RPS Fic: Winter Blue (1/1) Sweet Charity
Winter Blue
SPN RPS: Jared/Jensen
Rating: PG-13
5,522 words.
Unbeta'ed. Sweet Charity fic. For destina . I hope it measures up. Jared has really broad shoulders. Jensen does, too. They're good to each other. A little schmoopy.
One night, Jared stumbles into the house pretty late. He's not fall-on-your-ass drunk, just, you know. Stumbly. He'd been pretty spectacularly bad at beer pong. He has the wingspan, he'd explained to that new PA, of a mighty, mighty gryphon. He requires a table the length of an Olympic-sized pool. He can't be expected to play well when he's hampered by something as puny as a regular sized ping pong table.
The PA doesn't get it. He laughs, sure, but that's because the kid still thinks Jared has any sort of influence on set. Which is untrue. Jared, most days, is just glad that he's not being fired, or used as a human test subject for some new, hideous, placenta-based makeup. Anyway, that's what Jared gets for talking to a PA when he has Jensen, who is an extension of Jared's psyche, really. An imaginary friend come to life.
So Jared goes home.
He can hear Harley barking as he turns the key in the door. He cracks it open, and shoves one knee inside to keep Harley in, shoves his dog back.
"Sh, baby. Or no treats for a week."
Jensen's in front of the TV, asleep. Sadie's wedged between him and the back of the couch, so Jensen's hanging off the cushions a little, one foot braced on the floor. His mouth's open--there's this little puddle of drool on his shoulder--and his hair's smashed flat. From this angle, he looks a little like Ellen Degeneres. Prettier.
Jared gets it, all of a sudden, that he's really damn drunk. He shouldn't have insisted on driving home. He's an ass. His mom would kill him, if she ever found out.
Harley gnaws a little at Jared's fingers.
It's cold. Fucking Canada. All cold and shit. Jared shivers. He walks through the dark house. Jensen never turns on the lights, and he never turns on the heater, and every time their energy bill comes, he says, "Fuck, yeah. Eat it," to nobody. Usually standing in the kitchen, in his boxers, so Jared can clearly see the dude is head to toe gooseflesh. Jensen is, like, this enormous douche in secret.
Jared's footsteps kind of echo, and he gets this all over shake that starts at his spine, and the house smells empty, like there's snow on their hardwood floor. He goes into Jensen's bedroom, and grabs the comforter, dumping piles of dirty laundry onto the ground in the process.
He drags it back down the hallway. Harley comes clicking toward him, and sniffs at the blanket, puts one paw on it, and gets dragged along for a little bit.
Jared stands at the foot of the couch. The TV's buzzing. It's just all noise. He grabs the comforter at two corners and snaps, and it billows up, then down over Jensen. Only Jensen's hair pokes out from underneath.
Jensen says, muffled, "You're home." He clears his throat. "Honey bear."
Jared asks, "What are you watching?"
"Sports bloopers."
"You're this forty-two year old guy," Jared says. "And your kid plays Pee-Wee, but you're not the coach because some kid on another team had their mom take out a restraining order against the over-involved football dad."
Jensen grunts.
"You're this whole other person." Jared sits on the floor, lays his head back against Jensen's shins, his legs stretched out under the coffee table.
He can see the tips of Jensen's fingers out from underneath the comforter. He presses the soft fleshy pad of Jensen's middle finger.
"Boop," Jared says.
"Dude." Jensen sounds sleepy.
"You should never wear my basketball shorts," Jared says.
"Take 'em off, then."
"You think I wouldn't do it." Jared turns his head a little, so Jensen's kneecap digs into the side of his skull. "Anyway. You have scrawny legs. Scrawny chicken legs. You shouldn't wear shorts in general."
"I," Jensen takes a deep, resigned breath, "have big, beefy thighs."
"I can do a million more squats than you."
Harley comes back from patrolling the perimeter of the house. He collapses onto Jared's legs. Like his doggie joints only go from one to another. Jared lays his hand over Harley's muzzle, the short fuzz there like felt against his palm.
Jared feels Jensen move behind him, this resettling. "You woke me up, and now I have to talk to you, all night fucking long. And tonight could have been the night I have an amazing, epic dream. Seventy two virgins."
"You wouldn't know what to do with one virgin."
"Step one: Remove clothing from the lower half. Step two: Pop--" Jensen yawns, big -- "Pop the cherry."
Jared snorts. He flips the comforter back off Jensen's face.
Jensen doesn't flinch. His eyes are closed, lashes a shadow on his cheeks. He's pretending to sleep, but he's awake around his mouth. Smirking a little.
Jared grimaces and swipes at the drool on Jensen's bare shoulder with the side of his hand. "Your Bible just burst into flame." He rubs his hand clean on Harley's fur.
"Overdue."
Jared stretches his arms out, one hooked over Jensen's foot. He puts his other hand palm down on Jensen's face. Just sitting there, because Jensen lets it.
"In the morning," Jensen says, "I'm going to hock a loogie in all your socks." His breath is warm.
Jared can feel Jensen's lips moving. Brushing against his skin. "All squishy. Between my toes."
"Ugh. You're fucking disgusting." Jensen's face scrunches up. He swings his arms up, knocking Jared's hand away.
It's dark, and the shades are drawn, so there's not even streetlights, or moonlight, just tv light, and the room kind of flickers with it. And it's really cold, except for where he's touching Jensen. The nape of his neck. A line along his arms and across his shoulders.
Jensen starts to breathe a little slower. Steadier.
"We should just be boyfriends. Big, gay, celebrity boyfriends." Jared turns to face Jensen, and Harley huffs at the jostling, pads away. "Did you hear me?"
Jensen doesn't answer for a little while. And then he says, "Yes." He pulls his arm out from where it's pinned by Jared's shoulder, lets it swing off the couch. "If I wanted a big, gay, celebrity boyfriend, I would have a big, gay, celebrity boyfriend. And his name would be Neil Patrick Harris."
Jared doesn't say anything.
"I'm Doogie-sexual."
Jared still doesn't say anything. He just presses his mouth to the inside of Jensen's elbow. It's right there. He rubs his lips against and over the hollow, against thin skin and veins.
Jensen opens his eyes. He looks really awake.
Jared just exhales slow, and hot. He drags his lower lip up, across Jensen's skin. He feels a little dumb, doing it.
Jensen clears his throat, looks at Jared for a few seconds. "You're drunk." He rolls his eyes, turns and shifts on the couch until his back is to Jared.
Sadie whines. Her glare is baleful.
Jared tenses his jaw, rubs his eye tiredly. It is pretty damn late.
Jensen looks over his shoulder. "Also, you're sporting massive pit stains."
Jared feels his eyelids droop. He lies back on the floor. "So I have sweat glands," he says, half asleep. "So what?" He yawns, so hard his ears pop.
"Overactive sweat glands."
"I'm built for performance, bu-ddy." He draws the last out.
Jensen grunts. He puts his foot on Jared's chest.
Jared lies there for what feels like a long time. It could have been minutes, all strung together. The ball of Jensen's foot is pressing against Jared's nipple, and that's not entirely bad. Jared crosses his arms under his head.
He hopes Jensen's feet are clean.
He's not sure when he falls asleep.
****
Jared spends a couple weeks working up the courage. Then, one morning, in hair & makeup, in front of Jeannie, and Shannon, and everybody, he says, "I would make a great boyfriend. Better than Doogie. I would be legendary. See? I didn't even make you wait for it."
And Jeannie kind of puts her head down a little lower and fusses at Jensen's hair, like it's all-consuming, while Shannon freezes. She probably wishes she wasn't there. In hindsight, Jared wishes she wasn't either.
But Jensen laughs. Then he asks, "Done?" and when Jeannie nods, he gets up, and shrugs off the hair cutting cape and on his way out, he kisses Jared on the cheek and says, "Whatever you want, pookie. This mancake's all yours."
It cuts the tension, he guesses. A lot of people laugh in Jensen's wake. Jeannie, Shannon, the PA who was standing outside the door. Almost everybody.
****
At the end of the day, Jared follows Jensen to his trailer. They're quiet. It was long today. Jared feels a little slow, but Jensen's in front of him, putting one foot in front of the other, and it makes it easier, somehow, for Jared to do it, too.
He's really tired, and Jensen's always made things simple. It's why they're friends. So, Jared walks into Jensen's trailer. He closes the door. He sits on the couch.
He says, "You're blowing me off."
Jensen doesn't stop. He walks into the bathroom, and leaves the door hanging open. "When?"
"This morning." Jared lays his head back along the top of the couch. He closes his eyes. He listens to Jensen take a leak. "Yesterday, too."
The liquid rush stops. Zip zipping.
Jared opens his eyes.
Jensen's framed in the bathroom doorway, his forearm braced against the doorjamb. He stares hard. "I didn't know I was supposed to take you seriously. The way you said it--" Jensen shrugs.
"Wash your hands, you fucking skeeze."
Jensen rolls his eyes, swipes his tongue deliberately up his left palm. He waggles his eyebrows before he turns back to the sink. Jensen's in a mood.
Jared grins. He looks at Jensen's bowed head in the mirror. He can see a crease between Jensen's eyebrows. He has an urge to deepen his voice, to really intone the thing he's going to say next, but then he remembers he's not really looking for a laugh. "I think we're more than friends."
Jensen looks up into the mirror. His eyes are just normal.
"I think we're more than friends, and I'm glad."
The water's still running.
"Are you glad?"
Jensen's hands are braced on the sides of the sink. His shoulders are really broad. His back is wide. If it wasn't for the mirror, Jared wouldn't see anything but Jensen's broad, wide back.
"The water's still on, man." Jared breathes in, deep. He closes his eyes again, rests his head. "You're wasting it."
"Shit." The water stops running. A towel rustles. "I'm trying to go green," Jensen says.
Jared laughs. He rubs his nose, the ball of his hand against his lips. "I know."
Footsteps. And a quick beat of silence. Then Jared feels lips, Jensen's lips, pressing against his. Firm, and dry, and they slot together, Jared's bottom lip fitting between Jensen's. It lasts, for a good length of time.
It's really warm, and then it's over.
Jared opens his eyes, but Jensen's walking away.
****
They're already friends, and they're already living together.
"I really hate dating," Jensen says.
"Can you not talk?" snaps Roger. Roger's kind of anal. He says stuff about requiring a smooth canvas. And the difficulties and subtle rewards of creating art on the most organic of mediums. Like he's not just a monster makeup guy who's prone to flipping out.
Jared ignores him, narrows his eyes. "You said it was fun, when everything's new. Go forth and multiply, was your advice after Sandy." He flips his finger against the tip of Jensen's nose. "There's nothing new about you."
"Thanks," Jensen drawls. His eyes are closed, but Jared still gets the general idea of a glare.
"Anytime." Jared lets his fingertips hover over Jensen's side, at the soft spot right above Jensen's hips. "Just to clear it up, what I meant is that you're old."
"Yeah, I got that."
Roger whaps Jared's wrist with the handle of a makeup brush, glares.
Jared mouths a 'yeah, yeah' at Roger. He settles back on the counter, long legs reaching almost across the width of the trailer. "And some dudes age really well. Take me for example. My masculine beauty has really started to come into play in just the last few years."
"Mm." Jensen nods. "True."
"But you." Jared sighs regretfully. "I think your heyday may have been Dark Angel. Mid-20's. Right after that real androgynous phase, before the bow-leggedness and wrinkles really set in."
"Short window," Jensen says.
Jared leans forward, puts his palm down on Jensen's knee. His tone drips with sincerity. "You still have the remains of your beauty. Around the edges. Peeking out from the inside."
Jensen holds back a laugh. It's hard to tell, but Jared can see the corners of Jensen's lips twitching.
Roger huffs. "I swear on my mother's lonely, flowerless grave, if I have to do this again, the fucking hand of God won't be able to save your goddamn donkey-fucked asses."
Jared looks up. "The scary part, Rog, is that you never yell these things. I think I would feel better if you yelled shit like that."
"Ah-ah," Jensen says. "Don't call him Rog."
"Shut the fuck up, Ackles." Roger slaps down the edges of the prosthetic broken nose on Jensen's cheeks.
Jensen grunts. "Wow. Firm."
"That's what she said," Jared says.
"The height of comedy," Jensen says.
"Jesus Christ." Roger straightens. "I'm going to the bathroom. Jared, I want your ass gone by the time I get back. Jensen's supposed to be on set in fifteen fucking minutes. And don't get your fucking come all over my shit."
"Mine is moisturizing," Jared points out. "It'd be a favor."
Roger grabs his supply bag, takes it with him, holds up the bird his whole way out.
Jensen laughs.
"Roger's cheery today."
"You're a pain in his ass."
Jared goes to stand behind Jensen, arms hanging down, hands on Jensen's chest. He drums out a beat. "You look hot with a broken nose."
Jensen raises an eyebrow. "You think I look good beat up? I'm pretty sure that's a warning sign."
Jared winks at Jensen in the mirror, touches the tip of his tongue to his upper lip. He's still drumming against Jensen, lightly. "So, I mean. For real.” He doesn't meet Jensen's eyes. “You're not getting bored? Or, I don't know. Are we moving too fast, you think?"
Jensen reaches up, wraps a hand around Jared's forearm. "Why? Do you think that?"
Jared chews on his cheek. "No." He claps his hands on Jensen's shoulders, squeezes. "But you dated a lot more than I did. It was your thing."
"I had a lot of oats to sow. It was an obligation." Jensen's face is grave, and he strokes his chin, turns his best side toward the light.
Jared laughs. "I have oats."
"You're still young. Old guys like me prefer massages to anything." Jensen purses his lips, bounces his shoulders, hinting.
Jared laughs. He digs his thumbs into the back of Jensen's neck, then eases up, rubs. "You're marrying age, is all."
Jensen twists so he can look up at Jared. "That was a shitty ass proposal. I hope to hell that wasn't how you proposed to Sandy."
There's a second, where Jared decides how to react, and then he laughs quiet. "You know what I especially miss? When you're two weeks into dating someone and they're still real considerate of your feelings and it's all just a lot of peace and harmony. And no one brings up proposals, or exes, or times of great heartbreak."
"And the world's sunshine and rainbows, and the Northern Lights dance in the sky every night, no matter where you are." Jensen bites at a hangnail, then studies his cuticles.
"Yep," Jared says. "You just get me."
"Yeah? What brought it home? Northern Lights?" Jensen's reply's muffled because he can't get his fucking nails out of his mouth. Damn oral fixation. Jared shouldn't watch. It's just encouraging the asshole.
"The Aurora Borealis." Jared nods.
Jensen reaches back, gut punches Jared out of nowhere. Hard enough to get an 'oof'. "You know I hate people who call it that."
"This relationship's a joke." Jared cuffs Jensen over the head.
Jensen makes kissy lips at him in the mirror.
Jared glowers. He absolutely does not laugh. "You're making a mockery of our commitment to each other."
Jensen rolls his eyes. He spins in his chair until he's facing Jared. "This from the guy who's freaking out two weeks in."
"I'm not freaking out. I just. Sometimes I feel like I forced you into something." Jared crouches down, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He rests his forearms on Jensen's knees. "There wasn’t a normal progression, you know? We're two weeks in, but we have a house together, and you walk my dogs and the next step is, like. Marriage." He tests it. "After two weeks."
"Dude, I'm not thinking about marriage." Jensen presses his thumb against the tip of Jared's nose. Like he's checking for doneness.
"Really?" Jared's brows knit together. "You're thirty."
Jensen splutters into a laugh. "Man. On second thought, I, too, might enjoy this land of avoidance and consideration and the Northern Lights."
"Aurora Borealis."
Jensen stands up so fast Jared gets a faceful of his crotch. Jensen snickers as he walks over Jared, gets up close to the mirror. "Quarter in the swear jar when we get home, buddy-o-mine."
"It's not a swear jar if it's not for swears." Jared lays back, twists to fit on the floor.
"They're swears."
"Nugget, pillow-lips and Aurora Borealis aren't swears."
"If I think they're swears, and you know I think they're swears, every time you say 'dental dam', it's the equivalent of fuck, shit 'n ass." Jensen pauses. "Swears. Sweeeearrs." He stretches the word out, tests the consonants and vowels.
Jared peers up at Jensen's ass. It's really a pretty decent ass. "I almost never say dental dam any more."
Jensen laughs. He turns away from the mirror, and goes to stand over Jared. His feet on either side of Jared's hips. Jensen bends at the waist, like an ostrich. "That's true." Jared sits up a little, so Jensen can kiss him.
'Pillow lips,' Jared thinks. He gives Jensen's ass a good squeeze.
Jensen doesn't move away. He's really close. Jared keeps anticipating the touch of Jensen's nose, his lips. Waiting. "I like this," Jensen says. "I like what we have right now, and I liked it three days ago, and probably I'll like it in the next twenty minutes. And I know that's not a lot, but you're the best friend I've got, and that makes it more. I think."
"Yeah, okay." Jared makes this frustrated noise in the back of his throat. He bites that muscle, right where Jensen's neck becomes his shoulder. "That's enough."
"Good." Jensen straightens, falls back into the chair. "Then help me fix my face, man. It's like you took a chisel to my make-up. Roger's gonna get your ass fired."
Jared nods and pushes himself up onto his feet. He brushes his ass off. "I should get it taken out of my contract. That whole clause where pretty much anyone can fire me."
"Yeah, dude. That's SAG 101. Come on." Jensen closes his eyes, lifts his face up towards Jared expectantly. "You'd spend a lot less time being forced to blow me in exchange for your continued employment."
Jared rolls his eyes. He grabs a tub Roger left behind, reapplies sloppily. "Good thing. Jaw's sore all the time." He lets his voice go a little breathless, lisps. "Your dick's just so big."
Jensen chokes. When he settles, he braces his hands on his knees and looks up at Jared, grins. "I'm never gonna get out of this trailer. Roger's gonna destroy you."
Jared does a quick sweep. "He's still not back. I'm pretty sure he imploded at some PA somewhere."
"Maybe he sensed our little lover's spat."
Jared grimaces. "Swear jar."
"For lover or spat?"
"That's fifty cents, homes." Jensen sucks his teeth, ignoring the bait, and Jared smirks. He admits, "Don't even remember, really, what I was worried about, before."
Jensen shrugs. "Whatever. You're all into me or something." He smiles at Jared, and it's the one Jared likes the best. Just this normal smile. Really sincere. Like he wants Jared to smile back.
He smiles back.
Jensen's grin goes wider, then he claps his hands together. "Now make me look more bad-ass. Roger's too light with the blues and purples, man. I wanna look fucked. up."
So this is their thing, Jared figures. And it's a good thing.
****
Friday night, they drink beer at home, and play every video game they own combined, which is more than Jared had anticipated. And then they download Street Fighter 2 onto their Xbox and Jensen kicks Jared's ass at that, too.
The twelfth time Dhalsim ends up sprawled across the bottom of the screen and Chun-Li's flashing her stupid fucking peace sign, Jared tosses his controller aside. "I don't want to play anymore."
Jensen takes a pull of his beer. "You big baby. Let's go another round."
"What's the point." Jared grabs Sadie around the waist from where she's sniffing at the discarded controller, pulls her into his lap and squeezes. "There's no fun in losing constantly. Isn't that right, Sadie girl?" She whines and he lets her loose instantly. Whining is just a precursor to teeth.
Jensen looks sideways at him. "I won't play Chun-Li anymore." All conciliatory.
"Screw this." Jared stretches, his shirt riding up over his belly button. "Let's fuuuuuck." He sings out the last part. Reveling in it.
Jensen groans, falls back into the recliner. "Come on."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," Jared roots. He pounds his fists against the floor in time.
Jensen laughs and rolls his eyes. He spreads his legs.
****
Sometimes, when they're still sweating and Jared's just starting to catch his breath, and the sheets are twisted around his calves, Jensen will flop onto his back next to Jared, all satisfied. He'll put his arms up, head cushioned on his hands and say, "And the crowd goes wild-" and then make that fake crowd roar sound, and Jared will be thinking that he kind of misses condoms because they make clean up a lot fucking easier.
He used to pay more attention to the crowd thing. He thought maybe Jensen was doing it for his benefit; that he should, like, be an active audience, or respond in some way.
He doesn't anymore. Jensen just does it, for his own private amusement. It's not weird. Jensen does shit like that all the time.
****
Jared doesn't find out a lot about Jensen that's new, besides, you know. Sexy things. But one thing is that Jensen dances, a lot. Probably more than your average person with a penis. Probably more than your average person with genitalia.
It's not even that Jensen likes to dance. He just. Dances. He does this shuffle kick step thing whenever he wins at anything. Like a touchdown celebration. But stupider.
He takes stairs at a rhythm, bounding up three, two-stepping up the next-stomp. Stomp-stomp. Step, two, three, four. Jared gets in the habit of counting it out.
Every once in a while, they'll be sitting, on set or at home, and Jensen will have his earbuds in, and, out of nowhere, he’ll jump up and start doing these arm-rolling guitar strums, biting his lower lip. Slamming imaginary power chords and generally looking intensely, aggressively white.
And depending on both Jensen’s belt-wearing status and Jared's mood, Jared will come up behind Jensen and pull down his pants. Jensen always continues, undeterred, but this way, there's more for Jared to look at.
He mentions it, once. “Twinkle-toes,” he says.
Jensen freezes one foot planted on the landing, the other on the stair below. He raises an eyebrow, slowly. He spins, lands on two feet, strikes an Elvis pose. “Thank you, thank you very much.”
Jared’s cat-call echoes in the stairwell. He leans forward, gripping the rails on either side. He just wants to get closer.
Jensen laughs, eyes wrinkling at the corners. Jared wants to run his thumb across Jensen’s crow’s feet. Jensen straightens, dusts himself off, and pops his collar. “I’ve got a question, Jay. Where’re we heading again?”
Jared straightens immediately. He thumbs his nose, sniffs. Puts both arms up into a double bicep pose, fingers pointing up. “Eet’s zat way, girly man.” Gets his veins a poppin’.
“Simmer down.” Jensen kisses him. Then he sprints up the stairs with a whoop.
It’s unsportsmanlike, Jared thinks as he scrambles up after him. Racing without call.
****
“Dude, if anything we’re having more fun than before.” Jensen’s folding laundry, phone tucked up under his ear. “Yeah, man. No, it’s no drama, nothing crazy. It’s the same, plus sex. Which is an appreciated development.”
Jared’s working his way through a bunch of bananas. They’re gonna go bad if someone doesn’t eat them. He peels and chews.
“He’s right here, ask him if you want.” Jensen shakes out a shirt, catches Jared’s eye. ‘Josh,’ he mouths. “Relax. You love Jared. You’re just pissed off that I get to have sex, like, a million times a day. I’m having sex right now.”
Jared salutes.
Jensen throws the shirt over his shoulder. He’s still looking at Jared. Like it’s fine, to hold his gaze for that long. Like lingering eye contact is normal, and comfortable, and expected.
Which it is, Jared realizes. That’s one thing different. He shakes a long string of banana peel off his fingers.
“Yeah, I’m fucking Jay as we speak. It’s pretty good.”
“Yeah, baby,” Jared shouts. “Buttfuck me s’more.” Jared chews loudly. He squirts honey into his open mouth, onto the banana mash there. That look in Jensen’s eye is lust, Jared decides. Has to be. “Riiiiiide it, cowboy. Whoo-whee. That’s what I call Texas-style!”
Jensen laughs. “See?” he says into the phone. “It’s just Jared.”
****
There’s this part. A lead. It could be a cool movie. Jared reads for it, does the tape thing, then flies out to LA on a red-eye, straight from set to the airport.
His agent says it’s his to lose, and Saul never says shit like that. Jared checks his breath, makes sure his eyes are clean and sleep-free. He feels scratchy and cramped from the plane, but he lets himself want this job. Really want it, and that does the trick.
The casting director’s bright-eyed, and Jared feels himself respond to that, matching it.
“You ready for this?” she asks.
He beams, showing off perfect, white teeth. “When you are.”
****
His parents are having a hard time. Jared sends them money. He can afford it. He has minimal expenses, and a steady income. The first time, it’s really cool. His mom laughs and says she’s not even going to cash the check, just frame it.
But then he checks his bank account, a few months later. It doesn’t bother him that she cashed it, but it’s strange she didn’t say anything, maybe. He’s not sure if it’s something worth bringing up.
On the phone, his mom starts talking about how hard his dad works. She talks about tuition hikes at Meg’s school. He knows she’s not saying anything, but he hears stuff anyway.
He sends her checks, because it’s only right. He feels grown-up and weighed down. In a solid way. He feels good about it, every time he signs his name, there, in the corner. He feels really good about it, mostly. He thinks about it all the time.
****
Genevieve is sitting on Jared’s back as he does push-ups. As a favor. He’s pretty sure she feels weird about it, but he’d won her over. He’s good at winning people over.
She fidgets, though. Jared doesn’t say anything, because it makes it harder. It’s a better workout. To keep her balanced, to shift tiny muscles, pectoralis minor and the brachialis. His trailer’s small, down-sized after budget cuts, and with Gen on his back, he feels like he’s coloring, very carefully, inside lines.
She grips his t-shirt. “Vanity or necessity?” she asks.
He huffs out a chuckle. “Both,” he says. He likes to be honest, unless he can’t be. He lowers his body down, straining. He trembles on the way up and that’s a good place to stop. He doesn’t want to tip his passenger over.
She finds her feet, and so does he. Jared wipes his face on his sleeve. “Thank you,” he says.
She tucks her hair behind her ears, her smile quick and fleeting. “Yeah.”
She’s still nervous around him. Maybe not nervous, but something. Unsure. That’s ok. He wants to let her know that that’s ok. “I’m glad you’re around, you know?” he says. It’s the easiest thing.
“Thank you.” She lets her smile linger this time. “Anyway. Of the people here, it’s you carrying the show, not me.”
She leaves pretty quick after that. It’s a good note to end on, but Jared feels really tired all of a sudden, when he’s alone.
He wishes Eddie were still around to play some hoops, but most of the assistants were downsized a few weeks ago. Jared wonders when the studio would stop slashing, if he said he'd take a cut in pay.
****
Jensen’s really happy, and Jared feels good about that. He’ll watch Jen--grinning, flirting, mugging--and think, ‘He should always look like that.’
Jared chews his lips raw. If they’re alone, Jensen usually kisses him. It’s this whole cycle.
Jensen’s his best friend, and things have mostly stayed the same. Only everything’s less easy.
****
The shitty thing about things being yours to lose is that, when you lose them, you have no one but yourself to blame. His agent calls with bad news.
“They went another way,” he says. “We should talk, Jared, when you get into town. About the direction of your career. We’ll reassess.” Saul keeps the call short.
He’s quiet all day. Hits his marks, delivers his lines. He gets chattered at a lot, like air whooshing in to fill a negative space.
In the car, on the way home, Jensen turns to him and says, “Dude. What’s up.”
Jared scrunches his eyes closed, takes a deep inhale, then lets it out in a rush. He smiles. “Just tired.”
Jensen takes his hand. He turns it palm up, presses his lips to the center. He blows. Shakes his head at the failed attempt. Tries again and gets this big belching noise. He smirks up at Jared.
Jared laughs. He scratches at his hairline. “Things are just kind of heavy right now.”
“Because of me?” Jensen straightens. He goes more serious than Jared’s seen him in a while.
“No,” Jared says. “It’s not because of you. Swear to God. Okay?”
Jensen looks at him. He doesn’t seem suspicious, just. Watchful.
“I need, like, four naps and I’ll be good.” Jared winks. He’s being reassuring.
Jensen nods. “Okay.”
Jared nods. He closes his eyes, like he’s falling asleep. He keeps the hand Jensen’s holding really still.
Jensen lets it go a few seconds later. Jared sighs, pretends like he’s just stirring in his sleep. It’s so dumb, really. People get overwhelmed all the time. It’s not new.
****
When they get dropped off, Jared shakes himself out, starts up the walk to their front door. Jensen’s behind him.
The house is dark and cold. Jared keeps his jacket on. He goes to the kitchen, does a quick scan of the fridge, freezer and all. He grabs a lime popsicle.
Jensen comes in, and turns on a light. He’s got the dogs with him, leashes. “I’m gonna take ‘em out real fast. Been cooped up for a while.”
Jared nods. “I’ll come with.”
The neighborhood’s quiet, and it’s so cold Jared can see his breath, so cold the popsicle he takes bites of sticks to his lips. There aren’t a lot of streetlights. So the stars are close.
Harley and Sadie snort, their nails clicking against the pavement. Jensen’s right next to Jared. Their arms swing past each other, the fabric of their jackets making sound against each other.
Jared gets the last bite of his popsicle. Sickly sweet where all the syrup dripped down, burning the back of his throat. He chews on the stick.
It’s not quiet. There are all these little noises. Breath and footsteps.
Jensen says, “I love you.”
There isn’t anything else. No qualifiers. Like it’s okay for them to say that to each other. Like that’s normal, for two best friends who have sex, and live together.
Jared looks up. The sky’s that weird, lit black. He can see the moon behind some house’s chimney, and it’s big and round and full. He can feel every inch of it.
They don’t stop. They keep walking. Their hands brush until Jensen catches his. “Give me one thing,” Jensen says. “One thing to make it easier.”
Jared squeezes Jensen’s hand, tight. Jensen's hand is almost as big as his. He wants to answer, he doesn’t want to leave Jensen hanging, but.
He can’t think of a single thing.
It’s really late. Almost three.
THE END