Mon Destin Inscrit En Toi
Fandom: Supernatural RPS
Characters: Jensen/Jared (not married, both single)
Summary: It’s the end of season six, the last day, last few minutes of shooting, a few minutes after that, actually, as Jared realized with a panic about five seconds ago...
Wordcount: 1,727
Disclaimer: F.I.C.T.I.O.N.
Beta: whitereflection (Thank you!)
A/N: I haven't posted/written/finished a fic in so damn long I basically forgot how to do it. I don't even know if this is a fic, but considering that it's written and it's not real, I might be close.
For some reason inspired by Jensen's JIBII's T-shirt.
And yes, I'm getting a little nuts here. I need season seven. I really, really do.
Title stolen from Scorpions like about ten seconds ago.
Jensen is talking. At least, Jared is fairly sure that Jensen is saying something, because Jared can see that his lips are moving and he’s not chewing gum, nor eating. Jared doesn’t know what he’s saying though, doesn’t hear a single word that leaves Jensen’s mouth, because he’s just experiencing a little meltdown that occupies every tiny piece of his attention.
It’s the end of season six, the last day, last few minutes of shooting, a few minutes after that, actually, as Jared realized with a panic about five seconds ago, and the set is basically empty. People are always fast to get lost. There are only a few crew members wandering around, rolling cables and cleaning up the area, and Jensen sitting across from Jared, possibly falling asleep.
They could go home, finally, should go home, and pack, and be glad, but neither of them seems to have the strength to really get up and go. Because walking away today is harder than usual. It is the most difficult part of today’s schedule, because it means moving and keeping on going, and leaving. And not knowing what will be then.
They all think, believe, that they will be back in July. That season seven is warranted, but there are still doubts, the maybes and what ifs that everyone seems to try real hard and ignore, because they don’t know where the road beyond leads. And everything they’ve all heard until now were just suppositions based on statistics and more presumptions and rumors and nothing is one hundred percent certain, and no one really knows.
And Jared is scared -- Jared is fucking terrified -- that this is it, this really is the ‘Goodbye’ he’s been waiting for and has been worried about since the middle of season one. And then year after year, over and over again. But this is worse, somehow. This time it’s taking long, too long, some chess movements happening in the command, and it might be important for all of them, but Jared honestly doesn’t care. He just wants to know how many months with Jensen he still has. Wants to hear the final verdict, the ‘No, Supernatural is over’ or the ‘Yes, we’ve been picked up for another season’. He’s never been the patient one. And he sure as hell doesn’t know how to be patient now, when it’s about them, more than he realized before, and they can’t even say a word about it.
Jensen, bathing in the last sunlight of the day, pretends that he doesn’t care so much. Pretends that when he bites the edge of his plastic coffee cup right now it’s not from nervousness, and that he doesn’t stop sometimes and just stare at nothing, thinking so hard about the future that Jared would swear he can hear the gears in his head rolling. He pretends that he’s calm, no matter what, and that he’s not freaking the fuck out, just like Jared. It’s good, Jared assumes, that at least one of them is able to keep their poker face.
It’s not only the show Jared’s leaving, if it comes to that. Although that will already be difficult enough, because this is, without a doubt, the best bunch of people he’s ever worked with. It, most of all, means drifting apart with his co-star and friend. It’s Jensen he’s supposed to say goodbye to, and he’s more than that. He’s so much more. And there were times, good times, Jared knows. Silly, carefree times maybe, when he was even more.
Jared doesn’t even know who had started it at the time, the touching, seemingly accidental and innocent, the kissing, not so innocent or random, but still fairly tentative. Can’t remember who had stopped it either. Or even when. When the whispered ‘Jesus, not here’ and ‘God, I want you’ and ‘Wanna touch you. Kiss you. Feel you.’ and ‘Harder. Deeper. Faster’ had abandoned their vocabulary, but, somehow, it had. And Jared not only doesn’t remember the moment, he can’t even understand why.
Because he still feels what he had felt back then, a couple of summers ago, a few seasons back, and he still wants. To touch, to kiss, to feel. And it’s not Genevieve who he went out with a couple of times, not the random hookups he ended up with when they went to the bar, usually on Fridays, because no one cared they were drained and completely useless the day after. It’s the guy in front of him. The only guy who can make his heart beat faster just with a smile, the sound of his laughter, the sweep of his lashes. Jensen, who somehow made Jared’s world collapse without a tragedy, just with a few scratches and bruises, and a confused ‘What the hell--?’ and ‘How come--?’ But maybe it was never meant to be so serious. Maybe Jared was always looking for more than there was.
Jensen’s sipping on his coffee, his fourth or fifth, Jared stopped counting sometime around noon and now it’s almost sunset, pink lips a shade darker from the heat and upper lip damp with bitterness. He’s sitting on a curb, one leg stretched in front of him, the other curled underneath, head tipped slightly back, letting the fading sunrays stroke his skin, looking as comfortable as ever and rather lazy. He’s wearing his favorite pair of jeans, loose and faded and expensive, at least when it comes to comparing his clothes with Dean, and Jared’s pale blue V-neck T-shirt because he accidentally spilled his coffee on the front of his. Which isn’t exactly true, though, because the right version of this story is that Jensen was run over by one hurried PA. It’s also much funnier, but Jensen is a gentleman and tells the accident the other way. His way. Dean’s heavy boots are gone and Jensen’s foot taps against the concrete, in the rhythm of whatever song plays on his mind now, clad in an old, beaten All-Star sneaker. There isn’t much of Dean in him now. Maybe just on the outside. The little reddened spot on his cheekbone, the stubble that is Dean’s length and his hair that’ll grow like magic beans before they cross the ocean towards Rome. Inside, though, it’s only Jensen, and Jared realizes how much he likes this rather tired, this Dean is gone for who knows how long and I feel kind of empty version of him.
Jared becomes aware that Jensen’s done talking, is quite possibly even waiting for Jared’s reply to whatever question or suggestion he voiced before, only when he catches his gaze, meeting Jensen’s curious and a little worried, a lot tired eyes.
“Jay?” he asks, setting the coffee cup down. It makes a soft, dull thud against the ground, empty, light plastic cup meeting the asphalt, and Jared glances down just long enough to catch the little tremor running through Jensen’s fingers. Nervousness. Faked calm. “Are you listening?”
“No. Yeah. I mean-- Sorry, what?”
“I said, you wanna go home?”
Home. For how long yet? And what then?
“Jen…,” Jared says; it‘s a question, an exclamation, a desperate cry for help. His voice is soft, quieter than he had intended, and sounding panicked even to his own ears.
Jensen stands up and throws the cup into the nearby bin, wiping his hands on the denim of his jeans. “Let’s go home. We’ll watch a movie. Get drunk.”
Jared stands up, too, and grabs Jensen’s hand, his fingers curling around Jensen’s slender wrist a little too tight, and a little too ‘I’m scared, don’t go’. “Jen…,” he says, even more urgently than before, stuck on that simple word and familiar name, unable to move past it.
“I know, Jay,” Jensen replies, and his voice doesn’t sound nearly as calm and composed as just a few seconds ago. It sounds weak and tensed, and worried at the edges. His free hand comes to rest on top of Jared’s, squeezing just a little in Jensen’s patented, ‘It’s okay’ gesture. “But this isn’t it. Not now. Not yet.” He pulls away and frees his hand from Jared’s grip, shoving both hands into the pockets of his jeans instead. ”C’mon, I’ll pay for dinner,” he says, meaning, ‘We’ll talk later. At home.’
But Jared can’t follow, can’t even move. He can’t wait for later, for privacy. Something inside him hurts, rebels. Screams at him. And he can’t keep it inside even if he tried because it feels like it’s growing inside of him, stretching, and that he will burst if he doesn’t say it. So he does. He catches up with Jensen in two fast strides and seizes his elbow, tugging him back and around, until they’re face to face and then yanks him even closer. “I love you.”
Jensen blinks, this stupid, surprised and absolutely adorable blink, and his mouth falls open on a voiceless, never-spoken question ‘What?’ He looks fairly perplexed and taken by surprise, as if he'd thought he'd known what Jared was thinking but hadn't expected this. Not here. Not now.
And then Jared kisses him. His fingers splay over Jensen’s rough cheek, his thumb sliding lower to curl around his jawline and tilt his head a little higher, and someone gasps. There are a few cat-calls and a couple of admiring whistles, and it should be scary, odd at least, and Jared doesn’t understand how come there are so many people around all of a sudden, but he doesn’t really care. They are family after all, their family, and they probably already know, knew, and won’t tell. And because Jensen’s slowly melting in his hold, his lips parting beneath the press of Jared’s, and it’s sweet and leisure, and fucking perfect, and completely like Jensen. The kiss tastes like bitter coffee and sour-sweet strawberry strips -- the wrappers for which still rustle in the back pocket of Jared’s jeans -- and quite probably like all the kisses before. And Jared suddenly doesn’t care if there is season seven or eight or maybe ten, or none at all, because there’s now and then there’s then. And right now he’s pretty much content with just kissing Jensen -- Jensen who is kissing back, and who sure knows how because Jared is fucking aching from that and for more. And then… Then will come later.
Fin
Thank you for reading!
Characters: Jensen/Jared (not married, both single)
Summary: It’s the end of season six, the last day, last few minutes of shooting, a few minutes after that, actually, as Jared realized with a panic about five seconds ago...
Wordcount: 1,727
Disclaimer: F.I.C.T.I.O.N.
Beta: whitereflection (Thank you!)
A/N: I haven't posted/written/finished a fic in so damn long I basically forgot how to do it. I don't even know if this is a fic, but considering that it's written and it's not real, I might be close.
For some reason inspired by Jensen's JIBII's T-shirt.
And yes, I'm getting a little nuts here. I need season seven. I really, really do.
Title stolen from Scorpions like about ten seconds ago.
Jensen is talking. At least, Jared is fairly sure that Jensen is saying something, because Jared can see that his lips are moving and he’s not chewing gum, nor eating. Jared doesn’t know what he’s saying though, doesn’t hear a single word that leaves Jensen’s mouth, because he’s just experiencing a little meltdown that occupies every tiny piece of his attention.
It’s the end of season six, the last day, last few minutes of shooting, a few minutes after that, actually, as Jared realized with a panic about five seconds ago, and the set is basically empty. People are always fast to get lost. There are only a few crew members wandering around, rolling cables and cleaning up the area, and Jensen sitting across from Jared, possibly falling asleep.
They could go home, finally, should go home, and pack, and be glad, but neither of them seems to have the strength to really get up and go. Because walking away today is harder than usual. It is the most difficult part of today’s schedule, because it means moving and keeping on going, and leaving. And not knowing what will be then.
They all think, believe, that they will be back in July. That season seven is warranted, but there are still doubts, the maybes and what ifs that everyone seems to try real hard and ignore, because they don’t know where the road beyond leads. And everything they’ve all heard until now were just suppositions based on statistics and more presumptions and rumors and nothing is one hundred percent certain, and no one really knows.
And Jared is scared -- Jared is fucking terrified -- that this is it, this really is the ‘Goodbye’ he’s been waiting for and has been worried about since the middle of season one. And then year after year, over and over again. But this is worse, somehow. This time it’s taking long, too long, some chess movements happening in the command, and it might be important for all of them, but Jared honestly doesn’t care. He just wants to know how many months with Jensen he still has. Wants to hear the final verdict, the ‘No, Supernatural is over’ or the ‘Yes, we’ve been picked up for another season’. He’s never been the patient one. And he sure as hell doesn’t know how to be patient now, when it’s about them, more than he realized before, and they can’t even say a word about it.
Jensen, bathing in the last sunlight of the day, pretends that he doesn’t care so much. Pretends that when he bites the edge of his plastic coffee cup right now it’s not from nervousness, and that he doesn’t stop sometimes and just stare at nothing, thinking so hard about the future that Jared would swear he can hear the gears in his head rolling. He pretends that he’s calm, no matter what, and that he’s not freaking the fuck out, just like Jared. It’s good, Jared assumes, that at least one of them is able to keep their poker face.
It’s not only the show Jared’s leaving, if it comes to that. Although that will already be difficult enough, because this is, without a doubt, the best bunch of people he’s ever worked with. It, most of all, means drifting apart with his co-star and friend. It’s Jensen he’s supposed to say goodbye to, and he’s more than that. He’s so much more. And there were times, good times, Jared knows. Silly, carefree times maybe, when he was even more.
Jared doesn’t even know who had started it at the time, the touching, seemingly accidental and innocent, the kissing, not so innocent or random, but still fairly tentative. Can’t remember who had stopped it either. Or even when. When the whispered ‘Jesus, not here’ and ‘God, I want you’ and ‘Wanna touch you. Kiss you. Feel you.’ and ‘Harder. Deeper. Faster’ had abandoned their vocabulary, but, somehow, it had. And Jared not only doesn’t remember the moment, he can’t even understand why.
Because he still feels what he had felt back then, a couple of summers ago, a few seasons back, and he still wants. To touch, to kiss, to feel. And it’s not Genevieve who he went out with a couple of times, not the random hookups he ended up with when they went to the bar, usually on Fridays, because no one cared they were drained and completely useless the day after. It’s the guy in front of him. The only guy who can make his heart beat faster just with a smile, the sound of his laughter, the sweep of his lashes. Jensen, who somehow made Jared’s world collapse without a tragedy, just with a few scratches and bruises, and a confused ‘What the hell--?’ and ‘How come--?’ But maybe it was never meant to be so serious. Maybe Jared was always looking for more than there was.
Jensen’s sipping on his coffee, his fourth or fifth, Jared stopped counting sometime around noon and now it’s almost sunset, pink lips a shade darker from the heat and upper lip damp with bitterness. He’s sitting on a curb, one leg stretched in front of him, the other curled underneath, head tipped slightly back, letting the fading sunrays stroke his skin, looking as comfortable as ever and rather lazy. He’s wearing his favorite pair of jeans, loose and faded and expensive, at least when it comes to comparing his clothes with Dean, and Jared’s pale blue V-neck T-shirt because he accidentally spilled his coffee on the front of his. Which isn’t exactly true, though, because the right version of this story is that Jensen was run over by one hurried PA. It’s also much funnier, but Jensen is a gentleman and tells the accident the other way. His way. Dean’s heavy boots are gone and Jensen’s foot taps against the concrete, in the rhythm of whatever song plays on his mind now, clad in an old, beaten All-Star sneaker. There isn’t much of Dean in him now. Maybe just on the outside. The little reddened spot on his cheekbone, the stubble that is Dean’s length and his hair that’ll grow like magic beans before they cross the ocean towards Rome. Inside, though, it’s only Jensen, and Jared realizes how much he likes this rather tired, this Dean is gone for who knows how long and I feel kind of empty version of him.
Jared becomes aware that Jensen’s done talking, is quite possibly even waiting for Jared’s reply to whatever question or suggestion he voiced before, only when he catches his gaze, meeting Jensen’s curious and a little worried, a lot tired eyes.
“Jay?” he asks, setting the coffee cup down. It makes a soft, dull thud against the ground, empty, light plastic cup meeting the asphalt, and Jared glances down just long enough to catch the little tremor running through Jensen’s fingers. Nervousness. Faked calm. “Are you listening?”
“No. Yeah. I mean-- Sorry, what?”
“I said, you wanna go home?”
Home. For how long yet? And what then?
“Jen…,” Jared says; it‘s a question, an exclamation, a desperate cry for help. His voice is soft, quieter than he had intended, and sounding panicked even to his own ears.
Jensen stands up and throws the cup into the nearby bin, wiping his hands on the denim of his jeans. “Let’s go home. We’ll watch a movie. Get drunk.”
Jared stands up, too, and grabs Jensen’s hand, his fingers curling around Jensen’s slender wrist a little too tight, and a little too ‘I’m scared, don’t go’. “Jen…,” he says, even more urgently than before, stuck on that simple word and familiar name, unable to move past it.
“I know, Jay,” Jensen replies, and his voice doesn’t sound nearly as calm and composed as just a few seconds ago. It sounds weak and tensed, and worried at the edges. His free hand comes to rest on top of Jared’s, squeezing just a little in Jensen’s patented, ‘It’s okay’ gesture. “But this isn’t it. Not now. Not yet.” He pulls away and frees his hand from Jared’s grip, shoving both hands into the pockets of his jeans instead. ”C’mon, I’ll pay for dinner,” he says, meaning, ‘We’ll talk later. At home.’
But Jared can’t follow, can’t even move. He can’t wait for later, for privacy. Something inside him hurts, rebels. Screams at him. And he can’t keep it inside even if he tried because it feels like it’s growing inside of him, stretching, and that he will burst if he doesn’t say it. So he does. He catches up with Jensen in two fast strides and seizes his elbow, tugging him back and around, until they’re face to face and then yanks him even closer. “I love you.”
Jensen blinks, this stupid, surprised and absolutely adorable blink, and his mouth falls open on a voiceless, never-spoken question ‘What?’ He looks fairly perplexed and taken by surprise, as if he'd thought he'd known what Jared was thinking but hadn't expected this. Not here. Not now.
And then Jared kisses him. His fingers splay over Jensen’s rough cheek, his thumb sliding lower to curl around his jawline and tilt his head a little higher, and someone gasps. There are a few cat-calls and a couple of admiring whistles, and it should be scary, odd at least, and Jared doesn’t understand how come there are so many people around all of a sudden, but he doesn’t really care. They are family after all, their family, and they probably already know, knew, and won’t tell. And because Jensen’s slowly melting in his hold, his lips parting beneath the press of Jared’s, and it’s sweet and leisure, and fucking perfect, and completely like Jensen. The kiss tastes like bitter coffee and sour-sweet strawberry strips -- the wrappers for which still rustle in the back pocket of Jared’s jeans -- and quite probably like all the kisses before. And Jared suddenly doesn’t care if there is season seven or eight or maybe ten, or none at all, because there’s now and then there’s then. And right now he’s pretty much content with just kissing Jensen -- Jensen who is kissing back, and who sure knows how because Jared is fucking aching from that and for more. And then… Then will come later.
Fin
Thank you for reading!