.0127 - It was Comic-Con
Jensen/Jared
762 words
Summary:
© itsokaysammy @tumblr
„Seriously?“
Jensen looks up, meeting Jared’s eyes through the mirror.
He looks tired already, too many rounds of the same questions, boring and unoriginal, way too many answers that lack their content and enthusiasm.
But really, what can they say? They’ve started filming only a few days ago, they haven’t seen more than two scripts. Jared doesn’t know, Jensen doesn’t know, the writers maybe pretend they do, but Jensen openly (but only in private) doubts it. There’s nothing to say, nothing new to reveal. There are hopes, predictions, but blank spaces that desperately need to be filled definitely prevail. The learned lines and the hopeful lies get weary after a while. No matter it’s Comic-Con.
Jensen’s eyebrow arches up in confusion. The innocence in his gaze is completely faked, but so convincing. “What?”
“You know what.” Jared notes, stepping closer. But he can’t even find the strength to be mad, can’t gather enough acting skills to make himself sound anything but amused. “At the freakin’ Comic-Con? What were you thinking?”
Jensen turns around to face him, drying his hands with a paper towel. He throws it into the trash bin and leans against the basin heavily, his whole body sinking on an exhale. He doesn’t quite appear guilty, just a little worried, unsure. “I… wasn’t?”
Jared nods in agreement, he didn’t think so. “Way to go.”
Jensen reaches out, but he stops himself; his fingers curling around the air, just an inch from Jared’s chest. “I just…You looked so calm and content there, even with all these people around, I…” He sighs, obviously trying not to say exactly what he means, trying to find a way around it. Find the words, the different ones. Honest, but not so vulnerable, not so scared. “It didn’t really happen in quite a while.”
The AKF thing. Ever since he’d said it, since he’d admitted that little ‘breakdown’, it’s been always present, always there. Every interview, every hint of an interview’s always found a way how to get there. No longer an elephant in the room that only a few knew about, but a goddamn Argentinosaurus. Really large, and really obvious.
And Jared was glad, he was and still is excited and so thankful to hear that it helps people, open up, find friends, find help… But it’s also keeping all the ghosts around, all the time. They’re never quiet, never invisible. Jensen sees them, too, hears them screaming, it’s all he breathes: worries. It keeps kicking them both into the corner where Jared would crawl into back then, back when it was really bad.
Jensen’s face scrunches up in a sort of painful wince. “Think they mind?”
“They?” There are rows of them, the interviewers, the fans, the nameless faces wandering around who have exactly zero idea of who they even are, their agents, the producers… “Any specific them on your mind?”
“Just… you know, the general them.”
“You know what?” Jared decides after a while. “Screw them.”
Jensen’s surprise is sincere this time; his mouth open on a small ‘o’, head tilted a fraction to the side.
“C’m here.” Jared grips the front of Jensen’s T-shirt, awesome, by the way, and tugs, guiding him closer to himself. He smells so good, still fresh and clean, feels even better. Especially this close, his breath hot on Jared’s lips, his fingers wrapping around Jared’s wrist. Not entirely protesting, not entirely pushing him away.
“But, Jared… in the restrooms?” Jensen sounds downright horrified. But he means it absolutely not at all. “At the freakin’ Comic-Con?”
“Shut up,” Jared suggests, bumping his nose against Jensen’s. His plushy mouth is so close, so damn near, but refusing to actually cooperate.
“Make me.”
So Jared does. He jerks Jensen closer, violently enough to make them both stumble when their bodies collide. But every ounce of laughter dies the second their lips meet.
Months, years, it doesn’t really matter, it’s still the same overwhelming feeling, the same taste. It’s Jensen, it’s them. Fifty shades of secrecy, of touches stolen in public places. Of ‘one day’.
“You know,” Jensen says when pulls away, a little flushed, slightly breathless. “I did want to kiss you there, but… I assumed that that would have been a tad too much.”
Jared shakes his head, impressed. “You’re getting so wise in your old age.”
“Right?” A beat. “Wait, what?”
Jared kisses him again, silencing Jensen’s question, the evident objection and offense in it. “I love you.”
Thirty-seven or fifty-nine, even when he’s putting their careers at risk. He’s worth it all. They are.
762 words
Summary:
© itsokaysammy @tumblr
„Seriously?“
Jensen looks up, meeting Jared’s eyes through the mirror.
He looks tired already, too many rounds of the same questions, boring and unoriginal, way too many answers that lack their content and enthusiasm.
But really, what can they say? They’ve started filming only a few days ago, they haven’t seen more than two scripts. Jared doesn’t know, Jensen doesn’t know, the writers maybe pretend they do, but Jensen openly (but only in private) doubts it. There’s nothing to say, nothing new to reveal. There are hopes, predictions, but blank spaces that desperately need to be filled definitely prevail. The learned lines and the hopeful lies get weary after a while. No matter it’s Comic-Con.
Jensen’s eyebrow arches up in confusion. The innocence in his gaze is completely faked, but so convincing. “What?”
“You know what.” Jared notes, stepping closer. But he can’t even find the strength to be mad, can’t gather enough acting skills to make himself sound anything but amused. “At the freakin’ Comic-Con? What were you thinking?”
Jensen turns around to face him, drying his hands with a paper towel. He throws it into the trash bin and leans against the basin heavily, his whole body sinking on an exhale. He doesn’t quite appear guilty, just a little worried, unsure. “I… wasn’t?”
Jared nods in agreement, he didn’t think so. “Way to go.”
Jensen reaches out, but he stops himself; his fingers curling around the air, just an inch from Jared’s chest. “I just…You looked so calm and content there, even with all these people around, I…” He sighs, obviously trying not to say exactly what he means, trying to find a way around it. Find the words, the different ones. Honest, but not so vulnerable, not so scared. “It didn’t really happen in quite a while.”
The AKF thing. Ever since he’d said it, since he’d admitted that little ‘breakdown’, it’s been always present, always there. Every interview, every hint of an interview’s always found a way how to get there. No longer an elephant in the room that only a few knew about, but a goddamn Argentinosaurus. Really large, and really obvious.
And Jared was glad, he was and still is excited and so thankful to hear that it helps people, open up, find friends, find help… But it’s also keeping all the ghosts around, all the time. They’re never quiet, never invisible. Jensen sees them, too, hears them screaming, it’s all he breathes: worries. It keeps kicking them both into the corner where Jared would crawl into back then, back when it was really bad.
Jensen’s face scrunches up in a sort of painful wince. “Think they mind?”
“They?” There are rows of them, the interviewers, the fans, the nameless faces wandering around who have exactly zero idea of who they even are, their agents, the producers… “Any specific them on your mind?”
“Just… you know, the general them.”
“You know what?” Jared decides after a while. “Screw them.”
Jensen’s surprise is sincere this time; his mouth open on a small ‘o’, head tilted a fraction to the side.
“C’m here.” Jared grips the front of Jensen’s T-shirt, awesome, by the way, and tugs, guiding him closer to himself. He smells so good, still fresh and clean, feels even better. Especially this close, his breath hot on Jared’s lips, his fingers wrapping around Jared’s wrist. Not entirely protesting, not entirely pushing him away.
“But, Jared… in the restrooms?” Jensen sounds downright horrified. But he means it absolutely not at all. “At the freakin’ Comic-Con?”
“Shut up,” Jared suggests, bumping his nose against Jensen’s. His plushy mouth is so close, so damn near, but refusing to actually cooperate.
“Make me.”
So Jared does. He jerks Jensen closer, violently enough to make them both stumble when their bodies collide. But every ounce of laughter dies the second their lips meet.
Months, years, it doesn’t really matter, it’s still the same overwhelming feeling, the same taste. It’s Jensen, it’s them. Fifty shades of secrecy, of touches stolen in public places. Of ‘one day’.
“You know,” Jensen says when pulls away, a little flushed, slightly breathless. “I did want to kiss you there, but… I assumed that that would have been a tad too much.”
Jared shakes his head, impressed. “You’re getting so wise in your old age.”
“Right?” A beat. “Wait, what?”
Jared kisses him again, silencing Jensen’s question, the evident objection and offense in it. “I love you.”
Thirty-seven or fifty-nine, even when he’s putting their careers at risk. He’s worth it all. They are.