keeps to himself and stays at his desk all day, unwilling to have to communicate with anybody. This is all too weird as it is; getting roped into some kind of project that he has to work on? No way.
The day drags on and pretty soon it’s five ‘o clock, Jared tearing off right on the dot, like it’s the last day of classes and school’s out for summer. Only it isn’t, because back then, he didn’t have to worry about living together with his gay ex-boyfriend who’s now renting his body.
Lily laughs him off when she arrives with the dogs, says he’s acting like, “his boyfriend, flirting with me. Oh God, don’t tell Jared I said that! I’m just joking.”
Jared laughs weakly in response. He only knows so many good dog walkers and, well, can’t fault a guy for trying.
The door closes behind him and he looks down at the dogs. Harley and Sadie are around his legs, sniffing him, whuffs against his slacks. A few more minutes and Sadie whines, rubbing her head against his thigh like she wants to be petted. His hand goes out automatically and scratches behind her ears, her tail whumping the floor-and that, right there, is the bright spot in his day.
Sadie never likes to be petted by Jensen, happy with trying to push him off the couch with her hind legs, lick his face whenever he’s taking a nap.
She knows, somehow. Harley does too, already waiting with a tennis ball in his mouth when he only plays catch with Jared.
Jensen arrives a half-hour later, his hair windblown and clothes disheveled-he holds up a finger to quiet Jared before he can say anything. The dogs lift their heads and settle back down when Jensen comes to drop onto the couch across from Jared, eyes closed and a hand to his forehead.
“And just think, you’ll have to do all of that again, tomorrow,” Jared deadpans, turning the TV off.
Jensen sighs, his hand coming down. “The work-the work I can deal with. It’s the ogling I’m not too thrilled about.”
Jared shrugs. “It’s not easy being this ridiculously good looking.”
“Why I ever sat through Zoolander with you, I will never know,” Jensen replies. He cracks an eye open to look over at Sadie, who yawns and starts to swipe at Jensen’s thigh with her hind leg.
Jared scratches at his belly idly and raises an eyebrow. “Let’s go get some drinks.”
Jensen doesn’t say no to that.
When they get to the bar, Jared decides he needs some alcohol in his-Jensen’s-system, a warm buzz that’ll work out the kinks in his neck and back. Take away the troubles of the day.
And add a whole ton of new ones, Jared realizes when they step into the bar. Being on the receiving end of dirty looks from people is new, their gazes fixed on Jared as they see him following Jensen in. Jared isn’t exactly A-list but he’s famous enough to get noticed on the club circuit. As ‘Jensen’ though, the bystanders give him dark looks, like they can’t believe Jared would associate with someone like Jensen. He’s not in the in crowd now; they read through it, this vibe of oh, immediate dismissal. It’s pretty fucking stupid if you ask him, the way these rules work, because not even the decent looking suit Jared managed to dig out of Jensen’s suitcases makes them take notice. And Jensen’s fucking hot, dudes.
Jensen tosses him a nervous glance. All the opportunity to mingle and the guy’s just standing there, awkward, hands in his pockets. The only thing he’s taking advantage of is his height, judging by the way he keeps looking over the tops of everybody’s heads to note all the exits.
It must be the day getting to Jared because Jensen, sweaty, bangs sticking to his forehead, in need of a shave and a tranquilizer, looks really fucking hot.
Or Jared’s ego is already drunk.
The club’s a shitty place anyway, with lots of wasted-looking trendsetters standing around looking surly. Hardly any room to sit, and when there is, the couches are occupied with people groping each other, making out sloppily in the dark near short candles. It's full of high, round tables cluttered with plastic and glass cups, Jensen edging away from one of them. Like he’s too big and awkward, afraid he’ll bump into somebody, set them off.
“Jared!” Jensen calls, three feet away and barely heard over the pulsing techno beat.
“Yeah?”
“Why’re… Do these people know you? Did you piss them off?” Jensen whispers harshly, leaning his head down near Jared’s ear. Jensen smells like faded aftershave, sharp in the blurriness and dull candle scent of the dark, low lit surroundings. “They keep looking at me funny.”
“That means they recognize you,” Jared answers, leaning toward Jensen and raising his voice over the sound. He turns and says directly into Jensen's ear, “And they don’t want you to know that they think you’re awesome. Now, unbutton that shirt or you’ll never get the bartender to serve us.”
Jensen pulls back, the smell of his aftershave leaving Jared’s nose. He frowns and heads over to the bar, this jerky two step as he tries to casually unbutton the top button, wipes a hand down his front and over his flat belly. Jared tenses when Jensen goes up, but he orders two beers and gets them quickly, thanks the bartender, passing one over to Jared.
“Score one for the Ackles,” Jared says, bumps knuckles with Jensen. After he takes a pull of his beer, he flicks his fingers towards the crowd, questioning. “Don’t you wanna go and mingle?”
“No.” Jensen frowns, looking down at his beer. He lifts it and moves out of the away as some people move through the crowd, body all angles as he tries not to spill his drink.
“Hey! Watch it, that’s silk!”
“I’m trying,” Jensen says, and he narrows his eyes and scrunches his face up into a prissy look that Jared thinks is hilarious. And highly embarrassing.
A half-hour and too many beers later, Jared downs another shot and burps, licks his lips. “Dude, your… Your mouth. I forgot. Your mouth? Your mouth’s like… Like. Like, it feels real good, Jen.”
It’s a fucking good observation if Jared says so himself, only thing is that Jensen’s not around to hear it, instead talking animatedly with some guys at the other end of the bar, the trendy type of guys who veer towards arts and sciences. Like, glasses and scarves, or, or-they’re wearing those, yeah, Jared can tell. All four of them. Two. Whatever. He’s not that drunk.
He might be hallucinating though, because he sees Sandy, holding two Heinekens. She accidentally bumps Jared’s elbow and apologizes. She hesitates, recognition on her face as she smiles at him.
His fault; they used to frequent the bar. And now by all appearances, ‘Jared’ is bringing his boyfriend there, because ‘Jared’s’ conversation is finished and he’s standing right next to Sandy, holding a bottle of beer.
Jared thinks that he looks stupid. Both Jareds.
He throws back a shot as she says, “Nice to see you both out and about. Hi, Jared.”
Jared grunts, getting lightly punched in the arm as Jensen slings a shoulder around him, leaning down towards Jared’s seat on the bar stool. “I’m sorry about the other night, Sandy. I should’ve talked it over with my partner first. Because we’re-you know. Together. Practically like this.”
He crosses his fingers and Jared sucks his teeth, peering into his shot glass.
“That’s not what you said last night. ‘Baby’,” Jared interjects, hands fumbling as he inserts one finger into his clenched fist.
Jensen takes one look at him, the way Jared raises his eyebrows over the rims of his glasses, and pours some of the beer on the silk shirt.
“Oh. Huh. How did that happen,” Jensen says flatly.
Sandy, meanwhile, just stares at them like they’ve got two heads each, and Jared hopes both of his heads can go into a cave and never come out, the way the headache’s pounding in his brain.
*
Two days later and Jensen is still knocking his head on the shower head, long hair in his eyes. He doesn’t sing because Jared can’t-really can’t, God, no-and he’s in a rush to get ready for the day: his and Jared’s. His, checking the article on his flash drive for Jared to turn in. Whereas Jared pulls his weight by handing Jensen notes that all amount to nothing when Jensen reads them aloud to Chris. The Post-It is cupped in one of Jared’s hands as Jensen glances at it, trying to slouch against the doorframe, bundle of papers and folders tucked under one arm.
“…and if we compress that segment at the end, we can have more time for at least one more video. Then we could-”
“Jared,” Chris starts, leaning over his desk to punch a few numbers on his phone keypad. “You know I appreciate your input. But we’ve got people working on that. No need to bend yourself out of shape, all right? Focus on your stuff, not everybody else’s.”
“But-”
Chris raises a finger to his lips as he points to the phone, waves him off.
The door closes behind Jensen with a soft click as he rests his head against it, eyes shut. This isn’t his natural element. There are offices, and arguments, trying to get notice, trying to make things easier. But working at the Daily News didn’t have him feeling like he was incompetent, that he didn't know any better. He’s a respected journalist there, with a degree in… right, Journalism, but he’s got tons of different minors, couldn’t quite pick a specialized field. He knows lots of stuff, and they listen to him, and he gets his work done. That’s the heart of the matter, doing the correct job instead of-
Instead of being stared at by the two girls at a cubicle nearby, winking and curling their fingers, like come here.
Jensen sighs, exhale blows a puff against the back of Sophia’s hair as she walks by, pulling her iPod out of her shoulder bag.
“Jared? What’s up?” Off his defeated look and the closed door, she cuts him off by adding, “Chris turn down your idea again?”
Jensen moves away from his place at the door, scratching the back of his head. Jared’s hair is long and messy in his fingers, curls at the back of his neck. “…Yeah, again.”
Sophia breaks into a smile and says, “C’mon, let’s get some lunch,” and they’re off to Ellen’s Stardust Diner, Chad offering his take on the situation as he attacks his sandwich with zest.
“Look, Jay, you’re not gonna get anywhere with Chris,” Chad says over lunch, mumbles around a mouthful of whatever’s leaking out of his sandwich, meat and…more meat, covered in sauce. Jensen sits a little stiff across from Chad and keeps his sunglasses on, less of an issue of having ‘Jared’ look cool than it is to cover up his disgust at Chad’s eating habits. Chad licks his lips and wipes his mouth with a napkin, adding, “You’re not some ass-kissing intern anymore to turn in any ideas, get it?”
“You’re completely fine with having no input, Chad?” Jensen asks over his Philly Cheesesteak and fries. “Whatever it is, you’ll just do it.”
“Sure. Why not?” Chad shrugs. “Two words: spring break.”
He grins and leans back in his chair as Sophia takes a bite of her chicken salad. “You haven’t exactly been complaining in the past.”
“Maybe I should have been!”
“Dude.” Chad straightens, all food induced lethargy gone. “They’re, like, fixing you up with your own show and everything. Don’t fuck that up.”
Jensen takes off the sunglasses, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Meaning I stay quiet and let everyone else do all the work. Without giving my opinion.”
“Uh, yeah,” Sophia responds, stealing some of his fries with her fork. “That’s what they’re there for.”
And oh, he’s got a lot of stuff to talk to Jared about later.
*
Jared gets dirty looks on the way to work at the West Side office when he leans and smirks at the girls on the train near him. It's another sign that Jensen's body is defective, because he gets these threats, like, “You eyeing my Danielle? You fuckin' fag, I'll cave in that pretty face.”
Angry subway passengers aside, whatever status that Jensen declares himself to be, looks like it really is out in the open. There’s a couple of cute female co-workers though, if Jared was into any of them and wasn’t already in a relationship-
He isn’t. They broke up, Jared reminds himself. Gone. Over. Only with the opposite bodies as leftovers. Or baggage.
Jared looks down at Jensen’s mug of coffee and thinks he’s discovered why Jensen can only have one cup in the morning. Any more-Jared’s on his third one now-and he feels too big for his skin, attention bouncing off the walls of his brain. He's restless too, full of disinterest and disappointment. Disinterest in the work and disappointment in the way people treat him. From the laughs they're giving him and the way they're patting his shoulder, calling his flirting cute, it's pretty clear that they think the smarmy act is a nice joke and it’s a little early for April Fool’s, Jensen.
Jared’s not going to dwell on it. At two ‘o clock he uncrosses his legs, feet up on the corner of his desk. Jared pushes Jensen’s floppy hair behind his ear and smiles.
He’s taking a personal day off. To decompress.
He tells Steve that, who nods after a moment of surprise-like Jen’s never done it before, probably hasn’t-and asks, “is it okay if I change a couple of words in your article? Make it more punchy?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever floats your boat,” Jared says, pulling Jensen’s blazer on. “I’m out, dude.”
Jared doesn’t stay long enough to hear Steve’s goodbye. Two trains and a handful of stops later, he’s at his hairdresser’s salon and grinning as he steps inside.
*
The apartment Jared rents has two bedrooms, a ton of artsy furniture and wall decorations, dog toys, electronics, magazines, CDs, and clothes, all smack dab on Ninth Avenue, off Columbus Circle. It’s not big enough to be a loft, but it’s not like Jared needs it to be-it serves its purpose as a roof over his head, a place to relax with his dogs, his music, a six pack of beer and a large pizza. For all the time Jared says he’d rather be out on the town, Jensen thinks that privately, Jared’s perfect night is spent at home, warm and full. Ordering out-kitchen all steel and immaculate, not that he’ll use it-and maybe even playing a little XBOX or Guitar Hero after watching whatever sports game is on. That’s his ideal night. Not clubbing.
Jensen knows this like the back of his hand, all the little quirks, likes, and dislikes that Jared has-one year’s worth of knowledge.
Except you take all that and twist it around to have his body being used by Jared, sprawled on the couch with one leg up, box of half eaten pizza on the coffee table, and Sadie resting her head on Jared’s calf.
That’s normal for Jared. What isn’t normal is Jensen’s first glance, which includes the top of Jared’s-Jensen’s-head, hair newly short.
Jensen comes by around the couch, fingers digging into the strap of his bag as Jared nods at him blearily, wearing a tight black t-shirt and jeans. It isn’t that dramatic a change but he looks different, off balance in Jared’s sprawl and zoned out stare at the blaring television.
“Man, I miss myself,” Jared says, nodding at the repeat of TRL he’s got playing off the TiVo, talking to whatever pop or rock band it is, Jensen doesn’t know, only that Jared looks like a giant standing next to them, easily more than a foot taller than each. “I can’t even go get drunk, you’re such a lightweight.”
“Jared,” Jensen starts slowly, gritting his teeth and letting his bag and jacket fall to the floor with a slight noise. “You cut my hair.”
“Yeah. I did.”
“We agreed not to do anything like that-that I can’t cut your hair.”
“Oh, that’s because of my contract,” Jared says with a shrug, running a hand back and forth over the soft sandy brown bristles. “I haven’t had my hair this short since I was a kid. Looks good, right?”
“You cut my hair. Short.”
Jared rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Jen, don’t be such a pussy.”
“Why aren’t you wearing my glasses?” Jensen already thinks he knows the answer but he'd really… rather have it be anything but that.
“Contacts. Turns out it’s like wearing glasses. On your eyeballs. Want to see me take them out?”
“Did you do any work today?” Jensen asks, ignoring Jared, his tone clipped. He taps his bag with a foot, Jared’s notebook and his own folder of research papers sticking out of it. “Or were you playing Halo while I was out making a fool of myself in front of your boss, trying to bring up some of the stuff you mentioned in your notes?”
“Didn’t work, huh?” Jared asks. “Chris is such a hard ass. They’ll give me a show, sure, but I’m just the face, not the brains.”
Jared mumbles under his breath, wriggling to lay on his side. Sadie scoots away as he turns, and Jensen takes the opportunity to turn the TV off, throwing the remote down on the other couch.
“Hey, I was watching that!”
“I’m working for the two of us, Jared,” Jensen says, running his hand through his hair as Jared struggles to sit up, afternoon daze slowly evaporating as he gets his bearings. “Little bit harder than one, since now I have to contend with getting shot down for a job I could do in my sleep.”
Bad move, there, because Jared stands up and even if he’s a few inches shorter than Jensen at the moment, his body is taut and at attention, clothes unfamiliarly tight on Jensen’s body. It’s not like Jensen’s checking himself out because God knows he doesn’t need everything to be all fucked up further, but there’s that displacement kicking in. The way Jared carries himself, tall and posture straight and relaxed at the same time. Like he’s too big to contain himself in Jensen’s body, in his own body, too huge a personality, too eager. Jensen looks down at his own body, its defiant posture both poised and relaxed, at the hips, and it’s almost like a stranger’s looking back at him. The haircut certainly helps that.
“You think this is easy?” Jared asks, waves his palms out. “It’s not sitting around in libraries looking at articles about things you’ll never see up front or do, Jen. I’m the one doing investigative journalism. Your job’s easy, dude, you don’t even do anything.”
“Maybe because I’d rather spend my day researching than flirting with everyone in the office,” Jensen grits out, beyond exasperated, rubbing his forehead. It’s a little odd to do it, the way Jared’s hairline and hair is, and he’s all too aware that he hasn’t shaved for the past two days-under duress, from Jared-and that his body looks and might smell like a Yeti. “Or coasting by on my looks!”
Shit.
Jared glares and comes up close, nostrils flaring in that way he does, except it’s Jensen’s face and man, he has a lot of freckles. He opens his mouth and hesitates. before saying, “All I have is this, this right here.”
He thumps a hand on Jensen’s chest, fingers splayed out, as he pokes for emphasis. And then his hand goes up to the side of Jensen’s face, thumb running over the corner of his mouth, his faint mustache.
“Dude. I think we should have sex.”
That, there, that was something he didn’t expect. A week or two ago, a month ago and he’d have rolled his eyes and maybe agreed with the lame come-on, but the whole thing changes when it’s Jared’s eager expression on Jensen’s face. Excitement emphasized in the way his eyes light up, the crinkles at the corners of Jensen’s eyes, and Jared’s ability to make him grin and show off all his teeth, white and dazzling.
It’s more than a little past crazy and disorienting, edging towards overwhelming when Jared’s mouth immediately crushes against Jensen’s, how Jared’s tongue slips in, soft and exploratory against the roof of Jensen’s mouth. Beyond overwhelming, because if the sex comment wasn’t one thing that threw him for a loop, this certainly does, so his eyes are open the whole time and he can almost count his own-really long, interesting-eyelashes.
Jared pulls away with a wet smack, barely moving, lips red and wet against the side of Jensen’s mouth. He mumbles, “For research.”
“That isn’t an excuse-” Jensen exhales and snorts when Jared cuts him off, presses against his mouth again. The movement’s too uncoordinated and sloppy, Jared’s body staggering and angling against Jensen’s. They’re caught between the coffee table and the couch, the space too tight for two tall men, the dogs looking up at them lazily. Jensen hums and angles his head a little, a soft kiss that has him sucking on Jared’s lower lip before he pulls back.
“We could be the first-Jensen, we could be the first and only people in the world to do this,” Jared says, words that slur as he grabs the back of Jensen’s head and shoves his mouth against his, again, fingers twining in his hair, words jumbled and heated between messy kisses. “It’s for… the greater good… scientific discovery and-and…”
“Your dick?” Jensen volunteers, his eyebrow quirking, brushing at the bangs that get in his eyes.
“Your dick,” Jared counters when he pulls back. He sighs. “Look. Look, you’re too tense. This’ll… This’ll help you relax. You've got to loosen up, man, you’re going to give me wrinkles. Everywhere.”
Before Jensen knows it, Jared is up close again, the unfamiliarity of having his own face in his field of vision still unnerving. His shorn hair takes some getting used to, soft buzz cut as Jared bends, not looking up. Jared runs his hands down Jensen’s arms, murmuring, “Like this.”
Like he’s patting him down, or-or, fuck, Jensen isn’t used to this, hasn't been for a long while. Jared’s taking it slow, like he’s mapping out his body all over again, which is even weirder since it’s Jared’s body. But he’s doing it all the same, running hands down the length of his arms, sides, belly. He stops at his waist and grabs his hips, shifts them just so.
“Hey!”
It’s the only protest Jensen can manage before groaning, Jared pressing into him, hard.
“Here. It’s all focused here,” Jared says, rough and low, odd coming from Jensen’s mouth. Off Jensen’s raised eyebrows, he adds, “Not like that.”
Jared rolls his shoulders, and adds, casually, “I can teach you a couple of things about this body. Don’t you want to find out how it is from this end?”
Jared starts leading Jensen into the bedroom, finger wrapped tight around one of Jensen’s belt loops. It’s a trick question, torture, because Jensen, ever curious, does want to find out.
*
First things first: Jared is aware that he’s in a body not his own, a body that comes with its own quirks and problems. Better check the transmission before you lay money down on that used car. Except here, Jensen is not used-that much, and hey, he’s never been test-driven by the female section of the population-no, he’s not used up. He’s in the prime of his life, top shape. Little different in body height and weight and whatever; Jared is aware of the bend of Jensen’s arm, the ways his body goes slack, the softness of his mouth and the pulled muscles, twinge in his kneecap. He’s aware.
He’s also aware that Jensen’s got a dick too, and it’s pretty friggin’ wonderful.
Not like he went first chance he got and took hold-heh-of using it, because he has, many times, only not from this end. It’s Jensen’s dick and Jensen was twisting Jared’s face into these weird and dorky expressions on top of making them switch bodies. So he felt more like yelling and shaking him rather than take up the celebratory charge and jerk off.
But it was going to happen, he’s only human, and it did.
(Repeatedly. Fifteen different times.)
The fifteenth time was just an hour before, but now they’re sitting sideways on Jared’s bed, and Jensen sticks his puckered mouth out, eyes screwed shut, looking for all the world like a nerdy sixth grader. Jared’s tongue meets nothing but closed teeth and dry lips, his mouth trying to push and prod.
His hands go up on either side of Jensen’s face, thumbing his sideburns, his soft, long hair brushing the back of Jared’s hands. It doesn’t tickle, but it does feel weird, made even weirder with Jensen’s eyes being wide open, hazel and surprised.
Jared pulls away after a few seconds, frowning. “What, my breath smells bad?”
He huffs onto his hand and smells it, detects nothing other than pizza breath. Take away a man’s body, fine, but you can’t take away one of his favorite foods, diet or not.
“No. It’s weird from this end,” Jensen says. He looks like the cogs in his brain are turning, and then he says, “I didn’t know I looked like that when I kiss. Never mind.”
Then he gets all puckered up again, forced plumping of his lips having little effect when Jared’s are so thin in comparison. It makes him look like he’s twelve, all eager, confused, and awkward. Older than that, fifteen, maybe. On that little, thin boundary, too innocent and immature for his own good, bravado piled on to make him seem older than he was. There’s a mix of teenage and adult in Jensen’s posture and body, an awkward kid and this… less awkward and a little more mature man.
Jared thinks it also makes his own body look like an idiot when he’s kissing.
Jared sighs and leans back, rubbing his palms down his thighs. “How about we do something else?”
“Oh.” Jensen looks disappointed for a moment, before he straightens and nods a little too much. He coughs. “Yeah, yeah, that’s a good idea.”
Jared rolls his eyes when he sees Jensen sitting all stiff, cramped, unsure.
“Tell me something that gets you off,” Jared says, leans ever so slightly in Jensen’s direction, breathes against the flushed skin of his neck and jaw. His long hair moves by his chin, and Jensen shrugs Jared off, furrows his brow.
The “what?” he offers, is shaky, rushed, throat swallows dry. Jared knows this, eyeing the bob of his own Adam’s apple, rubbing his thighs again. His palms are sweaty and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s beginning to look like a disaster-the whole thing was a disaster from the start, but it’s been days and days cooped up tense in Jensen's skin.
And shit, if Jensen feels like this all the fucking time, no wonder he’s been angry-
“There’s this one,” Jensen starts, mouth barely open. “It’s you and me, and-and you’re spread out under, your back, all tense, and then you relax. You turn over for me. And then I’m-I’m straddling you and…”
His voice fades a little, clears his throat when Jared says, “Yeah?” and edges closer so their thighs touch, their shoulders, too. “Then?”
Jensen’s eyes are closed, more out of habit than nervousness, as he continues, “And I dig my knees into your sides, get your hair between my fingers and pull as I, uh, as I ride you.”
It isn’t so out there that Jared can’t imagine it. They switch up, hell, they do it-or used to-everywhere, beds and floors, public and private. But he’s always liked Jensen over him, the way he bites his lip as he holds on, adjusting. Jensen’s dick in his ass, man, it’s never not been good, and the sight of him, hair sticky on his forehead, Christ.
It isn’t too out there, Jared thinks, his hand moving to rest on Jensen’s thigh. His fingers curl around the bend and rub against Jensen’s crotch, one finger pressing up against the zipper as Jensen continues.
“Then I take out the bridle and uh-”
Jared’s eyes widen and his fingers clench as he bursts out laughing. Unfortunately, he’s halfway through unzipping Jensen’s jeans and he might be responsible for Jensen groaning as Jared cups his dick accidentally from the rapid movement.
“Jared!” Jensen growls, trying to be heard over Jared’s loud laugh, the kind that makes him teary. Except he’s laughing because dude, what the fuck, and where is this coming from?-and he says that out loud, he thinks, between giggles-gasping for air as his stomach clenches and he falls back on the bed, almost rolling in laughter.
“Oh my God,” he breathes out, trying to keep his mouth shut, but another burst of laughter comes out when he sees Jensen’s stony face. Or rather, trying to do a stony face, because Jared’s stony face is more like a pout, made childish with the long bangs sticking to his forehead.
Jensen gets up and leaves with a huff, Jared calling out after him between fits of giggles.
Part Three
The next day they’re up bright and early. It's awkward and hectic as they go through their morning routine. From the moment he wakes up-sees Jensen’s fingers, thicker, silver ring-Jared is cranky and groaning. The fact that the strong smell of bacon and eggs makes his stomach growl hungrily-fucking Jensen's stomach, totally off his diet-and the fact that he can’t do jack shit about Jensen’s hair doesn’t help. Neither does seeing Jensen hunched over at the kitchen table, with Jared’s hair pulled into pigtails wrapped in rubber bands. The sweatpants and shirt Jensen wears do nothing for Jared’s figure, though they do at least look tighter on Jensen now that he’s in Jared’s body.
“Kept getting in my eyes,” Jensen says by way of explanation, pushing a stack of papers along the table. “Did some research. We’ve got an appointment at nine.”
Jared sits across from Jensen, eyes half-lidded. “With what, an astrologist?”
Jensen sips his mug of coffee. “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”
Jared doesn’t get a chance to protest because soon enough he’s at a doctor’s office, tapping his foot restlessly. Jensen throws him dirty looks over a magazine, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. He’s wearing a dark jacket, plain white dress shirt and tight ripped jeans. Jared told him that ‘he’ wouldn’t be caught dead with some of Jensen’s old clothes if they had to go out, so after a short trip back to Jared’s apartment-Lily’s holding the dogs for the weekend, thank God-to get a fresh change of clothes, they’re here.
They’re up shit’s creek without a paddle because two hours later they’ve got nothing other than strange looks, three psychologist recommendations, and a one for a proctologist.
“This blows,” Jared says when they enter his apartment, immediately pulling out his iPhone from Jensen’s baggy slacks pocket-that has got to change-and starting to check his voicemail. It’s a weekend and a Sunday, meaning the message flow could be slower, but the idea that this all might be some bad prank and the punch line explanation might be buried in the sea of voicemails gives him some comfort.
Jensen follows him into the apartment with a set of two suitcases and his messenger bag, papers clenched between his teeth. They’d gone back to Jensen’s apartment to pack up his things, rumpled clothes peeking out of battered suitcases. The harried, busy look is all Jensen’s, even the case of bedhead Jared’s body is now sporting, no thanks to being tied up by rubber bands before the doctor’s visit.
He’s gotta pick his battles, so the clothes win out over the hair, Jared reasons.
“You know, it’s kind of ironic,” Jensen says, later, opening up his laptop from his seat on Jared’s leather couch. “that it takes the scientifically impossible for you to agree to us living together in order to fix this.”
“Only because of the risk of us getting our molecules all scrambled up overnight,” Jared points out, waggles his fingers. It’s a whole bunch of reasons, actually. It’s not just the comforts of his home-his stuff, music, the dogs-but the fact that he can’t exactly let his own body be seen at Jensen’s building for a long stretch of time. “And because no way in hell am I moving ‘upstate’. Not to mention if anyone sees you in my body living at your place, they’ll start asking questions about us.”
“It’s 110th street!”
“That’s almost the Bronx.”
Jensen ignores him and looks down at his screen, murmuring as he clicks. “You’re going to have to turn in my article at the end of the week if I don’t call in sick tomorrow.”
“You wouldn’t,” Jared says, lowering his iPhone. “I got a meeting tomorrow. And-”
His stomach clenches at the thought of Jensen filming. The death of Jared Padalecki’s career in forty two minutes or less, news at eleven. He can’t even bring himself to continue-or he does, voice all squeaked out and unclear-because Jensen can’t even sit or walk like him properly, much less carry on a conversation with an actor or musician on national television. Then there’s the whole fact that he might be moving to Los Angeles in a couple of weeks if he doesn’t screw up at his job, and that option is looking less likely when he’s not even in his own body.
Off Jared’s nauseous look, Jensen shakes his head. “I think I know how to chat somebody up and stare at a girl’s chest for a half-hour, Jared. I won’t enjoy it, but your job’s a lot easier compared to mine.”
“Excuse me for forgetting the daily rigors of typing and making sure the coffee filter is clean!”
“What are you, twelve?”
“No,” Jared snaps. He isn’t normally this irritable-at least, not to this extent. Jensen's whole body is tenser than Jared's usually is. It’s like his muscles cramp from the exertion of the way Jared stands, straight, feet wide apart. But it’s hard because he’s going through the motions, looking up ahead and not down, at himself. It’s like he’s being yelled at by his own body, an uptight and shy version that’s reprimanding him. And the funny thing is, even with the shit that’s gone down lately, he still feels this sort off-this sort of longing, like Jensen isn’t there, but is there. Surrounding and vacant.
Or all the stress in this body could just be because Jensen’s got his own built-in emergency worry switch.
Something he’ll have to get used to, because it looks like they’re heading towards Plan B, the one he hadn't wanted to think about: be each other.
Before that, he’s gotta lay out some ground rules.
Jared puffs out his cheeks, scrubbing through hair until it sticks up oddly, and says, voice strained, “Fine. Rules. First, no jerking off. I don’t care, think of something gross, Paris Hilton’s vag or something, just don’t do it. Only touching should happen is aiming when you’re pissing, washing in the shower, and keeping it from getting stuck in a zipper. Two: Don’t get my dick stuck in a zipper. Three: No haircuts. My haircut is written in my contract. So, um, Three is read my contract and don’t lose my job. Or I’ll do something horrible to your body. Four: Don’t slack off on my workouts, man. Five: Eat something, Jesus Christ, I get hungry. Six: Don't let my body overheat, I-”
Jensen rolls his eyes, and says, “I know, Jared. You get disgustingly sweaty. It's unpleasant for everyone.”
Jared flips him the bird, getting a smirk in return.
“So we’re really gonna do this,” Jared says, ignores the urge to clear his throat, try to change the pitch, the whole voice. “Be each other until this-this thing reverses itself.”
“It should reverse,” Jensen says. He looks up, and even if it’s Jared’s eyes, the gaze is all Jensen’s, firm but optimistic. “It can’t be that hard.”
Jared moans and wipes his face, unfamiliar hair tickling his fingers. “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”
*
Getting into the MTV studio is easier than Jensen thinks it will be, considering that he's feeling less like Jared, MTV VJ and more like Jensen, Dork In A Jared Suit. The morning was one of the worst in his memory. Jared doesn’t have a personal assistant, preferring to take care of his own ‘stuff’, or have Jensen remind him. Jensen gets primped and prodded, shirts and jeans thrown at him. He’d dress himself but Jared won’t let him, even if Jensen knows what looks good on him. Little less garish logos, less artfully ripped jeans-something calmer, relaxed.
Now is when he feels naked, holding his messenger bag tight against his chest as he gets the go ahead and enters the building. It’s like he’s waiting for them to pick him out, find his soul or consciousness or whatever buried deep down in Jared’s body. Like they’ll point him out, how much he doesn’t belong.
Jensen goes through the studio, a chorus of greetings from co-workers following him. Past the cubicles, down a series of hallways. Jensen smiles weakly at the girls who shout their hello’s, their looks weird. On his face, or his ass, or his chest, many of the gazes, checking him out from all angles. He's blushing, all out butterflies in his stomach. Out of a side room, he hears a loud “Jared!” and then Chad slings an arm around Jensen’s shoulders.
“Hey, man! Where were you this weekend? I left like a dozen messages.”
“I was sick,” Jensen ventures, his voice small. He clears his throat and adds, “Didn’t feel like partying.”
“Oh, that’s cool. That’s cool.” Chad pulls back and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “You going in? There’s a staff meeting. Chris’ll have your head if you bail.”
Jensen nods and follows Chad into the room he points to: a spacious room with a large table in the center, impeccably dressed people already seated. The walls are covered in a slew of posters and clippings, old and new, different genres and different musicians. He feels tempted to stand by and look at the walls, but instead Jensen hustles over to the remaining empty chair, smiling pleasantly.
Jensen is the tallest one at the table and slouching isn’t going to help hide himself. Jared’s body isn’t that bigger than his own, but sometimes it’s strange to notice how a few more inches, breadth, and pounds makes him this commanding presence, a feeling Jensen has never been acquainted with-because he’s never found any reason to.
He gets off easy in the first half-hour, when they’re just talking about upcoming schedules, dropping his name here and there. Jensen takes notes, shifting awkwardly in his chair to cover his notebook. The body is all Jared but the handwriting’s all Jensen’s, smooth and legible under Jared’s rushed and messy print. He laughs and nods at the right times, even if it’s stilted and awkward. The meeting isn’t all that different from the ones he’s called into do at the newspaper, only the industry, topics and co-workers are entirely… different. Maybe it’s a little different.
“… that good, Jared?”
“What?” is what comes out of Jensen’s mouth, finds himself sitting straighter than before, and he immediately nods and tries to look down at the notebook in front of him. There are scribbles all over the margins, text blends into tiny little drawings, shapes and happy faces, and a really awful version of himself, because his hair doesn’t stick out like that. He looks at the last page Jared had written on, a small list of guests, and Jensen has no clue about half of them, the rest still pretty vague.
Jared is always surrounded by music, on his stereo or in his iPod, but it’s the record collection that Jensen always drifted towards. These new musicians are unfamiliar, and that’s not even thinking about the actors.
Then, Jensen reads off the Post-It Jared stuck on the last page: “That is, uh, ‘awesome’. It’s awesome. Um. ‘Dude’.”
The words sound lame coming out of his mouth and his neck is hot under the collar of his t-shirt. While he might need notes on responses, the fact that Jared actually writes out crap like that-like he doesn’t think Jensen’ll know how he talks or how he reacts-that pisses Jensen off. Jensen smiles tightly and without looking, draws a big circle around a date on the paper. According to Jared and the current discussion, Jared's been on and off the air recently, behind the scenes work-and whatever work in L.A. that’s moving Jared there, Jensen realizes-preventing him from being at the studio five days a week. Jensen’s hoping this whole switching thing won’t last too long, because if it’s not hard enough trying to work together despite their differences, it’s going to get a hell of a lot more complicated when Jared has to move across the country. But after taking a leave of on-air duty to work on show stuff, Jensen learns from the meeting, Jared agreed to come back soon enough.
Giving Jensen a few days to prepare to be filmed live on national television.
And where his stomach should normally clench, it rumbles, the bottomless pit of Jared's body mocking his worry.
*
Over at the Daily News, the day consists of online games, YouTube, and a lot of fake typing.
Jensen’s luggage fails to have any hidden compartment with a set of normal-looking outfits. For all the world you’d think the kid had come from anywhere but Texas, a land where t-shirts and jeans were required. It’s all slacks, button-downs and polo shirts. At the start of their relationship, Jared hadn’t had any problem with the clothes that Jensen wore-in the early months, Jared thought Jensen was adorable in the dorky clothes. But at some point Jared started to mind them, growing increasingly annoyed at the fact that Jensen was covering up his body so much. Jared could try to ignore it because in the long run, it was Jensen, part and parcel, and he wasn’t paying attention to clothes, the outside. Just laughing at a joke they shared, instead, looking over at him and feeling good because he was there.
Except now that he’s wearing Jensen's body-and isn’t that a kick in the ass, what, his soul is like... moving Jensen’s body around and that’s too deep at this morning hour-the clothes feel too awkward to wear, like a mask on top of another one.
He gets off easy for the day when there’s no article to turn in; it’s a slow news day, Jensen explains on the phone when Jared calls him over lunch, keeping the call short because he’s got work at Jared’s job; Jared doesn’t let him off the phone until he gets an earful because, what the hell. He shouldn’t even be here; Jared should be at his job, not Jensen, and this whole thing sucks so much. Jared keeps to himself and stays at his desk all day, unwilling to have to communicate with anybody. This is all too weird as it is; getting roped into some kind of project that he has to work on? No way.
The day drags on and pretty soon it’s five ‘o clock, Jared tearing off right on the dot, like it’s the last day of classes and school’s out for summer. Only it isn’t, because back then, he didn’t have to worry about living together with his gay ex-boyfriend who’s now renting his body.
Lily laughs him off when she arrives with the dogs, says he’s acting like, “his boyfriend, flirting with me. Oh God, don’t tell Jared I said that! I’m just joking.”
Jared laughs weakly in response. He only knows so many good dog walkers and, well, can’t fault a guy for trying.
The door closes behind him and he looks down at the dogs. Harley and Sadie are around his legs, sniffing him, whuffs against his slacks. A few more minutes and Sadie whines, rubbing her head against his thigh like she wants to be petted. His hand goes out automatically and scratches behind her ears, her tail whumping the floor-and that, right there, is the bright spot in his day.
Sadie never likes to be petted by Jensen, happy with trying to push him off the couch with her hind legs, lick his face whenever he’s taking a nap.
She knows, somehow. Harley does too, already waiting with a tennis ball in his mouth when he only plays catch with Jared.
Jensen arrives a half-hour later, his hair windblown and clothes disheveled-he holds up a finger to quiet Jared before he can say anything. The dogs lift their heads and settle back down when Jensen comes to drop onto the couch across from Jared, eyes closed and a hand to his forehead.
“And just think, you’ll have to do all of that again, tomorrow,” Jared deadpans, turning the TV off.
Jensen sighs, his hand coming down. “The work-the work I can deal with. It’s the ogling I’m not too thrilled about.”
Jared shrugs. “It’s not easy being this ridiculously good looking.”
“Why I ever sat through Zoolander with you, I will never know,” Jensen replies. He cracks an eye open to look over at Sadie, who yawns and starts to swipe at Jensen’s thigh with her hind leg.
Jared scratches at his belly idly and raises an eyebrow. “Let’s go get some drinks.”
Jensen doesn’t say no to that.
When they get to the bar, Jared decides he needs some alcohol in his-Jensen’s-system, a warm buzz that’ll work out the kinks in his neck and back. Take away the troubles of the day.
And add a whole ton of new ones, Jared realizes when they step into the bar. Being on the receiving end of dirty looks from people is new, their gazes fixed on Jared as they see him following Jensen in. Jared isn’t exactly A-list but he’s famous enough to get noticed on the club circuit. As ‘Jensen’ though, the bystanders give him dark looks, like they can’t believe Jared would associate with someone like Jensen. He’s not in the in crowd now; they read through it, this vibe of oh, immediate dismissal. It’s pretty fucking stupid if you ask him, the way these rules work, because not even the decent looking suit Jared managed to dig out of Jensen’s suitcases makes them take notice. And Jensen’s fucking hot, dudes.
Jensen tosses him a nervous glance. All the opportunity to mingle and the guy’s just standing there, awkward, hands in his pockets. The only thing he’s taking advantage of is his height, judging by the way he keeps looking over the tops of everybody’s heads to note all the exits.
It must be the day getting to Jared because Jensen, sweaty, bangs sticking to his forehead, in need of a shave and a tranquilizer, looks really fucking hot.
Or Jared’s ego is already drunk.
The club’s a shitty place anyway, with lots of wasted-looking trendsetters standing around looking surly. Hardly any room to sit, and when there is, the couches are occupied with people groping each other, making out sloppily in the dark near short candles. It's full of high, round tables cluttered with plastic and glass cups, Jensen edging away from one of them. Like he’s too big and awkward, afraid he’ll bump into somebody, set them off.
“Jared!” Jensen calls, three feet away and barely heard over the pulsing techno beat.
“Yeah?”
“Why’re… Do these people know you? Did you piss them off?” Jensen whispers harshly, leaning his head down near Jared’s ear. Jensen smells like faded aftershave, sharp in the blurriness and dull candle scent of the dark, low lit surroundings. “They keep looking at me funny.”
“That means they recognize you,” Jared answers, leaning toward Jensen and raising his voice over the sound. He turns and says directly into Jensen's ear, “And they don’t want you to know that they think you’re awesome. Now, unbutton that shirt or you’ll never get the bartender to serve us.”
Jensen pulls back, the smell of his aftershave leaving Jared’s nose. He frowns and heads over to the bar, this jerky two step as he tries to casually unbutton the top button, wipes a hand down his front and over his flat belly. Jared tenses when Jensen goes up, but he orders two beers and gets them quickly, thanks the bartender, passing one over to Jared.
“Score one for the Ackles,” Jared says, bumps knuckles with Jensen. After he takes a pull of his beer, he flicks his fingers towards the crowd, questioning. “Don’t you wanna go and mingle?”
“No.” Jensen frowns, looking down at his beer. He lifts it and moves out of the away as some people move through the crowd, body all angles as he tries not to spill his drink.
“Hey! Watch it, that’s silk!”
“I’m trying,” Jensen says, and he narrows his eyes and scrunches his face up into a prissy look that Jared thinks is hilarious. And highly embarrassing.
A half-hour and too many beers later, Jared downs another shot and burps, licks his lips. “Dude, your… Your mouth. I forgot. Your mouth? Your mouth’s like… Like. Like, it feels real good, Jen.”
It’s a fucking good observation if Jared says so himself, only thing is that Jensen’s not around to hear it, instead talking animatedly with some guys at the other end of the bar, the trendy type of guys who veer towards arts and sciences. Like, glasses and scarves, or, or-they’re wearing those, yeah, Jared can tell. All four of them. Two. Whatever. He’s not that drunk.
He might be hallucinating though, because he sees Sandy, holding two Heinekens. She accidentally bumps Jared’s elbow and apologizes. She hesitates, recognition on her face as she smiles at him.
His fault; they used to frequent the bar. And now by all appearances, ‘Jared’ is bringing his boyfriend there, because ‘Jared’s’ conversation is finished and he’s standing right next to Sandy, holding a bottle of beer.
Jared thinks that he looks stupid. Both Jareds.
He throws back a shot as she says, “Nice to see you both out and about. Hi, Jared.”
Jared grunts, getting lightly punched in the arm as Jensen slings a shoulder around him, leaning down towards Jared’s seat on the bar stool. “I’m sorry about the other night, Sandy. I should’ve talked it over with my partner first. Because we’re-you know. Together. Practically like this.”
He crosses his fingers and Jared sucks his teeth, peering into his shot glass.
“That’s not what you said last night. ‘Baby’,” Jared interjects, hands fumbling as he inserts one finger into his clenched fist.
Jensen takes one look at him, the way Jared raises his eyebrows over the rims of his glasses, and pours some of the beer on the silk shirt.
“Oh. Huh. How did that happen,” Jensen says flatly.
Sandy, meanwhile, just stares at them like they’ve got two heads each, and Jared hopes both of his heads can go into a cave and never come out, the way the headache’s pounding in his brain.
*
Two days later and Jensen is still knocking his head on the shower head, long hair in his eyes. He doesn’t sing because Jared can’t-really can’t, God, no-and he’s in a rush to get ready for the day: his and Jared’s. His, checking the article on his flash drive for Jared to turn in. Whereas Jared pulls his weight by handing Jensen notes that all amount to nothing when Jensen reads them aloud to Chris. The Post-It is cupped in one of Jared’s hands as Jensen glances at it, trying to slouch against the doorframe, bundle of papers and folders tucked under one arm.
“…and if we compress that segment at the end, we can have more time for at least one more video. Then we could-”
“Jared,” Chris starts, leaning over his desk to punch a few numbers on his phone keypad. “You know I appreciate your input. But we’ve got people working on that. No need to bend yourself out of shape, all right? Focus on your stuff, not everybody else’s.”
“But-”
Chris raises a finger to his lips as he points to the phone, waves him off.
The door closes behind Jensen with a soft click as he rests his head against it, eyes shut. This isn’t his natural element. There are offices, and arguments, trying to get notice, trying to make things easier. But working at the Daily News didn’t have him feeling like he was incompetent, that he didn't know any better. He’s a respected journalist there, with a degree in… right, Journalism, but he’s got tons of different minors, couldn’t quite pick a specialized field. He knows lots of stuff, and they listen to him, and he gets his work done. That’s the heart of the matter, doing the correct job instead of-
Instead of being stared at by the two girls at a cubicle nearby, winking and curling their fingers, like come here.
Jensen sighs, exhale blows a puff against the back of Sophia’s hair as she walks by, pulling her iPod out of her shoulder bag.
“Jared? What’s up?” Off his defeated look and the closed door, she cuts him off by adding, “Chris turn down your idea again?”
Jensen moves away from his place at the door, scratching the back of his head. Jared’s hair is long and messy in his fingers, curls at the back of his neck. “…Yeah, again.”
Sophia breaks into a smile and says, “C’mon, let’s get some lunch,” and they’re off to Ellen’s Stardust Diner, Chad offering his take on the situation as he attacks his sandwich with zest.
“Look, Jay, you’re not gonna get anywhere with Chris,” Chad says over lunch, mumbles around a mouthful of whatever’s leaking out of his sandwich, meat and…more meat, covered in sauce. Jensen sits a little stiff across from Chad and keeps his sunglasses on, less of an issue of having ‘Jared’ look cool than it is to cover up his disgust at Chad’s eating habits. Chad licks his lips and wipes his mouth with a napkin, adding, “You’re not some ass-kissing intern anymore to turn in any ideas, get it?”
“You’re completely fine with having no input, Chad?” Jensen asks over his Philly Cheesesteak and fries. “Whatever it is, you’ll just do it.”
“Sure. Why not?” Chad shrugs. “Two words: spring break.”
He grins and leans back in his chair as Sophia takes a bite of her chicken salad. “You haven’t exactly been complaining in the past.”
“Maybe I should have been!”
“Dude.” Chad straightens, all food induced lethargy gone. “They’re, like, fixing you up with your own show and everything. Don’t fuck that up.”
Jensen takes off the sunglasses, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Meaning I stay quiet and let everyone else do all the work. Without giving my opinion.”
“Uh, yeah,” Sophia responds, stealing some of his fries with her fork. “That’s what they’re there for.”
And oh, he’s got a lot of stuff to talk to Jared about later.
*
Jared gets dirty looks on the way to work at the West Side office when he leans and smirks at the girls on the train near him. It's another sign that Jensen's body is defective, because he gets these threats, like, “You eyeing my Danielle? You fuckin' fag, I'll cave in that pretty face.”
Angry subway passengers aside, whatever status that Jensen declares himself to be, looks like it really is out in the open. There’s a couple of cute female co-workers though, if Jared was into any of them and wasn’t already in a relationship-
He isn’t. They broke up, Jared reminds himself. Gone. Over. Only with the opposite bodies as leftovers. Or baggage.
Jared looks down at Jensen’s mug of coffee and thinks he’s discovered why Jensen can only have one cup in the morning. Any more-Jared’s on his third one now-and he feels too big for his skin, attention bouncing off the walls of his brain. He's restless too, full of disinterest and disappointment. Disinterest in the work and disappointment in the way people treat him. From the laughs they're giving him and the way they're patting his shoulder, calling his flirting cute, it's pretty clear that they think the smarmy act is a nice joke and it’s a little early for April Fool’s, Jensen.
Jared’s not going to dwell on it. At two ‘o clock he uncrosses his legs, feet up on the corner of his desk. Jared pushes Jensen’s floppy hair behind his ear and smiles.
He’s taking a personal day off. To decompress.
He tells Steve that, who nods after a moment of surprise-like Jen’s never done it before, probably hasn’t-and asks, “is it okay if I change a couple of words in your article? Make it more punchy?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever floats your boat,” Jared says, pulling Jensen’s blazer on. “I’m out, dude.”
Jared doesn’t stay long enough to hear Steve’s goodbye. Two trains and a handful of stops later, he’s at his hairdresser’s salon and grinning as he steps inside.
*
The apartment Jared rents has two bedrooms, a ton of artsy furniture and wall decorations, dog toys, electronics, magazines, CDs, and clothes, all smack dab on Ninth Avenue, off Columbus Circle. It’s not big enough to be a loft, but it’s not like Jared needs it to be-it serves its purpose as a roof over his head, a place to relax with his dogs, his music, a six pack of beer and a large pizza. For all the time Jared says he’d rather be out on the town, Jensen thinks that privately, Jared’s perfect night is spent at home, warm and full. Ordering out-kitchen all steel and immaculate, not that he’ll use it-and maybe even playing a little XBOX or Guitar Hero after watching whatever sports game is on. That’s his ideal night. Not clubbing.
Jensen knows this like the back of his hand, all the little quirks, likes, and dislikes that Jared has-one year’s worth of knowledge.
Except you take all that and twist it around to have his body being used by Jared, sprawled on the couch with one leg up, box of half eaten pizza on the coffee table, and Sadie resting her head on Jared’s calf.
That’s normal for Jared. What isn’t normal is Jensen’s first glance, which includes the top of Jared’s-Jensen’s-head, hair newly short.
Jensen comes by around the couch, fingers digging into the strap of his bag as Jared nods at him blearily, wearing a tight black t-shirt and jeans. It isn’t that dramatic a change but he looks different, off balance in Jared’s sprawl and zoned out stare at the blaring television.
“Man, I miss myself,” Jared says, nodding at the repeat of TRL he’s got playing off the TiVo, talking to whatever pop or rock band it is, Jensen doesn’t know, only that Jared looks like a giant standing next to them, easily more than a foot taller than each. “I can’t even go get drunk, you’re such a lightweight.”
“Jared,” Jensen starts slowly, gritting his teeth and letting his bag and jacket fall to the floor with a slight noise. “You cut my hair.”
“Yeah. I did.”
“We agreed not to do anything like that-that I can’t cut your hair.”
“Oh, that’s because of my contract,” Jared says with a shrug, running a hand back and forth over the soft sandy brown bristles. “I haven’t had my hair this short since I was a kid. Looks good, right?”
“You cut my hair. Short.”
Jared rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Jen, don’t be such a pussy.”
“Why aren’t you wearing my glasses?” Jensen already thinks he knows the answer but he'd really… rather have it be anything but that.
“Contacts. Turns out it’s like wearing glasses. On your eyeballs. Want to see me take them out?”
“Did you do any work today?” Jensen asks, ignoring Jared, his tone clipped. He taps his bag with a foot, Jared’s notebook and his own folder of research papers sticking out of it. “Or were you playing Halo while I was out making a fool of myself in front of your boss, trying to bring up some of the stuff you mentioned in your notes?”
“Didn’t work, huh?” Jared asks. “Chris is such a hard ass. They’ll give me a show, sure, but I’m just the face, not the brains.”
Jared mumbles under his breath, wriggling to lay on his side. Sadie scoots away as he turns, and Jensen takes the opportunity to turn the TV off, throwing the remote down on the other couch.
“Hey, I was watching that!”
“I’m working for the two of us, Jared,” Jensen says, running his hand through his hair as Jared struggles to sit up, afternoon daze slowly evaporating as he gets his bearings. “Little bit harder than one, since now I have to contend with getting shot down for a job I could do in my sleep.”
Bad move, there, because Jared stands up and even if he’s a few inches shorter than Jensen at the moment, his body is taut and at attention, clothes unfamiliarly tight on Jensen’s body. It’s not like Jensen’s checking himself out because God knows he doesn’t need everything to be all fucked up further, but there’s that displacement kicking in. The way Jared carries himself, tall and posture straight and relaxed at the same time. Like he’s too big to contain himself in Jensen’s body, in his own body, too huge a personality, too eager. Jensen looks down at his own body, its defiant posture both poised and relaxed, at the hips, and it’s almost like a stranger’s looking back at him. The haircut certainly helps that.
“You think this is easy?” Jared asks, waves his palms out. “It’s not sitting around in libraries looking at articles about things you’ll never see up front or do, Jen. I’m the one doing investigative journalism. Your job’s easy, dude, you don’t even do anything.”
“Maybe because I’d rather spend my day researching than flirting with everyone in the office,” Jensen grits out, beyond exasperated, rubbing his forehead. It’s a little odd to do it, the way Jared’s hairline and hair is, and he’s all too aware that he hasn’t shaved for the past two days-under duress, from Jared-and that his body looks and might smell like a Yeti. “Or coasting by on my looks!”
Shit.
Jared glares and comes up close, nostrils flaring in that way he does, except it’s Jensen’s face and man, he has a lot of freckles. He opens his mouth and hesitates. before saying, “All I have is this, this right here.”
He thumps a hand on Jensen’s chest, fingers splayed out, as he pokes for emphasis. And then his hand goes up to the side of Jensen’s face, thumb running over the corner of his mouth, his faint mustache.
“Dude. I think we should have sex.”
That, there, that was something he didn’t expect. A week or two ago, a month ago and he’d have rolled his eyes and maybe agreed with the lame come-on, but the whole thing changes when it’s Jared’s eager expression on Jensen’s face. Excitement emphasized in the way his eyes light up, the crinkles at the corners of Jensen’s eyes, and Jared’s ability to make him grin and show off all his teeth, white and dazzling.
It’s more than a little past crazy and disorienting, edging towards overwhelming when Jared’s mouth immediately crushes against Jensen’s, how Jared’s tongue slips in, soft and exploratory against the roof of Jensen’s mouth. Beyond overwhelming, because if the sex comment wasn’t one thing that threw him for a loop, this certainly does, so his eyes are open the whole time and he can almost count his own-really long, interesting-eyelashes.
Jared pulls away with a wet smack, barely moving, lips red and wet against the side of Jensen’s mouth. He mumbles, “For research.”
“That isn’t an excuse-” Jensen exhales and snorts when Jared cuts him off, presses against his mouth again. The movement’s too uncoordinated and sloppy, Jared’s body staggering and angling against Jensen’s. They’re caught between the coffee table and the couch, the space too tight for two tall men, the dogs looking up at them lazily. Jensen hums and angles his head a little, a soft kiss that has him sucking on Jared’s lower lip before he pulls back.
“We could be the first-Jensen, we could be the first and only people in the world to do this,” Jared says, words that slur as he grabs the back of Jensen’s head and shoves his mouth against his, again, fingers twining in his hair, words jumbled and heated between messy kisses. “It’s for… the greater good… scientific discovery and-and…”
“Your dick?” Jensen volunteers, his eyebrow quirking, brushing at the bangs that get in his eyes.
“Your dick,” Jared counters when he pulls back. He sighs. “Look. Look, you’re too tense. This’ll… This’ll help you relax. You've got to loosen up, man, you’re going to give me wrinkles. Everywhere.”
Before Jensen knows it, Jared is up close again, the unfamiliarity of having his own face in his field of vision still unnerving. His shorn hair takes some getting used to, soft buzz cut as Jared bends, not looking up. Jared runs his hands down Jensen’s arms, murmuring, “Like this.”
Like he’s patting him down, or-or, fuck, Jensen isn’t used to this, hasn't been for a long while. Jared’s taking it slow, like he’s mapping out his body all over again, which is even weirder since it’s Jared’s body. But he’s doing it all the same, running hands down the length of his arms, sides, belly. He stops at his waist and grabs his hips, shifts them just so.
“Hey!”
It’s the only protest Jensen can manage before groaning, Jared pressing into him, hard.
“Here. It’s all focused here,” Jared says, rough and low, odd coming from Jensen’s mouth. Off Jensen’s raised eyebrows, he adds, “Not like that.”
Jared rolls his shoulders, and adds, casually, “I can teach you a couple of things about this body. Don’t you want to find out how it is from this end?”
Jared starts leading Jensen into the bedroom, finger wrapped tight around one of Jensen’s belt loops. It’s a trick question, torture, because Jensen, ever curious, does want to find out.
*
First things first: Jared is aware that he’s in a body not his own, a body that comes with its own quirks and problems. Better check the transmission before you lay money down on that used car. Except here, Jensen is not used-that much, and hey, he’s never been test-driven by the female section of the population-no, he’s not used up. He’s in the prime of his life, top shape. Little different in body height and weight and whatever; Jared is aware of the bend of Jensen’s arm, the ways his body goes slack, the softness of his mouth and the pulled muscles, twinge in his kneecap. He’s aware.
He’s also aware that Jensen’s got a dick too, and it’s pretty friggin’ wonderful.
Not like he went first chance he got and took hold-heh-of using it, because he has, many times, only not from this end. It’s Jensen’s dick and Jensen was twisting Jared’s face into these weird and dorky expressions on top of making them switch bodies. So he felt more like yelling and shaking him rather than take up the celebratory charge and jerk off.
But it was going to happen, he’s only human, and it did.
(Repeatedly. Fifteen different times.)
The fifteenth time was just an hour before, but now they’re sitting sideways on Jared’s bed, and Jensen sticks his puckered mouth out, eyes screwed shut, looking for all the world like a nerdy sixth grader. Jared’s tongue meets nothing but closed teeth and dry lips, his mouth trying to push and prod.
His hands go up on either side of Jensen’s face, thumbing his sideburns, his soft, long hair brushing the back of Jared’s hands. It doesn’t tickle, but it does feel weird, made even weirder with Jensen’s eyes being wide open, hazel and surprised.
Jared pulls away after a few seconds, frowning. “What, my breath smells bad?”
He huffs onto his hand and smells it, detects nothing other than pizza breath. Take away a man’s body, fine, but you can’t take away one of his favorite foods, diet or not.
“No. It’s weird from this end,” Jensen says. He looks like the cogs in his brain are turning, and then he says, “I didn’t know I looked like that when I kiss. Never mind.”
Then he gets all puckered up again, forced plumping of his lips having little effect when Jared’s are so thin in comparison. It makes him look like he’s twelve, all eager, confused, and awkward. Older than that, fifteen, maybe. On that little, thin boundary, too innocent and immature for his own good, bravado piled on to make him seem older than he was. There’s a mix of teenage and adult in Jensen’s posture and body, an awkward kid and this… less awkward and a little more mature man.
Jared thinks it also makes his own body look like an idiot when he’s kissing.
Jared sighs and leans back, rubbing his palms down his thighs. “How about we do something else?”
“Oh.” Jensen looks disappointed for a moment, before he straightens and nods a little too much. He coughs. “Yeah, yeah, that’s a good idea.”
Jared rolls his eyes when he sees Jensen sitting all stiff, cramped, unsure.
“Tell me something that gets you off,” Jared says, leans ever so slightly in Jensen’s direction, breathes against the flushed skin of his neck and jaw. His long hair moves by his chin, and Jensen shrugs Jared off, furrows his brow.
The “what?” he offers, is shaky, rushed, throat swallows dry. Jared knows this, eyeing the bob of his own Adam’s apple, rubbing his thighs again. His palms are sweaty and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s beginning to look like a disaster-the whole thing was a disaster from the start, but it’s been days and days cooped up tense in Jensen's skin.
And shit, if Jensen feels like this all the fucking time, no wonder he’s been angry-
“There’s this one,” Jensen starts, mouth barely open. “It’s you and me, and-and you’re spread out under, your back, all tense, and then you relax. You turn over for me. And then I’m-I’m straddling you and…”
His voice fades a little, clears his throat when Jared says, “Yeah?” and edges closer so their thighs touch, their shoulders, too. “Then?”
Jensen’s eyes are closed, more out of habit than nervousness, as he continues, “And I dig my knees into your sides, get your hair between my fingers and pull as I, uh, as I ride you.”
It isn’t so out there that Jared can’t imagine it. They switch up, hell, they do it-or used to-everywhere, beds and floors, public and private. But he’s always liked Jensen over him, the way he bites his lip as he holds on, adjusting. Jensen’s dick in his ass, man, it’s never not been good, and the sight of him, hair sticky on his forehead, Christ.
It isn’t too out there, Jared thinks, his hand moving to rest on Jensen’s thigh. His fingers curl around the bend and rub against Jensen’s crotch, one finger pressing up against the zipper as Jensen continues.
“Then I take out the bridle and uh-”
Jared’s eyes widen and his fingers clench as he bursts out laughing. Unfortunately, he’s halfway through unzipping Jensen’s jeans and he might be responsible for Jensen groaning as Jared cups his dick accidentally from the rapid movement.
“Jared!” Jensen growls, trying to be heard over Jared’s loud laugh, the kind that makes him teary. Except he’s laughing because dude, what the fuck, and where is this coming from?-and he says that out loud, he thinks, between giggles-gasping for air as his stomach clenches and he falls back on the bed, almost rolling in laughter.
“Oh my God,” he breathes out, trying to keep his mouth shut, but another burst of laughter comes out when he sees Jensen’s stony face. Or rather, trying to do a stony face, because Jared’s stony face is more like a pout, made childish with the long bangs sticking to his forehead.
Jensen gets up and leaves with a huff, Jared calling out after him between fits of giggles.
Part Three