Fic: 'All That's Left To Chart' (Jared/Jensen; NC-17) 1/5
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Master Post | Artwork and Soundtrack
“Don’t start stripping without me!” Jared calls over his shoulder, opening the front door with one hand as he readjusts himself in his boxers with the other.
The air’s cold in the hallway and it doesn’t help that he’s wearing nothing but an undershirt and boxers-it’s the combination of air and the person at the door that has him ready to plaster on a smile, the kind of action that becomes second nature after dealing with so many people day-in and day-out at the studio.
The guy at the door is fumbling with some papers in his messenger bag, bending at his knees a little before he straightens. He’s tall, lean and awkward, wearing rumpled, out of style clothes, hair floppy and in his eyes, plain black glasses-but his face, green eyes and lush lips and freckles, makes him this pretty package dressed in some geeky ass wrapping paper.
So Jared takes a breath, his mouth pulling into a tight smile as the guy cocks an eyebrow, and looks Jared up and down, too, more obvious than suave. Yeah, let him get a look all he wants, from Jared’s striped boxers to his faded Cowboys tee. Jared knows exactly what he looks like, knows that the last few trips to the gym are going to pay off, both at work and maybe in bed, tonight if Jared’s lucky.
The guy manages to straighten his bag. “Uh. Hi?”
Definite question mark at the end of that, because after all, Jared’s not wearing any pants.
“Hey! Oh. Hey, you’re Jensen, right? Mike’s friend from college?”
“Yeah,” Jensen responds. He pushes his hair behind his ears as he moves in past Jared and nervously shifts his weight from one foot to the other foot.
“We’re in the middle of strip trivia,” Jared tells him. Off Jensen’s look, Jared shrugs. “Honest. C’mon, man. It’ll be fun.”
He’s already pushing him toward the living room before Jensen can protest, wrapping his arm around Jensen’s bicep, feeling it tense underneath his rumpled sports coat. The guy's got muscles, isn’t some skinny, pale nerd-too bad he doesn’t show it.
Jensen’s wound up too tight, Jared thinks, watches him relax visibly when they get to the living room and he can see a familiar face. Everyone’s sitting around the coffee table, food all laid out, wine glasses and beer cans near empty. ‘Everyone’ being some of Jared’s friends: Chad, Tom, Mike, Katie, Lauren, Sophia. Boys and girls, and the girls are hot, even with the crown piece missing-and that’s Sandy, his ex. Knowing her, she’s probably at some commercial shoot tonight. But that relationship’s over with since August, and Jared’s gonna have fun tonight, the girls certainly helping, the guys too.
Though, the guys help in a different way, because even if Jared’s a little bit bi, that ain’t gonna happen with his buddies.
Everyone's giggling and laughing, tipsy, reclining on plush couches and supple black leather, all young, all hot, both literally and figuratively too, clothes missing, shoes and stockings, belts and shirts thrown here and there across the hardwood floors, plush rugs, glass and metal art pieces. It’s singles night at the Casa de Padalecki, all of them free of any significant others today on the day that counts, Valentine’s Day. As for why the party’s at Jared’s apartment, free beer and food paid for by Mike-who wanted nothing more from life than the run of Jared's video game collection.
Except right now they’re playing strip trivia, and Jensen is up.
Jared notices the way Jensen fidgets sitting across from him, straight posture, one finger rubbing at the ring on his hand nervously. Other than what Mike told him earlier-draped an arm around Jared’s shoulder and said, someone you oughta meet. He’s your type. Y’know. Happy. Or you’re half happy, whatever’s got you jonesin’ for tits still-he doesn’t know anything about him. Other than Jensen’s quiet. Shy. Nerdy.
And gay. At least, Jared’s thinking Mike meant that; when you mix Mike and Chad and a few too many beers, it's hard to tell what they mean sometimes.
“Oh, this one’s easy. Music,” Jared says when he looks up from the trivia card, gets Chad nudging him in the side with an elbow.
“For you, maybe. You’re like, all zen with that kinda shit.”
“Dude, you work at the freaking studio with me!”
“Jared here’s gone for the big leagues,” Chad says, whether for his own or Jensen’s benefit, Jared isn’t too sure. Chad likes to talk a lot, and with the promotion he's got plenty of ammo. “He’s gonna be a host now.”
Jensen cants his head as Jared adds, “On MTV. It’s-it’s nothing.”
“Fuck nothing man, you’re gonna get all famous!” Chad crows as Jared shakes his head and leans along the length of the couch. He pauses for a moment, smiling at Jensen, only Jensen doesn’t respond the way Jared expects he will, you know, congratulate him or anything. Jensen just smiles, tightly, this look on his face that Jared knows-it’s fake.
It’s just to be polite, hell, Jared knows all about that; he does it all the time.
Jensen nods and squirms a little, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. He can see Sophia talking in Tom’s ear, and they laugh, low, chatting quietly, chatting about Jensen, sending furtive, teasing glances.
Jared starts to read the music card. “‘Chris Cornell, who later formed the band Audioslave with members of Rage Against the Machine, was the lead singer of which seminal Seattle grunge band?’”
There’s a quiet murmur of agreement, easy, only Jensen bites his lip-full, red, definitely noticeable-then shrugs. “No idea.”
“Soundgarden,” Jared says, takes a sip of his beer and muffles the disappointed noise from his mouth as Jensen’s item of removed clothing turns out to be a sock.
Jensen shrugs. “I’ve never heard of them. I’m a fan of country music though.”
He looks amused as Jared nearly chokes on his beer, Chad smacking him hard on the back.
They keep it up for a while, and slowly, the mood lightens up. Jensen seems to relax somewhat because he’s talking more, these little quips and comments that are smart, deep or whatever-the kind that Jared’s almost unsure about, since most of the time when he’s dealing with these intellectual types of guys, he’s bored to death. They don’t know how to have any fun. Jensen though, Jensen’s smiles come easy when he relaxes. He has this sense of humor that lightens up a whole room. Everyone talks more easily now, no feeling of an intruder, the geek.
Jensen aces the next round when it’s a question about biology-Mike and Chad snicker, yeah, those beers are going to good use-and human reproductive organs. Sophia smacks Chad on the shoulder, tells him to be quiet as she sips her wine, shine on her lips. When it’s Jared’s turn, Jensen leans forward to question him, top two buttons undone, glasses on the tip of his nose.
“What is the scientific term for the substance produced in the brain when, uh, one human being is attracted to another?”
Jensen's voice rises a little, like the pitch change hides an answer within it.
“Um-uh, steam?”
"No. Endorphins," Jensen says, covers his smile with his hand as Jared sighs overdramatically and starts to tug his t-shirt over his head. Great, Jared knows he should've gotten gone in for a tanning session besides all the gym time. He’s ready to make an orgy joke when he catches Jensen staring at him, licking his lips and chugging a beer like there's no tomorrow.
Huh.
Then Mike tells a joke about biology, high school-type shit, and everyone’s laughing again, Jensen too, though it’s strained.
And fake.
Jared’s eyes don't stray from Jensen for the rest of the night.
People start talking in smaller groups, cleaning up, or trickling out the door. The night was fun and laid back, lots of jokes, food, drinks-it’s nice to have time off to goof off, chill out and hang with his friends before the hard stuff comes in. Pretty soon he’s gonna be up at late hours, weird hours-Jared’s not sure how much time the new job’s going to take up, but he knows it’s good work (and an even better paycheck), fame and fucking fortune. The hassle won’t be for nothing. He’s been waiting years to get to this point, working his internships, broadcasting jobs here and there until he got to the opportunity to work at the studio.
In two weeks, it’s all going to be different.
In two minutes, Jared thinks he might tip over from his awkward, tasteful slump against the wall near the kitchen, watching Jensen’s back as he cleans up the plates on the counter. He fumbles a little, like he’s not sure what to do with the big marble counters and sleek steel appliances, much like Jared does half the time-Jared doesn’t cook, only eats out or snags some junk food. The kitchen’s all show.
Jared takes another sip of his beer and clears his throat.
“You still checking out my ass?” Jensen asks, and the beer goes down the wrong pipe as Jared coughs and sputters. “Thought so.”
“I, uh, I wasn’t-”
“Uh huh.” Jensen turns and grins, wiping his hands on a washcloth. He tosses it on the counter and leans against the edge with both hands.
“I really like you,” Jared blurts, and it even startles him. He hasn’t said I want to kiss you or fuck you, or anything like that, and he has in the past because come on, if you want it, might as well stop dancing around and fucking say it.
But he’s never said, I like you. It feels more intimate than the others.
Jensen cocks an eyebrow. “Figures.”
“What?”
“I’m not your… type,” Jensen explains, voice unsure. Jared wants to take that questioning away, whatever slip of uncertainty that’s making Jensen say it. Jensen smile is tight lipped again. “Good luck with your promotion though.”
Jensen's ready to turn around and grab the stack of dirty plates when Jared lurches forward, all plans to saunter up, flirting, thrown down the drain.
“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” Jared says, hands moving a little too much, steadies them. “That’s it? I mean-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But-But your type? What do you mean I’m ‘not your type’?”
“You’re a good guy, Jared. Don’t get me wrong, you are, but I’m not interested in a one night stand.”
And that right there, that’s gonna be the death of Jared. See, normally Jared goes for the outgoing ones. Fucking on a subway? Nearly got arrested for it, and he's done stuff with guys, but with Jensen it's a mystery. One that Jared would like to unfold. Or strip down. In private. All to himself.
Better change tactics.
“Don’t let this handsome face fool you. There’s more to me than you think,” Jared says, half sarcastic, half sincere, and he’s laying it all on the line. Even giving Jensen the puppy dog eyes, because he wants to unravel this mystery right now, rip the damn glasses off his face and-
“Jared, I think I’ve seen more of you than most people,” Jensen responds, points toward Jared’s hips, the low-slung boxers he’s wearing.
But Jensen is kind of flushed. God knows he’s gotta see the way Jared’s dick is half-hard, starts to strain.
“That’s just on holidays,” Jared replies, feels himself redden as he moves closer to Jensen, his walk a little more stilted than the sauntering he was going for. He gets a good step away from Jensen, leaning down to look at him. His eyes are clear green, color that can’t be muted by the glasses, soft spray of freckles over the bend of his nose, cheekbones. Jensen licks his lips, his expression shifting from quiet to nervous-something Jared doesn’t understand and does, too, the way he feels a little erratic, not able to blame it entirely on the alcohol. “Valentine’s, Easter… Christmas.”
“There aren’t many holidays in the year,” Jensen says, keeping his eyes locked on Jared’s own. He steadies himself, like he’s ready to bolt, an action that only ramps up Jared’s interest.
“That’s because the rest of the time, I don’t have any underwear on either.”
“I'm not going to be seeing you the rest of the time, though, since I don’t think you’d be interested in more than one night, remember?”
“You don't know that for sure,” Jared says. “What if I were?”
Jensen rolls his eyes, small grin tugging the corners of his lips. “I’m too neat and organized. I’ll drive you up the wall.”
“I’m messy and late,” Jared responds, rolling his shoulder muscles, more out of impatience than shrugging. His dick is hard and ready, straining, barely going to last if he doesn’t do something right the fuck now. So he’s laying it on a little thick, and he might feel a twinge of wrong in the morning when Jensen goes, but he’ll be a good lay. Better than others.
Jared leans closer, legs on either sides of Jensen’s, hands settling on Jensen’s waist, and he says, low, “I want you to drive me up the wall.”
And it’s tacky, and it’s corny, but Jensen’s mouth is soft and warm against Jared’s, eyes tight and shut, soft moan escaping. The taste is something he doesn’t know how to describe, but it fits, their mouths fit, burning through his veins settles into a satisfied thrum, heartbeat steady.
They fit.
*
One Year Later - Valentine’s Day
It should be a sign when it takes ten minutes for the hot water to start in the morning, leaving Jensen shivering as he lathers up. Eventually the water turns warm and he starts to sing to himself, Patsy Cline’s “Walking After Midnight”, this old country tune his mom used to play for him back when he was little. He’s never gone out and sung in public but in private it’s comforting.
He clamps his mouth shut when he sees a tall shadow on the curtain and the squeaky faucet turns on.
“You singing again?” Jared asks, muffled with the toothbrush in his mouth. “Don’t stop. Your voice… Man, you should think about doing-”
“Shut up.” Jensen pokes his head out of the shower, eyes half-closed and vision blurry. The fact that he can’t see very well without his glasses adds to the little flare of anger that comes up as a defense, before Jared can continue. “I know I suck, okay?”
Jared’s eyebrows shoot up high and he spits into the sink. “No, I didn’t say that! Jeez. Just wanted to say my opinion.”
By the time Jensen is dressed and making breakfast, Jared is typing away on his Blackberry, hunched over as he sips his orange juice. He sighs heavily when he gets a look at what Jensen’s wearing, shakes his head like he’s past the point of protesting. Jensen isn’t the clotheshorse Jared is-mostly because he can’t afford it, already embarrassed at the care packages his mother sends him from Dallas. They’re filled to the brim with the same brand of white jockeys, same turtlenecks, button-down shirts, and slacks that he’s always worn. Clothes he can rely on, both dependable and efficient.
Jared’s told him more than once that he’d love to take him out on a shopping spree, “Platinum Amexes exist for a reason.” But Jensen declines, as always, not wanting to pressure Jared into buying him anything that he doesn’t truly need. It’s an old habit from growing up, he explains, and Jared replies that old habits don't have to include wearing clothes two sizes too big or a few years out of style.
Jared sucks down his egg whites and grapefruit, mouth full as he says he needs to get back to his apartment and get a fresh change of clothes.
“You know,” Jensen starts, pushes his glasses up as he sits across from Jared, “that old couple in your building, the Spencers? They wanted me to house sit and watch their pets. They assumed I’m good with dogs since they used to think I was your dog sitter when I first started staying over.”
“What? But-wait. Wait, I’ve had Lily doing that for years now. They thought you were my second dog sitter?”
Jensen lifts up his mug of coffee, murmurs, “They were always trying to book me for a dog sitting. I think it’s because of all the times you tried to ‘tip’ me when I left your apartment that first week. Idiot.”
“Aww, come on, man. That was funny!”
“That was stupid.”
After a few seconds Jared starts laughing, this braying, loud noise in the small little hole in the wall apartment Jensen has, 110th Street and nowhere, affordable and ‘cozy’. Jared has always looked out of place sitting at Jensen’s small kitchen table, like he doesn’t fit on the chair, near the cheap plastic-sitting anywhere here, plain white walls that contrast sharp against Jared’s sleek jackets, trendy ripped jeans, and garish, artsy sixty-dollar shirts.
“They said they’re going on vacation on the twentieth. I can stay in their apartment,” Jensen says carefully.
Jared shakes his head, jabs at the buttons on his Blackberry without looking up. “No. Too close.”
“I’d be on the fourth floor. You’re on the sixth.”
“Exactly,” Jared says, suddenly getting up and grabbing his messenger bag. “It’s like living together. I like you, Jensen, but I’m not ready for that.”
He comes over and leans down to kiss Jensen on the cheek. It’s a quick peck, and when Jensen turns and opens his mouth, Jared pulls back and makes a face.
“Wait a sec.”
Jared fumbles and digs through his bag, producing a small little Ziploc bag with a toothbrush, holds it between two fingers. “You left this at my place.”
He grins, sharp, bright, almost out the door when Jensen flips him off and calls out, “Don’t forget about picking me up later, jerk!”
*
“‘MTV VJ Jared Padalecki and his dogs Sadie and Harley’”
It’s a good picture even if the photoshoot had been a bitch, some photographer constantly adjusting Jared’s clothes until Jared was wondering where, exactly, he could file a sexual harassment suit against a photographer without it becoming public.
Jared head-jerks as the stylist tugs at his hair with the hair iron. She’s harried and chatty as she tries to get his hair straight and manageable. He hasn’t had it cut in a while and it’s starting to reach his neck, long bangs and three-day scruff; it's rugged-looking, good. He’s filled out over the past few months and it’s something he thinks he prefers, an all over solidness that makes him look older, more mature than that stringbean eager intern who signed up four years ago. The producers seem to agree with him, even giving him a shot besides VJing: hosting a shitty little horror mini-series, Room 401, because Ashton Kutcher was too busy doing some other shitty comedy to produce and host.
His loss, Jared thinks as he rolls up the latest issue of New York Magazine, making a mental note to cut out the clipping later.
There are going to be a lot more clippings where that came from, all because they’re in the middle of February sweeps and they’ve got a whole bunch of special guest stars lined up. ‘Special’ being code word for famous, the studio word for a bunch of rock, pop, and rap stars Jared isn’t particularly thrilled about meeting, but a job’s a job, and this one’s raking in the cash by the bucket load.
Beyond the cash though, he does love his job-all the music he likes, parties, swag, free drinks and freed inhibitions, usually him doing the encouraging there. He likes to entertain people, likes to be funny and charming, and he’s fucking good at it-his producers are backing him up to the network, rumors swirling that Jared’s going to get his own shot at hosting a late-night talk show. Carson Daly without the Carson or lameness. His future’s laid out on a golden plate.
Jared glares at the hair stylist. “You’re done. If I see any redness near my hairline, there’s gonna be trouble.”
The girl blanches and rushes away. His other stylist comes in and starts chatting a mile a minute-her bubbly personality too perky for this hour at the morning, but he can’t bring himself to snap at her, so he nods a lot and lets her do her thing. Being fashionable is integral to his line of work, so, like any other good host, he has someone else do it for him-Kayla knows the latest styles, takes his measurements and handles clothing purchases at high end stores. Latest jeans, latest suits-Rihanna nearly destroyed a cool grey Zenga suit of his once. That was a great party.
Kayla knows what looks good on TV and, most importantly, what looks good on him, which would land her a bonus if he were in control of that kind of thing. She liked the one hundred dollar gift card to Virgin Megastore he gave her that past Christmas though.
Kayla starts talking about sweeps, and oh, the clothes she can buy-at this thought, he smiles. One day he’ll have a black Amex, God willing, and that day will be soon.
“You’re gorgeous,” Kayla says. His automatic, plastered-on smile fades as Jared pulls on a jacket, the cut too tight. Jared’ll be sweltering in an hour, but by then the interview’ll be over and he’ll be out for drinks, maybe chat with the producers, then, right, pick up Jensen and go to the party.
Talking over things with the producers is important; sometimes it’s easy to fall back on all the perks he receives-including tickets for two to this exclusive Valentine’s Day party-and ignore the fact that he’s not allowed to have any real input.
But if all goes well and he doesn’t fuck up in the next few weeks, he’ll get his shot and be able to show his ideas, really get a foothold on the network.
He focuses on Jensen and how he’ll try to make it up to him later, after the party. With the way his job has been crazy the past few weeks and his workload’s easing up again, Jensen’s been around.
He’s reliable. He’s good, Jared thinks, and focuses on Jensen’s mouth as he chats up one of the latest reality teen queens, placing an arm around her shoulders as he leans in to whisper a joke in her ear.
*
Even if it’s Valentine’s Day, whatever magic in the air isn’t settling into Jensen’s work, he knows, tapping his pen. The computer screen’s full in front of him, his article on a possible new natural source for diesel fuel ready to be handed in. He doesn’t lack inspiration; he lacks motivation, because he knows how his boss’ll be.
Steve is a great guy, friendly, and an old college buddy of Jensen’s. He’s the one who recommended him for his job at the New York Daily News. But when it comes to the articles, Steve the editor obviously isn’t going to put his friendship first and give Jensen free reign when it comes to page order. Meaning he’s going to nod and approve of the article, then bury it in supermarket and breast enhancement ad pages-or worse, change words around to make it more ‘punchy’. Never mind that it makes scientific explanations pointless and immature when the correct words are taken out.
There’ll be no page-three glory, even if he could argue that the paper would benefit from having a few less pages covering Lindsay Lohan’s latest clubbing-and-rehab hijinks in the gossip pages.
There’s a surefire way to get in those at least, Jensen knows, having glanced at them when he didn’t have any reading material around.
Jared.
The rumors going around the office-and other places Jensen hears about secondhand-have all but confirmed that Jared is bi, but hasn’t said it. He says it’ll harm his career, his marketability, and so on, the sort of reasoning that leads to their arguments. It’s both easy and hard for Jensen to understand why Jared won't just confirm the rumors. Easy because of those reasons and hard because Jensen doesn’t see anything wrong with it. Difference is though, since he up and moved from Texas, Jensen has been out and while Jared is bisexual, he doesn’t feel the need to say more than necessary. Heaven forbid Jared ever have to admit that he’s in a relationship with another man.
Moving to New York City was the best thing that’s even happened to Jensen. It gave him a job, new friends, a whole new life, where he could be himself, free and open. He'll never be the first to wave a flag at the parade down on Christopher Street, but it’s comfortable to be out and to have friends who don’t care, who aren’t covering up for you.
He’s not that outgoing a person as it is, so for Jared to cover this up, them up, pass it off as rumors-it’s annoying.
One year and Jared doesn’t want him to move in, his spacious and trendy apartment devoid of any of Jensen’s belongings.
So, a month and a half too late for a New Year’s Resolution, Jensen decides to do a new one: give Jared an ultimatum, or end this.
It’ll work. He’ll make it work.
He’ll make it work until Jared flashes him a smile, and when he smiles his face’ll soften, like the years strip away and he’s this naïve kid ready to do anything, a kid Jensen wishes he could have met before all this. There’s been a number of highs and lows, and even with all the disagreements they’ve had, they’ve made up. But the last two or three months haven’t been the same, those disagreements getting more frequent, Jared blaming his work load.
Jared is one way to get noticed, but the thought of splashing their private lives in the gossip pages sickens Jensen. Even without him saying it, knowing they’re together, the rumor mill churning away down the office won’t expose their relationship to the public because they won’t out a staff member that hasn’t asked for a raise in two years.
Instead of gossip? They should put in something useful. Turning algal oil into biodiesel fuel is useful.
“Give me an article on going green and hybrid cars, man, and you’ll get page three,” Steve says, waving a small stack of papers in Jensen’s direction. “You done yet?”
Jensen clicks ‘send’. “Actually, if you’re going to go green, the best kind of transportation would be walking.”
“Yeah, but walking ain’t gonna get you advertisements from Toyota or Nissan.” Steve leans over Jensen’s shoulder and narrows his eyes at the screen. “‘Algae as a Source for Diesel Fuel’?”
“It’s important!”
Steve straightens, ready to respond, when one of the office workers comes by and whispers in his ear, handing him a Post-It note. “One of those reality rich teens got arrested. Again. Jensen, page twelve.”
“But-!”
Steve is already gone. Jensen groans, takes his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The office TV is blaring commercials loudly, volume settling back to normal as it returns to another repeat of TRL-and that’s when Jensen stops rubbing and peeks out of one eye, looking at the host.
The host is a tall, broad shouldered guy, lively and full of boundless energy, waves his hands as he talks. The guest on the show is a tall actress, delicate and bony, the kind of brunette with dangling earrings and trendy clothes that Jensen can’t tell the difference between her and a hundred others, but the host seems to like her, like her a lot, leaning in close, flirting. Any other host and Jensen would know that it’s just being pleasant, but this one?
This one is Jared.
He reasons it’s going to be a long night and it is, seeing as three hours later he’s sitting on the steps to Jared’s building, messenger bag slung around his shoulder, exhaled breath turns into puffs of smoke in the cold. After a trip uptown from work to change clothes-“something normal,” Jared told him-at his apartment, Jensen waits patiently, slowly freezing every body part off.
Some of Jared’s neighbors enter and leave the building, sometimes stopping to talk-funny how the dog sitter rumor’s going around-or offer to let him into the building, but he just flashes a tight smile and politely declines. A pang of coldness settles in his stomach when he watches some of them leave, the couples, having changed into dressy clothes for parties, or some still casual, looking forward to a night at home, dinner and a movie.
Jensen decides he’s waited long enough before he stands up and right there is when a black SUV pulls up to the curb. The window rolls down and Jared’s head pokes out, wearing aviator sunglasses.
“Hey, Jen! Sorry I’m late. Talking with the producers. You know how it is.”
Jared pops open the door and Jensen slips in, ignoring the urge to correct Jared for the millionth time about using that nickname. He’s ready to open his mouth when Jared shoves a teddy bear in Jensen’s lap, a fuzzy white one with a red bow and card.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Jared leans in and kisses Jensen on the mouth.
Jensen barely gets a muffled noise of surprise out as Jared lets go with a wet smack of his lips, motions fluid as he starts to pull the car away from the curb.
“Check this out. Go and press its paw. It sings! Isn’t it cute?”
“And you call me the gay one,” Jensen says.
He stares at the teddy bear like’s a foreign object, this weird cuddly thing that he knows will be buried in some part of Jared’s house by the end of the week, if it isn’t torn open by the dogs first. Jensen grins as he opens the card attached to it, Jared’s flippantness and the cold wait pushed out of his mind.
That is, until he reads, To Jared, love from the girls at ‘The Hills’! Enjoy the candy! and the cold settles back in.
“Do you know what street we should take?” Jared asks, glancing at the rear view mirror.
“I mapped it out earlier. Remember? I e-mailed you? You came late again!” Jensen snaps, frowning as he moves a little in his seat, turning away from Jared.
He ignores Jared completely and looks out through the window, gazing at the bright lights and people walking down the sidewalk outside.
*
When they get to the party Jared’s been invited to, Jared immediately separates himself from Jensen’s side to talk with others. He nods Jensen toward the food and drinks table and darts away. Places to go, people to see, mingle with, chat, air kiss, all the kind of shit that goes hand in hand with the job. They’re all good and bad, all too full of themselves, all too naïve. The young ones with these big dreams, casting couch rumors around the corner. The jerky ones, the scary ones, the little clutches of people with impeccable Armani suits and dresses, slinky and see-through, gold and silver bling.
The party’s on and the drinks are flowing, people’s inhibitions going loose, and Jared coasts along in the wave. People clap him on the back and shake his hand, drape themselves on him, air kiss, real kiss, and it’s a whirl of sights and sounds, his body reduced to action and reaction.
A half-hour into it and Jared spies Jensen sitting over in one corner, sipping a glass of water. He’s wearing one of his ‘good’ suits, black with a dark blue shirt: it matches, sure, but the outfit’s a little too loose on him, as always. The fact that Jensen covers his body up all the time annoys Jared-he’s seen it from all angles, from his strong jawline to his biceps, to the taut muscles of his belly and his ass. As careful and measured in sex that Jensen is, he’s not some delicate, gangly flower. Still, Jensen won’t budge when it comes to his clothing, instead opting to look like some frazzled, nerdy, floppy haired accountant. Didn’t even use the designer glasses Jared picked up for him, always wearing the thick black frames, dull and out of style on his face.
A sulking face, too. Whatever, that’s his problem, Jared figures, cranes his head up to look over at the nearest TV in the club, one of the few bright spots of color in the dark recesses of the room. MTV is on, and there’s his face, bright and happy.
He looks down, and Sandy’s in front of him, sipping a Cosmopolitan and looking every bit as cheerful.
The last time he’d heard about her, she got a job on that Pussycat Dolls show and was ready to be whisked away to L.A. for filming. She starts off and greets him, still the same bubbly personality, smiling, cute, happy. Jared feels guilty for just being next to her, like he’s sinned or something.
“Wow, Sandy. Uh, you look, you look great. It’s been almost a year, huh?”
Sandy nods, twirls the straw in her drink. “I heard you might be flying out to L.A. soon, too, right? Chad told me you’re getting a show?”
“Maybe,” Jared says. “Depends on how desperate the network’ll be after sweeps.”
“Yeah. That’s wonderful,” Sandy says, voice a little too strained for Jared to read any sincerity in it. You congratulate people and feel jealous at the same time. At least, he does, more often than he should. Sandy has always been outgoing and kind, not quite the down-to-earth girl that the press makes her out to be, but she’s good. She’s comfortable, and maybe that’s his reason for breaking up with her, while hers was trying to further her career. There aren’t any hard feelings, though there’s this undercurrent of worry running through Jared now, knowing she’s got a question on the tip of her tongue.
“Hey-um. What about…” She bites her lip. “It’s silly. But is that rumor about you true?”
“Take your pick,” Jared mutters. He cants his head. “Which one?”
“You know…” Sandy leans in and whispers. “You and-you and another guy? That you have a boyfriend?”
She shakes her head and smiles as she says it, this laugh that rises up in her, like she can’t believe what she’s saying. Jared can’t either, because he always gets this twinge of panic before the mask comes in, falls back into place. This again, covering it up. What he does in his own private life is his own business and no one else’s. Besides, the last thing the network needs is for one of their top stars to come out. The way the press is nowadays, he’d be hounded by outlets like TMZ for weeks. Yeah, it might be wrong he’s not taking Jensen out here and there, but the guy never insists on it, always too humble and too quiet and shy, so Jared doesn’t press it.
It’s when he responds, casually, “It’s-it’s nothing. Nobody. Just a lot of bullshit rumors and wishful thinking,” that Sandy’s eyebrows go up, and Jared turns.
Jensen stands right behind him, wide eyes narrow into a glare before he takes off, shrugging off Jared’s fumbling grip.
“Jen! Jen, wait!”
They get out to the back door of the club, green walls and dull off-white tile. Some couples scatter when they approach, others shrug and continue what they’re up to, something Jared’s hoping is just tonsil hockey and nothing else. He opens his mouth to explain but Jensen cuts him off.
“My name is Jensen. Not ‘Jen’. Not ‘Jenny.’ All right? Does it even matter to you?”
“Yes it matters!” Jared snaps, waves his hands, low, calming. “Look, please, not here. Don’t make a-”
“Oh, fuck that!” Jensen yells, color to his cheeks. “You didn’t tell me about L.A.. And it’s-It’s like lately I’m just some kind of fuck buddy to you.”
“All right, now you’re exaggerating,” Jared says, forcing a little laugh out as he smiles at the people nearby and starts to hustle Jensen through and outside the back door. The alley is dank and wet, reflections from overhead lights make the slick pavement white and black, some garbage littering the walls and corners. Cars rumble down the street nearby, the sound of thumping electronic club music a dull thrum in the dark.
Jensen rubs at his forehead, looking left and right, uneasy, restless. He looks up at Jared and it’s startling to see him so angry, because Jensen doesn’t do that. Doesn’t need to, always pointing out the obvious with deadpan sarcasm and wit rather than raising his voice. Once in a while Jensen’ll stew and mutter, and that’s it, no full-on emotion. Always analyzing, like a goddamn computer calculating away. It’s enough that now Jared gets pissed off at the thought, how so many times he doesn’t even know what the fuck is going on in Jensen’s brain, how he doesn’t say it enough, and then goes and gets fucking pissed off at Jared. He’s not a goddamn mind reader.
“Why couldn’t we go hom-to your place, huh?” Jensen asks. “Do we always have to go to parties? Do you always have to talk to everyone but me?”
“Yeah, well, you know, you’re not any fucking help, man. You wouldn’t know a good time if it bit you in the ass!”
“Right, because you sure know how to have a good time,” Jensen says, sarcastic and glaring. “Do you even hear yourself anymore?”
“Jesus Christ,” Jared snaps, waves his hands out, jerkily, rushed. “If I don’t, it’s ‘cause I can’t hear over you nagging me to death.”
The only thing heard in the alley is the echo from Jared’s loud voice. Jensen looks down at his shoes.
“That’s what you think I do. Nag you.”
“Goddamnit, Jensen,” Jared says, feels like the floor’s dropping out from beneath him, from his gut. It’s nauseous and thrilling, the lack of control and the red anger that flares up, makes him jumpy and restless. “You know how it is. My job-”
“No,” Jensen interrupts. “No. I don’t want to hear about your job. It’s just TV, Jared. It’s not us.”
“We can’t-I can’t-fuck. You know what? Forget it. I can’t-I can’t do this anymore. I’ve worked hard for what I have, and I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you. I can’t be you! I’m me, Jensen,” he says, holds his arms out. “Right here, this.”
Jensen is open-mouthed, and Jared would normally kiss him to shut him up, put an end to that ever present introversion that’s a blessing and a curse in disguise.
Jensen exhales, breath gone right out of him, livid, furious.
“I wish you could be me, so you could see how I feel for once. I wish I could be you, so I could show you what an asshole you’ve become these past few months!”
When Jensen leaves him standing alone in the alley, Jared doesn’t fall to his knees or anything like that. His stomach clenches and he blames it on mixing drinks, throat dry as he heads back into the party.
*
By the weekend, Jensen wakes up with a dull headache, more out of stress than a hangover. He pulls a baseball cap on low over his unkempt hair and meets up with Danneel for lunch at a bistro on Avenue C. Her skin is flushed and she’s wearing her hair up in a ponytail. She's just finished an early Pilates class. She teaches that, gymnastics, and strip aerobics classes twice a week. Always got a lot of jokes from Jared about it: Don't her boobs get in the way?
So it isn’t that surprising to Jensen when Danneel spends most of the meal coming up with different ways to harm Jared’s sexual organs, complete with wrenching and stabbing motions of her fork between bites of huevos rancheros. Though Jensen turns down her offers of maiming, it’s comforting to talk to her, even if she jokes about going shopping and getting manicures. They eventually settle on checking out the Strand bookstore at Union Square instead.
He gets in some relaxation. Still, the stress is gnawing away at him: his job, his shitty apartment, his... whatever it was, a year of his life with highs and lows that he won’t be able to get back.
By the time he’s in bed, punching his lumpy pillow and rolling around irritably, things have started replaying in his head again. Memories in snippets and catches of phrases that he goes over methodically, like they’re mathematical puzzles he can figure out the correct scientific answer to. Science, he can deal with. Correct reasoning and evidence. Jumping to conclusions is harder but he thinks he’s done it too much, and not enough and-
Only way he gets to sleep is through the dull buzz of thoughts in his brain, swirling into a dead sleep that’s ended by the doorbell a few hours later.
Jensen groggily shuffles out of bed, body aching and feeling tingly all over, that sensation of his foot being asleep an all over body… thing. The word escapes his brain right now.
As does every other word when he opens the front door to face a flushed and harried version of himself in a dark blazer and black silk pajama pants.
“What the-?”
“Augh!” the other Jensen shouts, waving his arms as he pushes Jensen back into his apartment, closing the door behind him. Jensen snaps fully awake; it's easy to do when he sees this doppelganger on the verge of hysteria, f-bombs growled out at the drop of a hat.
First thing that’s off-besides the yelling-is the way sensations rush in, displaced and unsettling. He looks down at himself and his vision is clear, near perfect without glasses. The fingers are thinner, longer. Arms are tan, a little more muscular and the height, and this hair. He’s sweating, too tight in his pants and t-shirt, and can see the skin straining under the holes on his sleeve.
Fuck, he’s Jared.
He’s inside Jared’s body, and Jared is inside of him, and oh, this is too fucked up and Jensen has to be dreaming.
“This is not real. I am asleep,” Jensen says, slowly, eyes shut, tries to ignore Jared’s smooth voice coming out of his mouth. “I am asleep and I’m never gonna have pad Thai ever again.”
“Oh, no, this is real, Jensen,” Jared says, “This is real and you’re in my fucking body and this is all your fault!”
He grabs Jensen’s arms and shakes him, pinches him, makes his eyes snap open. Jared leans impossibly close, his eyes-Jensen’s own eyes-green and squinty behind his glasses. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jensen thinks he’s got more upper body strength than he thought. He starts to push Jared off, but he has longer and unfamiliar arms, so they end up wrestling around and flailing at each other until Jared gets Jensen into a tight headlock.
“I’m hitting myself. Fuck,” Jared says, upper lip curling in distaste as he looks down at Jensen’s reddened face. “Oh my God, you make me look like I’m constipated.”
Jensen finally shoves Jared off. “Look. This-this isn’t scientifically possible. I mean, uh, it could be but-”
“So, what, did I like, morph into you? Is that what you’re saying?” Jared asks, his eyes wide. “Did you put something into my drink? E? An upper? Freaking White Out? Oh my God. Oh my God.”
Jared starts pacing like an idea is formulating in his head, espionage and Mission: Impossible-worthy scenarios. Jensen leans back against the couch armrest, almost falling on top of it thanks to miscalculating the ass distance.
“…I was supposed to be out partying with Chad last night. But I just crashed, man. He left me a message and I-I got up. Felt weird, like tingly, you know? That pins and needles feeling. Went to take a piss and then almost cracked my skull open when I saw. I mean, if this is your idea of me gettin’ to be a mini-you, then congrats, Jen, it fucking worked.”
Mini-you. Shit, it all makes sense now.
“Wait. Remember…” Jensen trails off. He licks his lips, realizes halfway through they aren't his lips-they're Jared's thin ones-and this is just too weird. “Remember what I said, last night? I said I wished you could be me, so you could see how I feel-and, and I wished I could be you, so…” He snaps his fingers. “You’re being taught a lesson!”
Jared rolls his eyes; the gesture's too sarcastic for Jensen’s face. “I’m in your body because of some crap you said last night?”
“There’s research about this,” Jensen starts, ignoring Jared as he rubs his neck. There’s a twinge in his shoulder that wasn’t there before. His whole body aches, like Jared’s hung over. He wouldn't be surprised. “Mind transfer, whole-body transplants, head transplant… They might be able to do it in the future. It's related to the breakdown of molecules. If we went to sleep, and our bodies dematerialized and physically transferred, then… If we just go to sleep again, it might reverse itself. It-It could be something temporary. Like the 24-hour flu.”
“The fuck this is some kind of flu, Jensen. This doesn’t happen.”
Jensen raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth to respond but Jared holds up a finger.
“If I’m being taught a lesson, so are you. Enjoy me while it lasts.” Jared pauses, then scrunches his face. “Wait, on second thought, don’t. Dude, don’t touch my stuff.”
“I have. A lot. Just not while I was you,” Jensen replies. Jared walks past Jensen and plops down onto his couch, sprawling and fumbling for a pillow. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not going anywhere. Neither are you. Not until this thing is reversed. C’mon, you’ve seen those movies. You know, we go transferring, our molecules are flying through the air and then they might stick in something and we’ll end up as Swamp Thing or Spider-Man or-” Jared breaks off, wiping at the hair in his eyes, pushes Jensen's glasses up irritably. “What, it could happen. What if we’re split up and we switch back as we’re sleeping? We stick together and we avoid any freakish Fly problems. I stay here and we can, like, make sure no one else knows about it. Ride it out.”
Jensen hesitates before he moves to a tiny hall closet and pulls out a blanket, throwing it in Jared’s direction. “Don’t snore,” he says weakly, then pauses.
Jared has already caught up. He wriggles on the couch and says irritably, “Since you’re in my body, I think if anyone’s snoring tonight, it’d be you.”
Twenty minutes later and Jensen’s still awake, staring at the bedroom ceiling. The heels of his feet barely brush the end of the bed as he hears a faint snore coming from the living room.
Part Two
“Don’t start stripping without me!” Jared calls over his shoulder, opening the front door with one hand as he readjusts himself in his boxers with the other.
The air’s cold in the hallway and it doesn’t help that he’s wearing nothing but an undershirt and boxers-it’s the combination of air and the person at the door that has him ready to plaster on a smile, the kind of action that becomes second nature after dealing with so many people day-in and day-out at the studio.
The guy at the door is fumbling with some papers in his messenger bag, bending at his knees a little before he straightens. He’s tall, lean and awkward, wearing rumpled, out of style clothes, hair floppy and in his eyes, plain black glasses-but his face, green eyes and lush lips and freckles, makes him this pretty package dressed in some geeky ass wrapping paper.
So Jared takes a breath, his mouth pulling into a tight smile as the guy cocks an eyebrow, and looks Jared up and down, too, more obvious than suave. Yeah, let him get a look all he wants, from Jared’s striped boxers to his faded Cowboys tee. Jared knows exactly what he looks like, knows that the last few trips to the gym are going to pay off, both at work and maybe in bed, tonight if Jared’s lucky.
The guy manages to straighten his bag. “Uh. Hi?”
Definite question mark at the end of that, because after all, Jared’s not wearing any pants.
“Hey! Oh. Hey, you’re Jensen, right? Mike’s friend from college?”
“Yeah,” Jensen responds. He pushes his hair behind his ears as he moves in past Jared and nervously shifts his weight from one foot to the other foot.
“We’re in the middle of strip trivia,” Jared tells him. Off Jensen’s look, Jared shrugs. “Honest. C’mon, man. It’ll be fun.”
He’s already pushing him toward the living room before Jensen can protest, wrapping his arm around Jensen’s bicep, feeling it tense underneath his rumpled sports coat. The guy's got muscles, isn’t some skinny, pale nerd-too bad he doesn’t show it.
Jensen’s wound up too tight, Jared thinks, watches him relax visibly when they get to the living room and he can see a familiar face. Everyone’s sitting around the coffee table, food all laid out, wine glasses and beer cans near empty. ‘Everyone’ being some of Jared’s friends: Chad, Tom, Mike, Katie, Lauren, Sophia. Boys and girls, and the girls are hot, even with the crown piece missing-and that’s Sandy, his ex. Knowing her, she’s probably at some commercial shoot tonight. But that relationship’s over with since August, and Jared’s gonna have fun tonight, the girls certainly helping, the guys too.
Though, the guys help in a different way, because even if Jared’s a little bit bi, that ain’t gonna happen with his buddies.
Everyone's giggling and laughing, tipsy, reclining on plush couches and supple black leather, all young, all hot, both literally and figuratively too, clothes missing, shoes and stockings, belts and shirts thrown here and there across the hardwood floors, plush rugs, glass and metal art pieces. It’s singles night at the Casa de Padalecki, all of them free of any significant others today on the day that counts, Valentine’s Day. As for why the party’s at Jared’s apartment, free beer and food paid for by Mike-who wanted nothing more from life than the run of Jared's video game collection.
Except right now they’re playing strip trivia, and Jensen is up.
Jared notices the way Jensen fidgets sitting across from him, straight posture, one finger rubbing at the ring on his hand nervously. Other than what Mike told him earlier-draped an arm around Jared’s shoulder and said, someone you oughta meet. He’s your type. Y’know. Happy. Or you’re half happy, whatever’s got you jonesin’ for tits still-he doesn’t know anything about him. Other than Jensen’s quiet. Shy. Nerdy.
And gay. At least, Jared’s thinking Mike meant that; when you mix Mike and Chad and a few too many beers, it's hard to tell what they mean sometimes.
“Oh, this one’s easy. Music,” Jared says when he looks up from the trivia card, gets Chad nudging him in the side with an elbow.
“For you, maybe. You’re like, all zen with that kinda shit.”
“Dude, you work at the freaking studio with me!”
“Jared here’s gone for the big leagues,” Chad says, whether for his own or Jensen’s benefit, Jared isn’t too sure. Chad likes to talk a lot, and with the promotion he's got plenty of ammo. “He’s gonna be a host now.”
Jensen cants his head as Jared adds, “On MTV. It’s-it’s nothing.”
“Fuck nothing man, you’re gonna get all famous!” Chad crows as Jared shakes his head and leans along the length of the couch. He pauses for a moment, smiling at Jensen, only Jensen doesn’t respond the way Jared expects he will, you know, congratulate him or anything. Jensen just smiles, tightly, this look on his face that Jared knows-it’s fake.
It’s just to be polite, hell, Jared knows all about that; he does it all the time.
Jensen nods and squirms a little, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. He can see Sophia talking in Tom’s ear, and they laugh, low, chatting quietly, chatting about Jensen, sending furtive, teasing glances.
Jared starts to read the music card. “‘Chris Cornell, who later formed the band Audioslave with members of Rage Against the Machine, was the lead singer of which seminal Seattle grunge band?’”
There’s a quiet murmur of agreement, easy, only Jensen bites his lip-full, red, definitely noticeable-then shrugs. “No idea.”
“Soundgarden,” Jared says, takes a sip of his beer and muffles the disappointed noise from his mouth as Jensen’s item of removed clothing turns out to be a sock.
Jensen shrugs. “I’ve never heard of them. I’m a fan of country music though.”
He looks amused as Jared nearly chokes on his beer, Chad smacking him hard on the back.
They keep it up for a while, and slowly, the mood lightens up. Jensen seems to relax somewhat because he’s talking more, these little quips and comments that are smart, deep or whatever-the kind that Jared’s almost unsure about, since most of the time when he’s dealing with these intellectual types of guys, he’s bored to death. They don’t know how to have any fun. Jensen though, Jensen’s smiles come easy when he relaxes. He has this sense of humor that lightens up a whole room. Everyone talks more easily now, no feeling of an intruder, the geek.
Jensen aces the next round when it’s a question about biology-Mike and Chad snicker, yeah, those beers are going to good use-and human reproductive organs. Sophia smacks Chad on the shoulder, tells him to be quiet as she sips her wine, shine on her lips. When it’s Jared’s turn, Jensen leans forward to question him, top two buttons undone, glasses on the tip of his nose.
“What is the scientific term for the substance produced in the brain when, uh, one human being is attracted to another?”
Jensen's voice rises a little, like the pitch change hides an answer within it.
“Um-uh, steam?”
"No. Endorphins," Jensen says, covers his smile with his hand as Jared sighs overdramatically and starts to tug his t-shirt over his head. Great, Jared knows he should've gotten gone in for a tanning session besides all the gym time. He’s ready to make an orgy joke when he catches Jensen staring at him, licking his lips and chugging a beer like there's no tomorrow.
Huh.
Then Mike tells a joke about biology, high school-type shit, and everyone’s laughing again, Jensen too, though it’s strained.
And fake.
Jared’s eyes don't stray from Jensen for the rest of the night.
People start talking in smaller groups, cleaning up, or trickling out the door. The night was fun and laid back, lots of jokes, food, drinks-it’s nice to have time off to goof off, chill out and hang with his friends before the hard stuff comes in. Pretty soon he’s gonna be up at late hours, weird hours-Jared’s not sure how much time the new job’s going to take up, but he knows it’s good work (and an even better paycheck), fame and fucking fortune. The hassle won’t be for nothing. He’s been waiting years to get to this point, working his internships, broadcasting jobs here and there until he got to the opportunity to work at the studio.
In two weeks, it’s all going to be different.
In two minutes, Jared thinks he might tip over from his awkward, tasteful slump against the wall near the kitchen, watching Jensen’s back as he cleans up the plates on the counter. He fumbles a little, like he’s not sure what to do with the big marble counters and sleek steel appliances, much like Jared does half the time-Jared doesn’t cook, only eats out or snags some junk food. The kitchen’s all show.
Jared takes another sip of his beer and clears his throat.
“You still checking out my ass?” Jensen asks, and the beer goes down the wrong pipe as Jared coughs and sputters. “Thought so.”
“I, uh, I wasn’t-”
“Uh huh.” Jensen turns and grins, wiping his hands on a washcloth. He tosses it on the counter and leans against the edge with both hands.
“I really like you,” Jared blurts, and it even startles him. He hasn’t said I want to kiss you or fuck you, or anything like that, and he has in the past because come on, if you want it, might as well stop dancing around and fucking say it.
But he’s never said, I like you. It feels more intimate than the others.
Jensen cocks an eyebrow. “Figures.”
“What?”
“I’m not your… type,” Jensen explains, voice unsure. Jared wants to take that questioning away, whatever slip of uncertainty that’s making Jensen say it. Jensen smile is tight lipped again. “Good luck with your promotion though.”
Jensen's ready to turn around and grab the stack of dirty plates when Jared lurches forward, all plans to saunter up, flirting, thrown down the drain.
“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” Jared says, hands moving a little too much, steadies them. “That’s it? I mean-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But-But your type? What do you mean I’m ‘not your type’?”
“You’re a good guy, Jared. Don’t get me wrong, you are, but I’m not interested in a one night stand.”
And that right there, that’s gonna be the death of Jared. See, normally Jared goes for the outgoing ones. Fucking on a subway? Nearly got arrested for it, and he's done stuff with guys, but with Jensen it's a mystery. One that Jared would like to unfold. Or strip down. In private. All to himself.
Better change tactics.
“Don’t let this handsome face fool you. There’s more to me than you think,” Jared says, half sarcastic, half sincere, and he’s laying it all on the line. Even giving Jensen the puppy dog eyes, because he wants to unravel this mystery right now, rip the damn glasses off his face and-
“Jared, I think I’ve seen more of you than most people,” Jensen responds, points toward Jared’s hips, the low-slung boxers he’s wearing.
But Jensen is kind of flushed. God knows he’s gotta see the way Jared’s dick is half-hard, starts to strain.
“That’s just on holidays,” Jared replies, feels himself redden as he moves closer to Jensen, his walk a little more stilted than the sauntering he was going for. He gets a good step away from Jensen, leaning down to look at him. His eyes are clear green, color that can’t be muted by the glasses, soft spray of freckles over the bend of his nose, cheekbones. Jensen licks his lips, his expression shifting from quiet to nervous-something Jared doesn’t understand and does, too, the way he feels a little erratic, not able to blame it entirely on the alcohol. “Valentine’s, Easter… Christmas.”
“There aren’t many holidays in the year,” Jensen says, keeping his eyes locked on Jared’s own. He steadies himself, like he’s ready to bolt, an action that only ramps up Jared’s interest.
“That’s because the rest of the time, I don’t have any underwear on either.”
“I'm not going to be seeing you the rest of the time, though, since I don’t think you’d be interested in more than one night, remember?”
“You don't know that for sure,” Jared says. “What if I were?”
Jensen rolls his eyes, small grin tugging the corners of his lips. “I’m too neat and organized. I’ll drive you up the wall.”
“I’m messy and late,” Jared responds, rolling his shoulder muscles, more out of impatience than shrugging. His dick is hard and ready, straining, barely going to last if he doesn’t do something right the fuck now. So he’s laying it on a little thick, and he might feel a twinge of wrong in the morning when Jensen goes, but he’ll be a good lay. Better than others.
Jared leans closer, legs on either sides of Jensen’s, hands settling on Jensen’s waist, and he says, low, “I want you to drive me up the wall.”
And it’s tacky, and it’s corny, but Jensen’s mouth is soft and warm against Jared’s, eyes tight and shut, soft moan escaping. The taste is something he doesn’t know how to describe, but it fits, their mouths fit, burning through his veins settles into a satisfied thrum, heartbeat steady.
They fit.
*
One Year Later - Valentine’s Day
It should be a sign when it takes ten minutes for the hot water to start in the morning, leaving Jensen shivering as he lathers up. Eventually the water turns warm and he starts to sing to himself, Patsy Cline’s “Walking After Midnight”, this old country tune his mom used to play for him back when he was little. He’s never gone out and sung in public but in private it’s comforting.
He clamps his mouth shut when he sees a tall shadow on the curtain and the squeaky faucet turns on.
“You singing again?” Jared asks, muffled with the toothbrush in his mouth. “Don’t stop. Your voice… Man, you should think about doing-”
“Shut up.” Jensen pokes his head out of the shower, eyes half-closed and vision blurry. The fact that he can’t see very well without his glasses adds to the little flare of anger that comes up as a defense, before Jared can continue. “I know I suck, okay?”
Jared’s eyebrows shoot up high and he spits into the sink. “No, I didn’t say that! Jeez. Just wanted to say my opinion.”
By the time Jensen is dressed and making breakfast, Jared is typing away on his Blackberry, hunched over as he sips his orange juice. He sighs heavily when he gets a look at what Jensen’s wearing, shakes his head like he’s past the point of protesting. Jensen isn’t the clotheshorse Jared is-mostly because he can’t afford it, already embarrassed at the care packages his mother sends him from Dallas. They’re filled to the brim with the same brand of white jockeys, same turtlenecks, button-down shirts, and slacks that he’s always worn. Clothes he can rely on, both dependable and efficient.
Jared’s told him more than once that he’d love to take him out on a shopping spree, “Platinum Amexes exist for a reason.” But Jensen declines, as always, not wanting to pressure Jared into buying him anything that he doesn’t truly need. It’s an old habit from growing up, he explains, and Jared replies that old habits don't have to include wearing clothes two sizes too big or a few years out of style.
Jared sucks down his egg whites and grapefruit, mouth full as he says he needs to get back to his apartment and get a fresh change of clothes.
“You know,” Jensen starts, pushes his glasses up as he sits across from Jared, “that old couple in your building, the Spencers? They wanted me to house sit and watch their pets. They assumed I’m good with dogs since they used to think I was your dog sitter when I first started staying over.”
“What? But-wait. Wait, I’ve had Lily doing that for years now. They thought you were my second dog sitter?”
Jensen lifts up his mug of coffee, murmurs, “They were always trying to book me for a dog sitting. I think it’s because of all the times you tried to ‘tip’ me when I left your apartment that first week. Idiot.”
“Aww, come on, man. That was funny!”
“That was stupid.”
After a few seconds Jared starts laughing, this braying, loud noise in the small little hole in the wall apartment Jensen has, 110th Street and nowhere, affordable and ‘cozy’. Jared has always looked out of place sitting at Jensen’s small kitchen table, like he doesn’t fit on the chair, near the cheap plastic-sitting anywhere here, plain white walls that contrast sharp against Jared’s sleek jackets, trendy ripped jeans, and garish, artsy sixty-dollar shirts.
“They said they’re going on vacation on the twentieth. I can stay in their apartment,” Jensen says carefully.
Jared shakes his head, jabs at the buttons on his Blackberry without looking up. “No. Too close.”
“I’d be on the fourth floor. You’re on the sixth.”
“Exactly,” Jared says, suddenly getting up and grabbing his messenger bag. “It’s like living together. I like you, Jensen, but I’m not ready for that.”
He comes over and leans down to kiss Jensen on the cheek. It’s a quick peck, and when Jensen turns and opens his mouth, Jared pulls back and makes a face.
“Wait a sec.”
Jared fumbles and digs through his bag, producing a small little Ziploc bag with a toothbrush, holds it between two fingers. “You left this at my place.”
He grins, sharp, bright, almost out the door when Jensen flips him off and calls out, “Don’t forget about picking me up later, jerk!”
*
“‘MTV VJ Jared Padalecki and his dogs Sadie and Harley’”
It’s a good picture even if the photoshoot had been a bitch, some photographer constantly adjusting Jared’s clothes until Jared was wondering where, exactly, he could file a sexual harassment suit against a photographer without it becoming public.
Jared head-jerks as the stylist tugs at his hair with the hair iron. She’s harried and chatty as she tries to get his hair straight and manageable. He hasn’t had it cut in a while and it’s starting to reach his neck, long bangs and three-day scruff; it's rugged-looking, good. He’s filled out over the past few months and it’s something he thinks he prefers, an all over solidness that makes him look older, more mature than that stringbean eager intern who signed up four years ago. The producers seem to agree with him, even giving him a shot besides VJing: hosting a shitty little horror mini-series, Room 401, because Ashton Kutcher was too busy doing some other shitty comedy to produce and host.
His loss, Jared thinks as he rolls up the latest issue of New York Magazine, making a mental note to cut out the clipping later.
There are going to be a lot more clippings where that came from, all because they’re in the middle of February sweeps and they’ve got a whole bunch of special guest stars lined up. ‘Special’ being code word for famous, the studio word for a bunch of rock, pop, and rap stars Jared isn’t particularly thrilled about meeting, but a job’s a job, and this one’s raking in the cash by the bucket load.
Beyond the cash though, he does love his job-all the music he likes, parties, swag, free drinks and freed inhibitions, usually him doing the encouraging there. He likes to entertain people, likes to be funny and charming, and he’s fucking good at it-his producers are backing him up to the network, rumors swirling that Jared’s going to get his own shot at hosting a late-night talk show. Carson Daly without the Carson or lameness. His future’s laid out on a golden plate.
Jared glares at the hair stylist. “You’re done. If I see any redness near my hairline, there’s gonna be trouble.”
The girl blanches and rushes away. His other stylist comes in and starts chatting a mile a minute-her bubbly personality too perky for this hour at the morning, but he can’t bring himself to snap at her, so he nods a lot and lets her do her thing. Being fashionable is integral to his line of work, so, like any other good host, he has someone else do it for him-Kayla knows the latest styles, takes his measurements and handles clothing purchases at high end stores. Latest jeans, latest suits-Rihanna nearly destroyed a cool grey Zenga suit of his once. That was a great party.
Kayla knows what looks good on TV and, most importantly, what looks good on him, which would land her a bonus if he were in control of that kind of thing. She liked the one hundred dollar gift card to Virgin Megastore he gave her that past Christmas though.
Kayla starts talking about sweeps, and oh, the clothes she can buy-at this thought, he smiles. One day he’ll have a black Amex, God willing, and that day will be soon.
“You’re gorgeous,” Kayla says. His automatic, plastered-on smile fades as Jared pulls on a jacket, the cut too tight. Jared’ll be sweltering in an hour, but by then the interview’ll be over and he’ll be out for drinks, maybe chat with the producers, then, right, pick up Jensen and go to the party.
Talking over things with the producers is important; sometimes it’s easy to fall back on all the perks he receives-including tickets for two to this exclusive Valentine’s Day party-and ignore the fact that he’s not allowed to have any real input.
But if all goes well and he doesn’t fuck up in the next few weeks, he’ll get his shot and be able to show his ideas, really get a foothold on the network.
He focuses on Jensen and how he’ll try to make it up to him later, after the party. With the way his job has been crazy the past few weeks and his workload’s easing up again, Jensen’s been around.
He’s reliable. He’s good, Jared thinks, and focuses on Jensen’s mouth as he chats up one of the latest reality teen queens, placing an arm around her shoulders as he leans in to whisper a joke in her ear.
*
Even if it’s Valentine’s Day, whatever magic in the air isn’t settling into Jensen’s work, he knows, tapping his pen. The computer screen’s full in front of him, his article on a possible new natural source for diesel fuel ready to be handed in. He doesn’t lack inspiration; he lacks motivation, because he knows how his boss’ll be.
Steve is a great guy, friendly, and an old college buddy of Jensen’s. He’s the one who recommended him for his job at the New York Daily News. But when it comes to the articles, Steve the editor obviously isn’t going to put his friendship first and give Jensen free reign when it comes to page order. Meaning he’s going to nod and approve of the article, then bury it in supermarket and breast enhancement ad pages-or worse, change words around to make it more ‘punchy’. Never mind that it makes scientific explanations pointless and immature when the correct words are taken out.
There’ll be no page-three glory, even if he could argue that the paper would benefit from having a few less pages covering Lindsay Lohan’s latest clubbing-and-rehab hijinks in the gossip pages.
There’s a surefire way to get in those at least, Jensen knows, having glanced at them when he didn’t have any reading material around.
Jared.
The rumors going around the office-and other places Jensen hears about secondhand-have all but confirmed that Jared is bi, but hasn’t said it. He says it’ll harm his career, his marketability, and so on, the sort of reasoning that leads to their arguments. It’s both easy and hard for Jensen to understand why Jared won't just confirm the rumors. Easy because of those reasons and hard because Jensen doesn’t see anything wrong with it. Difference is though, since he up and moved from Texas, Jensen has been out and while Jared is bisexual, he doesn’t feel the need to say more than necessary. Heaven forbid Jared ever have to admit that he’s in a relationship with another man.
Moving to New York City was the best thing that’s even happened to Jensen. It gave him a job, new friends, a whole new life, where he could be himself, free and open. He'll never be the first to wave a flag at the parade down on Christopher Street, but it’s comfortable to be out and to have friends who don’t care, who aren’t covering up for you.
He’s not that outgoing a person as it is, so for Jared to cover this up, them up, pass it off as rumors-it’s annoying.
One year and Jared doesn’t want him to move in, his spacious and trendy apartment devoid of any of Jensen’s belongings.
So, a month and a half too late for a New Year’s Resolution, Jensen decides to do a new one: give Jared an ultimatum, or end this.
It’ll work. He’ll make it work.
He’ll make it work until Jared flashes him a smile, and when he smiles his face’ll soften, like the years strip away and he’s this naïve kid ready to do anything, a kid Jensen wishes he could have met before all this. There’s been a number of highs and lows, and even with all the disagreements they’ve had, they’ve made up. But the last two or three months haven’t been the same, those disagreements getting more frequent, Jared blaming his work load.
Jared is one way to get noticed, but the thought of splashing their private lives in the gossip pages sickens Jensen. Even without him saying it, knowing they’re together, the rumor mill churning away down the office won’t expose their relationship to the public because they won’t out a staff member that hasn’t asked for a raise in two years.
Instead of gossip? They should put in something useful. Turning algal oil into biodiesel fuel is useful.
“Give me an article on going green and hybrid cars, man, and you’ll get page three,” Steve says, waving a small stack of papers in Jensen’s direction. “You done yet?”
Jensen clicks ‘send’. “Actually, if you’re going to go green, the best kind of transportation would be walking.”
“Yeah, but walking ain’t gonna get you advertisements from Toyota or Nissan.” Steve leans over Jensen’s shoulder and narrows his eyes at the screen. “‘Algae as a Source for Diesel Fuel’?”
“It’s important!”
Steve straightens, ready to respond, when one of the office workers comes by and whispers in his ear, handing him a Post-It note. “One of those reality rich teens got arrested. Again. Jensen, page twelve.”
“But-!”
Steve is already gone. Jensen groans, takes his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The office TV is blaring commercials loudly, volume settling back to normal as it returns to another repeat of TRL-and that’s when Jensen stops rubbing and peeks out of one eye, looking at the host.
The host is a tall, broad shouldered guy, lively and full of boundless energy, waves his hands as he talks. The guest on the show is a tall actress, delicate and bony, the kind of brunette with dangling earrings and trendy clothes that Jensen can’t tell the difference between her and a hundred others, but the host seems to like her, like her a lot, leaning in close, flirting. Any other host and Jensen would know that it’s just being pleasant, but this one?
This one is Jared.
He reasons it’s going to be a long night and it is, seeing as three hours later he’s sitting on the steps to Jared’s building, messenger bag slung around his shoulder, exhaled breath turns into puffs of smoke in the cold. After a trip uptown from work to change clothes-“something normal,” Jared told him-at his apartment, Jensen waits patiently, slowly freezing every body part off.
Some of Jared’s neighbors enter and leave the building, sometimes stopping to talk-funny how the dog sitter rumor’s going around-or offer to let him into the building, but he just flashes a tight smile and politely declines. A pang of coldness settles in his stomach when he watches some of them leave, the couples, having changed into dressy clothes for parties, or some still casual, looking forward to a night at home, dinner and a movie.
Jensen decides he’s waited long enough before he stands up and right there is when a black SUV pulls up to the curb. The window rolls down and Jared’s head pokes out, wearing aviator sunglasses.
“Hey, Jen! Sorry I’m late. Talking with the producers. You know how it is.”
Jared pops open the door and Jensen slips in, ignoring the urge to correct Jared for the millionth time about using that nickname. He’s ready to open his mouth when Jared shoves a teddy bear in Jensen’s lap, a fuzzy white one with a red bow and card.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Jared leans in and kisses Jensen on the mouth.
Jensen barely gets a muffled noise of surprise out as Jared lets go with a wet smack of his lips, motions fluid as he starts to pull the car away from the curb.
“Check this out. Go and press its paw. It sings! Isn’t it cute?”
“And you call me the gay one,” Jensen says.
He stares at the teddy bear like’s a foreign object, this weird cuddly thing that he knows will be buried in some part of Jared’s house by the end of the week, if it isn’t torn open by the dogs first. Jensen grins as he opens the card attached to it, Jared’s flippantness and the cold wait pushed out of his mind.
That is, until he reads, To Jared, love from the girls at ‘The Hills’! Enjoy the candy! and the cold settles back in.
“Do you know what street we should take?” Jared asks, glancing at the rear view mirror.
“I mapped it out earlier. Remember? I e-mailed you? You came late again!” Jensen snaps, frowning as he moves a little in his seat, turning away from Jared.
He ignores Jared completely and looks out through the window, gazing at the bright lights and people walking down the sidewalk outside.
*
When they get to the party Jared’s been invited to, Jared immediately separates himself from Jensen’s side to talk with others. He nods Jensen toward the food and drinks table and darts away. Places to go, people to see, mingle with, chat, air kiss, all the kind of shit that goes hand in hand with the job. They’re all good and bad, all too full of themselves, all too naïve. The young ones with these big dreams, casting couch rumors around the corner. The jerky ones, the scary ones, the little clutches of people with impeccable Armani suits and dresses, slinky and see-through, gold and silver bling.
The party’s on and the drinks are flowing, people’s inhibitions going loose, and Jared coasts along in the wave. People clap him on the back and shake his hand, drape themselves on him, air kiss, real kiss, and it’s a whirl of sights and sounds, his body reduced to action and reaction.
A half-hour into it and Jared spies Jensen sitting over in one corner, sipping a glass of water. He’s wearing one of his ‘good’ suits, black with a dark blue shirt: it matches, sure, but the outfit’s a little too loose on him, as always. The fact that Jensen covers his body up all the time annoys Jared-he’s seen it from all angles, from his strong jawline to his biceps, to the taut muscles of his belly and his ass. As careful and measured in sex that Jensen is, he’s not some delicate, gangly flower. Still, Jensen won’t budge when it comes to his clothing, instead opting to look like some frazzled, nerdy, floppy haired accountant. Didn’t even use the designer glasses Jared picked up for him, always wearing the thick black frames, dull and out of style on his face.
A sulking face, too. Whatever, that’s his problem, Jared figures, cranes his head up to look over at the nearest TV in the club, one of the few bright spots of color in the dark recesses of the room. MTV is on, and there’s his face, bright and happy.
He looks down, and Sandy’s in front of him, sipping a Cosmopolitan and looking every bit as cheerful.
The last time he’d heard about her, she got a job on that Pussycat Dolls show and was ready to be whisked away to L.A. for filming. She starts off and greets him, still the same bubbly personality, smiling, cute, happy. Jared feels guilty for just being next to her, like he’s sinned or something.
“Wow, Sandy. Uh, you look, you look great. It’s been almost a year, huh?”
Sandy nods, twirls the straw in her drink. “I heard you might be flying out to L.A. soon, too, right? Chad told me you’re getting a show?”
“Maybe,” Jared says. “Depends on how desperate the network’ll be after sweeps.”
“Yeah. That’s wonderful,” Sandy says, voice a little too strained for Jared to read any sincerity in it. You congratulate people and feel jealous at the same time. At least, he does, more often than he should. Sandy has always been outgoing and kind, not quite the down-to-earth girl that the press makes her out to be, but she’s good. She’s comfortable, and maybe that’s his reason for breaking up with her, while hers was trying to further her career. There aren’t any hard feelings, though there’s this undercurrent of worry running through Jared now, knowing she’s got a question on the tip of her tongue.
“Hey-um. What about…” She bites her lip. “It’s silly. But is that rumor about you true?”
“Take your pick,” Jared mutters. He cants his head. “Which one?”
“You know…” Sandy leans in and whispers. “You and-you and another guy? That you have a boyfriend?”
She shakes her head and smiles as she says it, this laugh that rises up in her, like she can’t believe what she’s saying. Jared can’t either, because he always gets this twinge of panic before the mask comes in, falls back into place. This again, covering it up. What he does in his own private life is his own business and no one else’s. Besides, the last thing the network needs is for one of their top stars to come out. The way the press is nowadays, he’d be hounded by outlets like TMZ for weeks. Yeah, it might be wrong he’s not taking Jensen out here and there, but the guy never insists on it, always too humble and too quiet and shy, so Jared doesn’t press it.
It’s when he responds, casually, “It’s-it’s nothing. Nobody. Just a lot of bullshit rumors and wishful thinking,” that Sandy’s eyebrows go up, and Jared turns.
Jensen stands right behind him, wide eyes narrow into a glare before he takes off, shrugging off Jared’s fumbling grip.
“Jen! Jen, wait!”
They get out to the back door of the club, green walls and dull off-white tile. Some couples scatter when they approach, others shrug and continue what they’re up to, something Jared’s hoping is just tonsil hockey and nothing else. He opens his mouth to explain but Jensen cuts him off.
“My name is Jensen. Not ‘Jen’. Not ‘Jenny.’ All right? Does it even matter to you?”
“Yes it matters!” Jared snaps, waves his hands, low, calming. “Look, please, not here. Don’t make a-”
“Oh, fuck that!” Jensen yells, color to his cheeks. “You didn’t tell me about L.A.. And it’s-It’s like lately I’m just some kind of fuck buddy to you.”
“All right, now you’re exaggerating,” Jared says, forcing a little laugh out as he smiles at the people nearby and starts to hustle Jensen through and outside the back door. The alley is dank and wet, reflections from overhead lights make the slick pavement white and black, some garbage littering the walls and corners. Cars rumble down the street nearby, the sound of thumping electronic club music a dull thrum in the dark.
Jensen rubs at his forehead, looking left and right, uneasy, restless. He looks up at Jared and it’s startling to see him so angry, because Jensen doesn’t do that. Doesn’t need to, always pointing out the obvious with deadpan sarcasm and wit rather than raising his voice. Once in a while Jensen’ll stew and mutter, and that’s it, no full-on emotion. Always analyzing, like a goddamn computer calculating away. It’s enough that now Jared gets pissed off at the thought, how so many times he doesn’t even know what the fuck is going on in Jensen’s brain, how he doesn’t say it enough, and then goes and gets fucking pissed off at Jared. He’s not a goddamn mind reader.
“Why couldn’t we go hom-to your place, huh?” Jensen asks. “Do we always have to go to parties? Do you always have to talk to everyone but me?”
“Yeah, well, you know, you’re not any fucking help, man. You wouldn’t know a good time if it bit you in the ass!”
“Right, because you sure know how to have a good time,” Jensen says, sarcastic and glaring. “Do you even hear yourself anymore?”
“Jesus Christ,” Jared snaps, waves his hands out, jerkily, rushed. “If I don’t, it’s ‘cause I can’t hear over you nagging me to death.”
The only thing heard in the alley is the echo from Jared’s loud voice. Jensen looks down at his shoes.
“That’s what you think I do. Nag you.”
“Goddamnit, Jensen,” Jared says, feels like the floor’s dropping out from beneath him, from his gut. It’s nauseous and thrilling, the lack of control and the red anger that flares up, makes him jumpy and restless. “You know how it is. My job-”
“No,” Jensen interrupts. “No. I don’t want to hear about your job. It’s just TV, Jared. It’s not us.”
“We can’t-I can’t-fuck. You know what? Forget it. I can’t-I can’t do this anymore. I’ve worked hard for what I have, and I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you. I can’t be you! I’m me, Jensen,” he says, holds his arms out. “Right here, this.”
Jensen is open-mouthed, and Jared would normally kiss him to shut him up, put an end to that ever present introversion that’s a blessing and a curse in disguise.
Jensen exhales, breath gone right out of him, livid, furious.
“I wish you could be me, so you could see how I feel for once. I wish I could be you, so I could show you what an asshole you’ve become these past few months!”
When Jensen leaves him standing alone in the alley, Jared doesn’t fall to his knees or anything like that. His stomach clenches and he blames it on mixing drinks, throat dry as he heads back into the party.
*
By the weekend, Jensen wakes up with a dull headache, more out of stress than a hangover. He pulls a baseball cap on low over his unkempt hair and meets up with Danneel for lunch at a bistro on Avenue C. Her skin is flushed and she’s wearing her hair up in a ponytail. She's just finished an early Pilates class. She teaches that, gymnastics, and strip aerobics classes twice a week. Always got a lot of jokes from Jared about it: Don't her boobs get in the way?
So it isn’t that surprising to Jensen when Danneel spends most of the meal coming up with different ways to harm Jared’s sexual organs, complete with wrenching and stabbing motions of her fork between bites of huevos rancheros. Though Jensen turns down her offers of maiming, it’s comforting to talk to her, even if she jokes about going shopping and getting manicures. They eventually settle on checking out the Strand bookstore at Union Square instead.
He gets in some relaxation. Still, the stress is gnawing away at him: his job, his shitty apartment, his... whatever it was, a year of his life with highs and lows that he won’t be able to get back.
By the time he’s in bed, punching his lumpy pillow and rolling around irritably, things have started replaying in his head again. Memories in snippets and catches of phrases that he goes over methodically, like they’re mathematical puzzles he can figure out the correct scientific answer to. Science, he can deal with. Correct reasoning and evidence. Jumping to conclusions is harder but he thinks he’s done it too much, and not enough and-
Only way he gets to sleep is through the dull buzz of thoughts in his brain, swirling into a dead sleep that’s ended by the doorbell a few hours later.
Jensen groggily shuffles out of bed, body aching and feeling tingly all over, that sensation of his foot being asleep an all over body… thing. The word escapes his brain right now.
As does every other word when he opens the front door to face a flushed and harried version of himself in a dark blazer and black silk pajama pants.
“What the-?”
“Augh!” the other Jensen shouts, waving his arms as he pushes Jensen back into his apartment, closing the door behind him. Jensen snaps fully awake; it's easy to do when he sees this doppelganger on the verge of hysteria, f-bombs growled out at the drop of a hat.
First thing that’s off-besides the yelling-is the way sensations rush in, displaced and unsettling. He looks down at himself and his vision is clear, near perfect without glasses. The fingers are thinner, longer. Arms are tan, a little more muscular and the height, and this hair. He’s sweating, too tight in his pants and t-shirt, and can see the skin straining under the holes on his sleeve.
Fuck, he’s Jared.
He’s inside Jared’s body, and Jared is inside of him, and oh, this is too fucked up and Jensen has to be dreaming.
“This is not real. I am asleep,” Jensen says, slowly, eyes shut, tries to ignore Jared’s smooth voice coming out of his mouth. “I am asleep and I’m never gonna have pad Thai ever again.”
“Oh, no, this is real, Jensen,” Jared says, “This is real and you’re in my fucking body and this is all your fault!”
He grabs Jensen’s arms and shakes him, pinches him, makes his eyes snap open. Jared leans impossibly close, his eyes-Jensen’s own eyes-green and squinty behind his glasses. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jensen thinks he’s got more upper body strength than he thought. He starts to push Jared off, but he has longer and unfamiliar arms, so they end up wrestling around and flailing at each other until Jared gets Jensen into a tight headlock.
“I’m hitting myself. Fuck,” Jared says, upper lip curling in distaste as he looks down at Jensen’s reddened face. “Oh my God, you make me look like I’m constipated.”
Jensen finally shoves Jared off. “Look. This-this isn’t scientifically possible. I mean, uh, it could be but-”
“So, what, did I like, morph into you? Is that what you’re saying?” Jared asks, his eyes wide. “Did you put something into my drink? E? An upper? Freaking White Out? Oh my God. Oh my God.”
Jared starts pacing like an idea is formulating in his head, espionage and Mission: Impossible-worthy scenarios. Jensen leans back against the couch armrest, almost falling on top of it thanks to miscalculating the ass distance.
“…I was supposed to be out partying with Chad last night. But I just crashed, man. He left me a message and I-I got up. Felt weird, like tingly, you know? That pins and needles feeling. Went to take a piss and then almost cracked my skull open when I saw. I mean, if this is your idea of me gettin’ to be a mini-you, then congrats, Jen, it fucking worked.”
Mini-you. Shit, it all makes sense now.
“Wait. Remember…” Jensen trails off. He licks his lips, realizes halfway through they aren't his lips-they're Jared's thin ones-and this is just too weird. “Remember what I said, last night? I said I wished you could be me, so you could see how I feel-and, and I wished I could be you, so…” He snaps his fingers. “You’re being taught a lesson!”
Jared rolls his eyes; the gesture's too sarcastic for Jensen’s face. “I’m in your body because of some crap you said last night?”
“There’s research about this,” Jensen starts, ignoring Jared as he rubs his neck. There’s a twinge in his shoulder that wasn’t there before. His whole body aches, like Jared’s hung over. He wouldn't be surprised. “Mind transfer, whole-body transplants, head transplant… They might be able to do it in the future. It's related to the breakdown of molecules. If we went to sleep, and our bodies dematerialized and physically transferred, then… If we just go to sleep again, it might reverse itself. It-It could be something temporary. Like the 24-hour flu.”
“The fuck this is some kind of flu, Jensen. This doesn’t happen.”
Jensen raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth to respond but Jared holds up a finger.
“If I’m being taught a lesson, so are you. Enjoy me while it lasts.” Jared pauses, then scrunches his face. “Wait, on second thought, don’t. Dude, don’t touch my stuff.”
“I have. A lot. Just not while I was you,” Jensen replies. Jared walks past Jensen and plops down onto his couch, sprawling and fumbling for a pillow. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not going anywhere. Neither are you. Not until this thing is reversed. C’mon, you’ve seen those movies. You know, we go transferring, our molecules are flying through the air and then they might stick in something and we’ll end up as Swamp Thing or Spider-Man or-” Jared breaks off, wiping at the hair in his eyes, pushes Jensen's glasses up irritably. “What, it could happen. What if we’re split up and we switch back as we’re sleeping? We stick together and we avoid any freakish Fly problems. I stay here and we can, like, make sure no one else knows about it. Ride it out.”
Jensen hesitates before he moves to a tiny hall closet and pulls out a blanket, throwing it in Jared’s direction. “Don’t snore,” he says weakly, then pauses.
Jared has already caught up. He wriggles on the couch and says irritably, “Since you’re in my body, I think if anyone’s snoring tonight, it’d be you.”
Twenty minutes later and Jensen’s still awake, staring at the bedroom ceiling. The heels of his feet barely brush the end of the bed as he hears a faint snore coming from the living room.
Part Two