The Song on Track 5 (The Deconstruction of Jared Padalecki)
Title: The Song on Track Number 5
Chapter: The Deconstruction of Jared Padalecki
Written by: keepaofthecheez and la_folle_allure
(courtesy of lostt1)
---[ track one ] You’re My Best Friend
Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly philosophical, Jared figured maybe it was Fate that had thrown him and Jensen together. Destiny, or some such shit. To what end he didn’t know, but he liked to entertain himself with the idea that he and Jen were meant to do incredible things together; that the world had simply been waiting for their chemistry to collide and bring life to…something.
And yeah, it was sappy as fuck and Jared would never actually own up to thinking that, but there was really no other way to explain the way he and Jensen fit; the way they complemented each other so easily, even from the very first moments they’d spent together. Jared hadn’t been in the business as long as Jensen, but he’d been around long enough to know that that kind of stuff just didn’t happen in the acting world.
Sure, he’d loved his time on Gilmore Girls, and Chad was a great guy and Jared liked hanging out with him and all, but where his and Chad’s relationship was built more on time and history and just having practically grown up together on set, Jared’s relationship with Jensen just…was. From the get-go. It was like there’d been no “getting to know you” period between them; just “Hi, I’m Jared” “I’m Jensen” and then, bam.
Insta-best friends.
They got a lot of good-natured ribbing from nearly everyone over it, but Jared didn’t really give a damn. Sometimes he suspected that Jensen did, but Jared knew better than anyone how hard it was for Jensen to open up about things. Well, with people other than Jared, anyway. The hints of reserve and timidity that came through in interviews barely skimmed the true depths of Jensen’s quiet persona.
See, the thing was…Jensen could be as loud and obnoxious as Jared. Hell, get the guy drunk and you could watch him strip and dance on the tables - and Jared had to bite back a grin at the reminder of that memorable event - but Jensen chose his company well. Carefully. It had only taken a few mishaps in his early career, and Jensen had locked down and barely let the wild guy out in front of anyone.
He was perfectly happy to let Jared play the Jerry Lewis to his Dean Martin; to sit back as Jared made an ass out of himself, all wide grin and smart-ass remarks, while Jensen just looked on with an indulgent smile on his face.
Yin and yang. White and black. Salt and pepper…and Jared was running out of decent comparisons, but the point was, he and Jensen just balanced one another.
For example.
They had an early call that morning, and as Jared had showered off the perspiration from his daily morning run, he’d just known that Jensen’s ass would still be in bed, alarm clock probably going off in his ear. How the hell Jensen managed to sleep through that shrill motherfucking thing Jared would never understand, but then all one really did need to understand was that Jensen wasn’t a morning person. The end.
Whereas Jared liked to be up with the sunrise, pumped and ready for whatever the day might bring. Jensen joked and chalked it up to Jared’s “youth and vitality”; overly exaggerating the mere four year age difference between them, and Jared would hit him over the head with whatever object he had handy, but all teasing aside, they had each other’s backs.
Jared kept Jensen from oversleeping morning call and hooking up with (anymore) Playboy models, and Jensen kept Jared from looking like a complete and total ginormous dorkus everywhere he went. With only partial success.
When Jared stepped through Jensen’s front door, the key Jensen had given him dangling from his fingers, he fully expected to find the place utterly silent and Jensen sleeping like the dead. Instead, the sound of running water greeted his ears, so he shrugged off his outer coat, tossing it haphazardly onto the small kitchen table before bounding up the stairs. Now that he was here, and Jensen was obviously awake, he could relax while he waited for Jensen to finish up.
He crossed the master bedroom, stopping in front of the partially closed bathroom door with fist poised to knock and mouth open to announce his presence. And then, he heard it. He pressed closer against the door, straining to listen, an odd sort of feeling working its way through his system. A wide grin stretched across his lips as the humming became more identifiable, and plans of mockery began to solidify in his mind. And really, just hearing Jensen singing the theme song to Freakazoid was enough to keep Jared in hysterics for at least a month.
The second Jensen’s waterlogged voice called out, “Freaka me, freaka you!” Jared completely lost it and turned away from the bathroom, his fist barely concealing a bark of laughter as he headed back downstairs for the kitchen. He was still snickering when Jensen came downstairs ten minutes later, barefoot and shirtless as he finished zipping up a pair of faded jeans. “You better not have drunk the whole damn pot,” he muttered glancing up from his fly to stare at Jared through sleep-heavy eyes.
Jared nodded toward the coffee pot, sipping at his own overly-sweetened mug of decaf. Jensen and Chad both made fun of him for it, but Jared couldn’t really handle much caffeine. He loved coffee, but it made him jerky and jumpy and he was already way too fucking hyper as it was, so it was decaf or sweet tea. And Jensen was a coffee-drinker so, when in Rome…
Jensen was whistling under his breath, back to Jared as he made his own cup before turning and taking a sip with a deep sigh of appreciation. Jared watched him idly, hip pressed up against the opposite counter as he thought of how best to make fun of Jensen for his shower sonata.
And then, Jared realized - he’d never actually heard Jensen singing before. Sure, he knew that Jensen did, had known it from almost that first night they’d gone out and gotten drunk together, sharing secrets and conquests and telling tall-tales and the like. He’d just never actually listened to Jensen sing.
His smile tipped at the edges, and that same fleeting awkwardness he’d felt standing outside of Jensen’s bathroom door returned as his fingers clenched around his mug. He’d never really thought about the fact that Jensen didn’t sing around him, although he’d professed to love it so much that night two years ago. And suddenly, for whatever reason, it became crucial that Jared hear Jensen sing, while Jensen knew he was listening.
Jensen was watching him, a puzzled little smile curving his lips, head cocked as if to say “What’s up, dude?” and Jared blinked. Then grinned, long and slow as he sat his cup down on the counter.
“Pretty good stuff,” he drawled when Jensen took another sip of coffee, lids fluttering in blatant appreciation of the beverage.
Jensen grunted his agreement, tongue snaking out to catch a drop that lingered on his lower lip. And Jared just kept on smiling, innocently, as he added, “Hey, Jensen?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s the best part of waking up again?”
Jensen frowned at Jared’s sing-song tone, then followed Jared’s pointed gaze toward the can of Folgers coffee grounds, and rolled his eyes before taking another sip. His expression clearly read whatever, dude.
“Come on,” Jared pressed cheerfully, moving closer and nudging Jensen’s shoulder with his own before humming the first few bars of the theme song himself. He was met with nothing but silence, and huffed out a breath. “Man, I know you know the words.”
“Are you on something, Jared?” Jensen finally answered, a suspicious gleam in his eyes. “I mean, Mike didn’t give you anything, did he? Because you know not to take any of the weird crap Mike-”
“Oh, just forget it,” Jared grumbled, stepping back and feeling more disappointed than he cared to admit. So, what, Jensen wanted to play dumb? Fine. It was no skin off Jared’s nose.
Which really made it all the more frustrating when Jared found himself, a half hour later, trying to trick Jensen into singing for him on the way to the set. He’d even gone as far as to switch the radio to Jensen’s favorite local station, classic rock filtering out from the speakers as Jensen shot him a surprised look.
“Nice,” he grinned, sitting back and tapping his fingers against his thighs as John Fogerty sang about fortunate sons. He tilted his head, fluttering long lashes at Jared. “Am I supposed to put out now, Padalecki?”
Jared didn’t even acknowledge the joke, eyes flicking back and forth between the road and Jensen as his fingers tightened ever-so-slightly around the steering wheel. “Like this song?”
“Well, yeah,” Jensen answered, slipping on a pair of sunglasses and looking way more cool and collected than any one person had a right to. Despite the fact that they both hailed from the same state, Jensen wore sophistication like a second skin, and Jared had often wondered why that didn’t make him feel even more like a backwater hick from San Antone. It probably should, but Jensen had never let it.
Jared shot another look over, and licked his lips. Then just went for it. After all, subtlety had never been his forte. “Sing it for me,” he said, hoping his voice sounded light and teasing and not nearly as desperate as he actually felt.
“What?” Jensen laughed, sounding like Jared had suddenly started speaking in tongues and doing back flips across water.
“Sing,” Jared tried again, a little harder, and when he looked over again it was to find Jensen staring at him through the mirrored lenses. Jensen’s eyes were obviously unreadable, but his expression adequately reflected his surprise. And hesitation.
“Nah, man,” Jensen laughed again, this time a little awkwardly, and Jared silently cursed himself as Jensen then quickly changed the subject to, well, Jared had no idea, because he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention anymore.
And so it lasted throughout the day; Jared trying out various methods in an attempt to scam Jensen into singing something, anything, and Jensen brushing him off or changing the subject or just pretending he had no idea what Jared was even talking about.
Maybe it was time to bring in the big guns.
---[ track two ] One Thing Leads to Another
It was while in his trailer, washing off the day’s makeup and grit, that Jared realized that the answer had been staring him in the face all along. Because if anyone, anyone, would know how to trip Jensen up and get him to do something he was obviously trying not to do, it would be Michael Rosenbaum.
Jack-Ass Prankster Extraordinaire.
Of course, using Mike as a resource meant he’d actually have to go to Mike. Which just spelled disaster all around, because if there were ever two people who shouldn’t be left to their own devices, it was him and Rosenbaum.
He still hadn’t lived down the time he and Mike had gotten drunk together and Jared had woken up the next morning with a ring through his left nipple and shrieking like a little girl. It was a source of great amusement for Jensen, who took every opportunity to remind Jared of his mishap - usually during press junkets when he’d rest his hand on Jared’s chest and tweak the piercing until Jared was nearly crying from over-sensitization.
It took Mike exactly two seconds to realize something was wrong when Jared showed up at his place later that day, and he leaned against the front door with a smirk on his face, arms crossed and teeth flashing. “Did Dorothy lose her way home?” he drawled. “Click your heels three times and beware of munchkins.”
“Fuck you, you’re the one with the red stilettos,” Jared grumbled, too irritated to deal with Michael’s weird-ass sense of humor. “Listen, I need a favor.”
Mike’s eyes took on an intrigued gleam, and Jared was mildly amused as he watched Lex Luthor practically come to life before him. “Oh, do go on.”
Jared drew in a breath, quickly weighing his options again before just blurting it out. “I need your help to get Jensen on tape singing. Like, for a prank,” he added so that he wouldn’t sound completely and utterly pathetic. “And I know you’re the man or whatever, so I figured maybe you could help me set it up or…”
Michael’s gaze cleared, and he made a dismissive sound before waving a hand at Jared to follow him. “Dude, that’s all? I got a shitload of tapes of him you can borrow…hold up, come on in and I’ll burn them to a disc for you. It’s about time Jenny got himself knocked down a peg…Sexiest TV Guy, my ass…”
But Jared couldn’t move. He was still stuck on the fact that Mike - Michael fucking Rosenbaum - had heard Jensen sing. And apparently had records of the event. Some emotion shot through him that he couldn’t quite put a name to, but he guessed it felt about the same as Mike taking a butcher knife and stabbing him in the gut.
“Dude, you coming?” Mike’s voice called from inside, and Jared started in surprise; feeling numb and light-headed as he followed Mike through the house to the basement/karaoke parlor Mike had set up to resemble the larger one in his Los Angeles pad.
Mike was squatting in front of a large cabinet, chuckling to himself as he flipped through stacks of tapes, and Jared caught fleeting glimpses of various names Magic Marker-ed across the fronts…Tom, Barry, Harland, Allison…
“You know, one of these days I’m gonna get your name in here,” Mike was saying with glee in his voice, and then snapped up straight, waving several tapes in his hand. “A ha! Jack-pot.”
Jared plopped down in a nearby chair, fingers drumming nervously as Mike got to work burning Jensen’s tapes onto disc. When Michael finally turned around to face him again, Jared came to his feet. He could only manage a weak grin, sticking out his hand as Mike walked across the room towards him. “Thanks, man. You…this really helps. A lot.”
And it must’ve been something in his tone, or his stance, or possibly the look on his face, because Mike just...stopped. Stared at Jared with a considering expression coloring his features before that smirk - that damn smirk that warned of bad things to come - slid across Mike’s mouth, and he just…leered.
“You want this, huh?” he waved the disc, almost tauntingly, and Jared’s blood pressure began to rise. “You know…I’m a businessman, Padalecki.”
“You’re a fucking prick,” Jared snapped, reaching out to try and snatch the tapes and make a run for it, but for all that Jared was bigger, Michael was as slippery as a snake.
“And as a businessman,” Mike continued slyly, “I’m really interested in seeing what I can get for, well, everything.” Michael was clearly enjoying himself now, and Jared could just feel the embarrassment creeping along his features, because Mike knew. Of course he knew.
“What do you want, asshole?” he managed through his teeth, trying to remember that Mike was his friend, his colleague in a way, and that punching him in the face probably wasn’t the best idea, all things considered.
And then, Mike moved in close, until there was barely any room separating them from one another, and leaned up until he was totally up in Jared’s personal space. “Just you, baby,” he murmured, looking like sin personified, and Jared froze, shocked to the soles of his shoes.
A split-second later, Mike cracked up, shoving at Jared’s chest and shaking his head. “Sorry, you’ll only get this in your dreams, young Padawan. Now scurry off to your boyfriend before mine gets jealous.”
Jared sputtered at him, unsure of what to even say, and Mike continued laughing his ass off as Jared finally turned in a daze and headed for his car. He’d just opened the door to get in when Mike called his name from the doorway. Squeezing his eyes shut briefly and wishing he was already home so he could just throw shit against the wall, Jared turned his head to find Mike watching him with that same shit-eating grin.
“Make sure you check out track number five,” was all Mike said. Then he grabbed his crotch and shook it obscenely. “Gets me all hot and tingly right here, every time.”
“Fuck you,” Jared managed, slamming the car door to the sound of Michael’s maniacal “You still owe me!” followed by more laughter. The entire ride home, which really only lasted about twenty minutes, he could practically feel the CD sitting there. On the passenger seat. Mocking him.
He couldn’t listen to it in the car, not when he was feeling too fucked up and angry that Jensen was obviously willing to share a side of himself with Michael Rosenbaum that he wouldn’t share with Jared.
He needed to chill the fuck out before he heard whatever was on that disc.
He stormed into his apartment, CD clutched in his fist as Sadie and Harley ran up to greet him, barking and obviously expecting the usual attention Jared gifted them with each and every minute he was at home.
Jared walked right past them. Didn’t even stop to check the bowls of water on the kitchen floor, or to make sure Harley hadn’t wound up munching on the couch while he’d been gone. Sadie’s offended sniff and Harley’s disappointed whimper didn’t even register as he flung his stuff on the couch, storming down the hall to his bedroom with the CD still in hand.
He walked right over to his stereo system, hand trembling as he inserted the disc and prepared to queue the music. His finger hovered over the play button for several long seconds, and then he spun around and dragged a palm down his face.
Christ, was this really the kind of friend he was? Jensen obviously didn’t want him to hear him sing, for whatever reason, and here was Jared…going behind his back to a mutual friend and digging up whatever dirt he could get his hands on.
He curled up on his bed, emotions mixed. On the one hand, Jensen was his best friend, so he should respect his privacy. It wasn’t rocket science. But on the other hand, Jensen was his best friend and was fucking hiding something from him.
He had the fleeting thought that had this been Chad, or any of his other friends from the industry or back home, he’d have shrugged it off and forgotten about it. But this was Jensen. And when push came to shove, Jared found he couldn’t quite deal with that.
He sat up, swallowing hard as he reached for the remote and pressed RANDOM. There was a moment of static as the disc started, and then…well, Jared wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to hear, but Tom Welling’s voice sure as hell hadn’t been it.
“I warned you, man. He’s fucking persistent.”
“Diligent, Tommy. Diligent.”
Jared frowned, wondering what the hell Mike had given him, and then he heard something bouncy and bubbly start playing, and Jensen’s slurred laughter.
“Fuck you, Rosenbaum. You wanna sing so bad? Be my guest.”
“But Jensen, you gotta have faith!”
And Jared, surprisingly, found himself grinning in return as George Michael’s voice echoed over the CD, and Jensen began cursing, and Tom was laughing, and Mike was singing along - badly - and then Jensen started singing, still laughing and swearing vengeance upon Mike’s head, but he sounded happy and, yeah, drunk, but a happy drunk.
And Jared couldn’t stop smiling; feeling like a lead weight had been lifted from his chest. Everything he’d been worried about evaporated in the midst of Jensen’s voice singing eighties pop and obviously enjoying it because, really, when Jensen was happy, Jared was, too.
And that was all there was to it.
He found himself singing along with Jensen, through the rest of Faith and (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction and Beat It - which was nearly enough to make Jared forgive Michael Rosenbaum for every transgression that had ever been laid at his feet. Feeling light-hearted and back to his normal self, Jared paused the CD and headed downstairs.
This time, he met his dogs with a smile on his face, crouching down to let Harley lick at his fingers as he fed him some treats. Sadie took a little more coaxing, but eventually she forgave his earlier behavior as well, tail twitching as she nosed at his knee in a not-so-subtle demand for dinner.
Later as Jared was getting ready for bed, he started the CD again, chuckling as he brushed his teeth to the sound of Jensen and Mike karaoking to I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That). He was pulling off his shirt, getting ready to slide between the sheets when the track changed again.
And Jared froze.
The music that was thrumming through his speakers was devoid of all the 80s synth-pop that Mike was so fond of and instead consisted of a single guitar, a gloomy melody, and Jensen. Jared’s eyes flickered to the glaring red TRACK 5 highlighted on his CD player.
He couldn’t quite reconcile what he knew of Jensen with what he was hearing now; this utterly broken and shattered person who seemed to have emotions inside of him that Jared didn’t even know existed. He just sort of stood there, shirt half-off and biceps burning from where cotton dug into skin, but he honestly couldn’t move and do anything about it.
Only when the song ended did he blink, starting, pulling his shirt the rest of the way off with jerky movements before grabbing for the remote and skipping back.
Playing song number five again.
And then, again.
He tried to listen to the entire CD after that, desperately needing to prove to himself that he could, but he never got any farther than track 5. The third time it happened, Jared finally gave up and pressed repeat, falling back onto his bed with a solid thud and staring unblinkingly at the ceiling as Jensen’s raw voice filled his bedroom.
Jared slept for a total of thirty minutes that night.
---[ track three ] (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction
Jared woke up again almost as soon as he’d fallen asleep, cranky and exhausted and hard as fucking hell, although he couldn’t remember having dreamt about anything that would warrant the massive wood he’d sprung. Shrugging it off, he pressed his hand against the erection stretching the seam of his boxers, idly palming himself as he struggled to finish waking up.
Within minutes, the lazy hand play had turned to something altogether more serious, and it wasn’t any time at all before he’d lost the underwear and was jerking his cock in long, tight-fisted strokes. The promise of relief hovered on the near horizon, and Jared could just feel the crappiness ebbing away as his orgasm drew closer. He dug his heels into the mattress, hips lifting, and then there was a loud click, some static, and Jared registered two things at once.
He’d fallen asleep with Jensen’s CD still playing. And Jensen was still. Singing. Goddamn Track Number Five.
He let go of his cock as if it had burned him, sitting up so quickly that a slash of pain knifed through his forehead, but he ignored that in favor of freaking the hell out that he’d just been masturbating to the sound of his best friend’s voice.
Okay. Wait. He needed to back the hell up. He hadn’t realized that he’d left the CD on, hadn’t even noticed it when he’d started touching himself. This wasn’t about Jensen or his singing or anything other than the fact that Jared had woken up horny, which was pretty fucking usual, and needed to jerk off before work.
He moved to take his dick in hand again, still hard and aching, but just couldn’t bring himself to finish the job while Jensen’s voice continued to play out through his speakers. Jared half-dragged himself out of the bed, stumbling toward the stereo and slapping the OFF button before heading to the shower.
He tried to jerk off twice while the hot water pelted his back, hand pressed up against the tile and feet spread apart; teeth sinking into his lower lip and tongue darting out to lick the upper one. But every time he’d get close, every time he could feel the come nearly bursting at his slit, he’d remember the sound of Jensen’s voice, and he just. Couldn’t. Fucking. Do it.
When he finally made it to work, a half-hour later than usual, he was feeling downright pissy at being deprived of a full night’s sleep and his morning orgasm. Not to mention that it was apparently I Love the 80’s week on all the radio stations he’d programmed in his car, and he’d had to listen to not one, but two of the songs from Jensen’s CD on the way.
If someone was trying to punish him, they were doing a helluva good job so far.
It didn’t help matters any further that the first person he saw when he got on set was Jensen, looking sleepy but rested as he sprawled out in his director’s chair, sipping from a Styrofoam cup and smiling at Jared as he approached.
The smile slipped just a bit when he caught sight of Jared’s expression, and Jared wondered if he really looked as shitty as he felt. This question was confirmed the next second when Jensen whistled and handed over the coffee. “Dude. You look like you need this more than I do.”
Jared just glared back through half-slitted eyes, snatching the cup away and downing the steaming hot liquid in one long gulp. Jensen’s eyes went a little wide as Jared started choking, and he made a move to get out of his seat. “Jared, what the fuck…are you all right?”
“M’fine,” Jared managed, crumpling the cup in his hand and tossing it into a nearby trash can. Jensen didn’t look like he quite believed him, but didn’t say anything else as Jared flopped down into the other chair and shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket.
Several of moments of silence passed before Jensen cleared his throat. “So,” he said, sounding way too fucking happy and carefree for Jared’s bitchy mood, “today should be cool, right? I hear they’re finally letting you get a little action, man.” He punctuated this statement with a wink and a shoulder nudge, then started to talk about their female guest star - Jared couldn’t even remember her damn name, which was odd since he always knew shit like that.
“Jensen, when you and Mike used to hang out before you met me,” Jared began, not even waiting for Jensen to come to a pause before steamrolling right over his words, “what’d you guys do?”
He looked over to catch Jensen’s reaction, fully expecting Jensen to look away or look guilty or something, but Jensen just shrugged as if Jared’s question was nothing out of the ordinary.
“We, you know, we’d shoot the shit…drink, watch the games. That’s all,” he answered, meeting Jared’s gaze as a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Why? You thinking of throwing me over for Rosenbaum?”
Normally Jared would’ve had an equally sarcastic comeback, but right then all he could think about was that Jensen had lied to him. Had looked right in his motherfucking face and lied. All that shit he’d been fed the night they’d met, all of the “I don’t sing in front of people” bullshit was just that. Bull. Shit. Apparently, Jensen just didn’t sing in front of some people, and Jared apparently fell smack-dab into that category.
He’d expected the anger, what with his mood and the lack of sleep, but he hadn’t expected the wave of hurt that crashed through him upon the realization that not only had Jensen been keeping things from him, but that he still had every intention of doing so even when Jared all but admitted he knew.
He spent the rest of the day dropping subtle hints here and there, but Jensen never took the bait. And as the filming drew to a close, Jared found himself feeling angrier than he could ever remember. He stalked off to his trailer the minute the last scene was done, ignoring Jensen as he slammed the door to block out everyone and everything.
Within minutes he had his pants around his ankles and was furiously jacking himself off, glaring at some vacant point on the wall as he tried to think about anything other than Jensen fucking Ackles. He thought of Lauren Graham, whom he’d always suffered a miserable crush on, and various other hot actresses he’d met or worked with through the years. Hell, he even tried thinking of Sandy, although that lasted about as long as it took to remember the night they’d broken up and Jensen had taken him out to cheer him up and goddamn it couldn’t Jensen just get the fuck out of his damn masturbation-
“Jared?”
He nearly groaned when Jensen’s voice sounded from outside the door, his fist pounding at the metal as Jared moved to slap a restraining hand against it despite the fact that he’d remembered to bolt the lock. “What?” he yelled, sounding pissed and frustrated and confused.
There was a moment’s hesitation, and then, “Seriously, man…you all right? Do you need me to drive you home or something?”
Home. Where Jensen’s CD was stashed. Jared’s voice cracked as he quickly shouted, “No!”
Again, a moment’s pause, and then the doorknob rattled. He could hear Jensen’s low curse before he snapped out, “Dude, what the fuck’s going on in there? Since when do you lock your door? Jared?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. With an agonized groan he tucked himself back in his underwear, jerking his jeans up his hips before unlatching the door with trembling fingers and throwing it open to reveal a completely bewildered Jensen on the other side.
“What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” Jared answered, a sneer twisting his lips as he thrust his hips out to let Jensen see the tent in his fly. Jensen’s eyes widened a fraction as he took in Jared’s sweating and flushed features.
“Oh, man, shit,” he gave an awkward little laugh, hands held up as he took a step back. “I didn’t know…”
Jared cut him off by slamming the door shut with his foot. He could just picture Jensen’s surprised expression through the metal, but at that moment didn’t particularly give a damn what or how his friend felt.
He just needed to get home. Like twelve hours ago.
Thankfully, Jensen was nowhere to be found when Jared emerged from his trailer fifteen minutes later, still hard and completely unsatisfied. He ignored the calls and goodbyes from various cast and crew, eyes firmly set on the parking lot, keys biting into his hand.
Thankfully, he managed to find the patience to deal with Sadie and Harley when he got home, because he wasn’t sure if Sadie would be able to forgive two transgressions in two days. But the minute they were distracted and playing with each other, Jared made for his room.
He’d nearly run off the road three times on the way home, and his legs felt like dead weights as he stood at the foot of the bed. He stared at the mattress for several long seconds, and then just sort of…fell forward, bouncing once as his cheek pressed up against the soft cotton sheets. Something hard and rectangular was jabbing into his hip, and Jared shifted to relieve the pressure, and just like that, it happened again.
He sat straight up when Jensen’s voice blared out, eyes falling to the remote that was still nestled partway beneath his thigh. He grabbed for it with trembling fingers, heart pounding in his ears as the song track changed, and then it was too late. Jared could only sit there, frozen and helpless as Song Number 5 started, and his dick went instantly and unapologetically hard.
He was barely even aware of shrugging his clothes off, of taking himself in hand and jerking with short, quick strokes that were met with frantic bursts of his hips. He tasted blood on his tongue from where his teeth were chewing through the tender flesh, and he knew goddamn well that were his mother, his little sister and his goddamn priest to walk in the room at that particular moment, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
He could feel it getting closer; the song’s climax swelled and Jensen’s voice strengthened, and Jared’s thrusts became desperate and greedy, and then he was comingcomingcoming in hot, molten bursts that nearly ripped him in half as dizzying pleasure tore through him and his mind was crying out, “This is so fucked up!”
It was the most intense thing he’d ever experienced, and afterward, he just sort of wilted into the mattress, hand still wrapped loosely around his cock as Jensen’s voice echoed in his head, softer now and somehow, soothing.
Jared slept like a baby that night.
---[ track four ] Beat It
When Jared next woke up, he felt warm and happy and back to his old self. Yesterday’s weirdness already a distant memory, Jared jumped out of bed at the crack of dawn, managing to work in an extra two miles on his run before heading back to get ready for work.
He made a stop at a nearby bakery on the way to the set, feeling slightly guilty about the way he’d treated everyone the day before. When he arrived ten minutes later, arms laden with boxes of warm muffins, he offered the closest group of crew members a sheepish smile.
“Sorry, guys,” he said in his best “aw, shucks” tone of voice, and sure enough, within minutes everyone seemed to have forgotten his previous behavior and they were all scrambling for pastries and slapping him on the back and pinching his cheeks and it was a Jared love-fest like every other day on set. He let out a happy sigh, biting into a banana-nut muffin when a hand clapped him on the shoulder. He glanced over to find Jensen leaning in to survey a bakery box.
“You better have saved me a cranberry one,” was all he said, and Jared knew instantly that things between them were fine. More than fine. Things were great in fact, and to test that theory he snorted and bumped Jensen’s hip with his own.
“Naturally, sweetheart,” he teased, handing over a muffin bursting with ripe fruit. “You old men need all the fiber you can get.”
Jensen batted his lashes, blowing Jared a kiss as he took the muffin, then turned to walk away. Jared stared at his retreating figure, dick tingling. His mind immediately tried to return to the previous night, to his hand on his cock as Jensen’s voice rang in his ears, but Jared shoved an entire muffin in his mouth and clamped down on the memory before it could fully solidify.
That didn’t stop him from reacting to Jensen’s voice at odd intervals throughout the day. It was little, minor things that would get to him…the way Jensen rounded out his vowels when his character called out to Jared’s, the way Jensen flubbed a line and would laugh all self-deprecatingly. The way he’d pass Jared and make some kind of crack beneath his breath that would’ve normally had Jared snorting in amusement, but now just made him ache with God only knew what.
When he got home that night, he was determined not to listen to Jensen’s CD. He played with his dogs, worked out, watched some football on television, ordered in from his favorite restaurant, and totally forgot about Jensen and singing and the disc that was still sitting in his CD player. And the more he did, the better he felt, until he got into bed later that night.
And couldn’t get to sleep.
It went on for days, wherein Jared would feel completely cool and normal, with only the occasional odd tingle whenever Jensen was nearby, and then he’d go home, or go out, and everything would be fine. But when it came time to turn off the lights and pass out, he could only stare at the ceiling and think about the one thing he wasn’t supposed to.
It was a week before he finally broke down and played the CD again, falling asleep to the sound of Jensen’s voice in his ears. It was another week before he caught himself jerking off at random intervals, and the music was always playing somewhere in the house.
And, okay, that weirded him out just a little, but he was able to justify it in his mind. After all, it wasn’t like it was really Jensen’s voice that was doing this to him. He was a guy in his twenties; masturbating was a way of life, and one Jared whole-heartedly endorsed. It wasn’t like it was odd for him to jerk off once or twice a day...hell, if he had the time, he’d do it more than that.
It wasn’t until the end of the first month that things went from mildly abnormal into straight-up fucked-up territory.
As he lay in bed, covers up to his chin and eyes wide open, he silently cursed himself for drinking that last Red Bull and pulled himself up into a sitting position. The room was dark, quiet, and cool, perfect sleeping conditions, but he couldn’t seem to get his body to wind down.
He found himself, fifteen minutes later, rearranging the furniture in his room. Bed in that corner, dresser in another. He even went as far as to move the double-wide bookshelf he’d bought - not because he, like, owned books, but because he’d been unable to resist the pure fucking beauty of the thing in the store - after he’d spent an entire frustrating afternoon with Jensen, maneuvering the massive thing into his room to begin with.
After that, his limbs were protesting and his lids were heavy and he was sure he’d be able to climb inside the sheets and pass out before his head hit the pillow, but his gaze snagged on the dresser. Or more specifically, the CD player.
And just like that, all the bottled up anger and irritation and frustration inside of him exploded like a popped cork, and why the fuck wouldn’t Jensen just sing for him? Why did people like Michael Rosenbaum and Tom Welling and Chris Kane get to hear it, and not Jared? It didn’t make any goddamn sense, and Jared was failing miserably at not caring.
So, fine. He’d listen to the damn CD again. But he was so skipping track 5.
Which meant, of course, that he skipped right to it.
Now he was feeling mopey and confused and fucking turned-on, and he wanted his bed like sixty minutes ago, so he crawled between the sheets, trying to ignore the nagging erection pressing against his boxers like a not-so-subtle reminder that he was slowly losing his goddamn mind.
Jared bit his lip, hesitating briefly before reaching for himself, and then he simply held his cock in his hand while listening to Jensen’s melancholy voice. And then he was stroking, faster and faster, and Jensen was still singing and he knew Jensen was still singing, and he couldn’t fucking stop and it was all so fucked the hell up and…
”Christ,” he drew out on a long gasp short minutes later, coming in a sharp burst of pleasure as his fingers squeezed and wrung his cock dry.
God, what the fuck was happening to him?
He spent the following night experimenting; jerking off with various background noises, with no noise at all, hell, he even tried it with the eleven o’clock news playing. The only time he was able to successfully achieve orgasm was when the sound of his best friend’s voice was crooning softly in his ears.
And then, Jared got pissed. How dare Jensen fuck him up like this? All he’d wanted was to hear the bastard sing something - anything - and Jensen had ducked and dodged until Jared had started obsessing and one thing had led to another, and now the motherfucker had messed with Jared’s head until he was incapable of thinking about anything else.
Jared was fucked up now, and it was all Jensen’s fault.
Another two weeks went by, and Jared fell deeper and deeper into the hole he’d created. By the start of the third month, he didn’t even need the CD anymore. He was jacking off to the mere sound of Jensen’s voice, and couldn’t sleep until he’d done so.
And then, Jensen called during it.
At first, Jared completely missed what his friend was saying; hand wrapped around his dick, thumb lazily circling the tip, phone stuck between his ear and his shoulder. “Sorry, man, I didn’t quite catch that,” he managed, swallowing back a small moan when Jensen chuckled and repeated himself.
“I’m serious, dude. It’s confusing. I mean, how the fuck am I supposed to know if I want the spicy nacho or the spicy jalapeño? Is there even a difference? And why are there fifteen different brands of canned chili?”
What the…Jensen was talking about fucking grocery shopping and Jared was getting hard from it? God, he was so gonna fry for this shit.
“I think the jalapeño’s hotter,” he answered inanely, just to keep Jensen talking. One hand drifted up beneath his shirt, toying with the silver barbell through his nipple as he caught his tongue between his teeth and bit down. Jensen’s voice, combined with the stimulus to his cock and chest, was almost unbearably too much.
It got so bad at one point that he had to mute the receiver, biting off a ragged groan as Jensen kept on talking, completely oblivious to the fact that Jared was touching himself in his bed. When Jensen finally paused for breath, Jared’s come was glistening across his fingers and then Jensen was saying goodbye.
The next day on set, Jared could barely meet his gaze, and he bit Jensen’s head off every time his friend spoke. He could tell that Jensen was utterly and completely flabbergasted by his behavior, but every time he felt the slightest hint of guilt over the hurt that flashed through Jen’s eyes, he’d remember Jensen’s deceit and felt betrayed all over again.
---[ track five ] The Song on Track Number 5
Eventually, Jensen stopped seeking him out after takes; stopped smiling altogether whenever their gazes met. Jared ignored the questions in his friend’s eyes, choosing to shun everyone and sit by himself rather than join the rest of the crew and thusly, Jensen.
Which was why he was surprised, to say the least, when Jensen stopped by his trailer days into their mutual cold war to invite him out for the night.
“We’re hitting some new karaoke place Mike found,” Jensen was saying as Jared stood there staring at him, and Jared wondered if it was just his insanity at work again or if there really was a hint of pleading coloring Jensen’s tone. “You’re in, right?”
Jared’s first inclination was to scream and throw things, but instead he managed a calm, albeit cool, tone when he replied, “Karaoke, huh?”
Jensen’s smile faltered, and then returned bigger and brighter than ever. “Come on. It’ll be fun. And you’ll get to see Rosenbaum make a complete ass out of himself…never fails to entertain.”
“Rosenbaum,” Jared echoed, fists clenching at his sides. He opened his mouth to tell Jensen that he and Rosenbaum could take the express elevator to Hell, but all that came out was a bitten off, “Oh, I’ll be there.”
Jensen features almost crumpled in relief, and then his expression was back to normal. “Okay. Awesome.” He flashed Jared a smile, already backing away. “So, meet you at your place later?”
“Whatever.”
Jared brooded as Jensen practically ran away from him, and wondered how he could want to choke the life out of someone and do dirty, nasty things to them at the exact same time. He’d never imagined himself as a kinky kind of guy, but right then he wouldn’t have minded tying Jensen up and beating him with a…feather pillow. Or something.
Okay, obviously he wasn’t all that kinky. Or creative, anyway.
Jensen showed up at the exact time he’d said, which was odd in and of itself because Jensen operated on a plus-thirty minutes schedule. Jared never looked for him until a half-hour after whatever the scheduled time was, so when he opened the door at exactly ten o’clock to find Jensen standing there, he could only blink in surprise.
Jensen rubbed his palms together, tilting his head expectantly. “Ready, dude?”
Jared was silent as he followed Jensen to his car, silent on the short drive downtown, silent as they entered the club and walked over to meet Mike and Tom and a few of the other Smallville cast members who he didn’t really know but Jensen did, and wasn’t that just the story of his goddamn life?
It was while Jensen was hugging Kristin Kreuk and she pulled away saying, “You gonna sing tonight, Jen?” that Jared felt his blood pressure start to rise. He flopped into the nearest chair, glaring daggers at them both as Tom ordered drinks.
“Seriously, someone’s gotta help make Mike sound half-way decent,” Allison laughed from beside Jared, glancing at him as if she expected him to agree. Jared managed a tight-lipped tilt of his mouth that failed miserably at being a smile.
Jensen laughed a bit uncomfortably, scratching his head and shrugging his shoulders. “Nah,” was all he said, shooting a quick look in Jared’s direction. Jared reached out and grabbed at a glass of beer, bringing it to his lips before he said or did, well, anything.
Two hours later, Jared was trying to remember what he’d ever even liked about Jensen Ackles in the first place. Everyone else was off doing whatever - Jared didn’t know - leaving him and Jensen sitting at the table alone, both on pins and needles and not speaking. At all.
Jared stuffed a handful of peanuts in his mouth, crunching down on the salty snack as he stared at Jensen through narrowed eyes. Jensen was looking everywhere but at him, expression pained, and Jared felt a moment’s pleasure at the obvious discomfort he was causing his “friend”.
Served the asshole right.
Finally, Jensen let out something resembling a growl, and turned to Jared with a hissed, “Fine. I’ll do it! Okay? Just stop pouting for chrissake.”
And Jared realized he’d been waiting for this moment for days, weeks. Months. He leaned across the table, lowering his voice as he replied, “So, you’ll sing in front of all these people…all these people, but you won’t sing for me?”
Jensen blinked, clearly misunderstanding Jared’s words as irritation and confusion crept across his features. “What? I thought you wanted…dude, you’ve been acting like a bitch for weeks now. What gives?”
And goddamn if Jensen getting all pissy and defiant in return didn’t make his dick go from zero-to-sixty. Furious and horny and ready to murder them both, Jared came to his feet, not even caring that Jensen could probably see the impressive boner in his pants. “You know what? You’re fucking me up, and I’m done, Jensen.”
Jensen was standing, too, red-faced and angry. “Say what?”
“I’ve heard you fucking sing, Jen!” Jared exploded, all but throwing himself across the table to strangle Jensen. “I got some tapes from Mike…I had to go to fucking Mike, man!”
Jensen was quiet for a minute, then snorted. “God, this that what this is about? What, you’re jealous of Mike or something?”
And the mocking in his tone was more than Jared could take.
He rounded the table, not stopping until he and Jensen were standing toe-to-toe, and he didn’t give a fuck if anyone was watching or not when he grabbed Jensen’s collar and jerked him up. “I’m jealous that you won’t sing for me, Jensen. Me.”
And Christ, maybe it came out a little more possessive than he’d intended, because Jensen’s jaw fell open and he stared at Jared through eyes Jared couldn’t quite read. But he was pretty damn sure there was some fear in there somewhere, and it suddenly made him sick to his stomach.
“Jared, I…”
“Fuck this,” Jared muttered, letting go of Jensen’s shirt and stepping back. “You just…you just do whatever, man. I’m going home.”
“Jared.”
He gave Jensen the finger, turning around and storming through the club, ignoring Michael and Tom and everyone else who called his name. Remembering at the last moment that Jensen had driven him, he jerked out his cell phone and called the nearest cab company, and was riding home within fifteen minutes.
The sound of the door slamming behind him as he entered his apartment was no consolation to Jared’s frazzled nerves, and he spent several seconds just standing in the foyer between his living room and kitchen. Hands fisted, lids heavy. Jaw trembling.
Motherfucking son of a bitch. This was all goddamn Mike’s fault. Except for where it was really Jensen’s fault, because the fucker just wouldn’t do the one thing Jared asked of him…the one. Damn. Thing. It wasn’t like Jared made a habit of demanding that Jensen do ridiculous, embarrassing shit. Hell, Jared would have had no problem doing it for Jensen. If Jensen had said jump, Jared would’ve asked how high, for how long, and if Jensen might’ve wanted fries with that.
He fell on the couch, a whirlwind of heavy arms and legs, sinking into the cushions and letting out a sigh of frustration that had Sadie looking up from her perch on the opposite side of the room. They had a short-termed glaring match, and then Jared barked out, “What? You got a problem?”
Sadie made a soft snuffling sound, turning around and gifting Jared with a view of her backside, which was some pretty dead-on symbolism for Jared’s life right about then. He cursed, reaching over to grab the television remote. His hand hovered in midair for several long seconds, and then he made a grab for the stereo controller instead.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hissed, pressing buttons that he’d become so familiar with that he could have programmed the tracks blind, deaf and dumb. The second Jensen’s voice came through the speakers, raw and broken, Jared twitched, all but curling up into a fetal position on the sofa.
Song Number 5 was playing for a third consecutive time when there was a knock on the door, and at first Jared didn’t move a muscle. He wasn’t curious in the least about who was at the door - he knew damn well who it was. Just like he knew damn well that if he actually stood up, walked over and opened the door, something was gonna happen. And he wasn’t necessarily sure it would be for the best.
In fact, he was pretty damn sure of the opposite.
Then again, Jared had never been one to think shit through.
Which was how he ended up finding himself, hand on the doorknob as he stared at Jensen through narrowed eyes. Jensen looked much as he had when Jared had stormed out of the bar; confused, irritated, a little upset, maybe. Hands shoved in his pockets, he stared back at Jared with flattened lips as the cool Vancouver air ruffled the tips of his hair.
“Dude, what the fuck? Am I gonna have to stand out here all night?”
Jared’s eyes narrowed even more, until all he saw of Jensen was two tiny slits. He shoved at the door, swinging it wide open, and then turned on his heel and stalked back into the living room. He heard Jensen’s muffled curse, and then the door shut and footsteps followed him.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. And then, “Jared, what…what aren’t you telling me?”
It was the honest panic in Jen’s voice that finally broke through Jared’s numb shell. The I reallyreally don’t know what the hell’s going on here, and I’m scared that I’m missing something important. Please just tell me.
So, Jared did. Everything he’d been bottling up for days that seemed like years came spilling out in a diarrhea of the mouth worse than anything he’d ever experienced before. And for him, that was saying something.
“I just, you’re my best friend, Jensen,” he heard himself saying, shouting, as his rant came to a close ten minutes later, arms and hands flapping between them in accentuation. “It’s been over a year, and yet you still don’t trust me enough to do one stupid little thing I ask?”
Jensen’s expression didn’t change, but somehow gave off the impression of someone who’d been slapped. A little, humorless laugh escaped his throat, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in obvious frustration. His eyes didn’t move from Jared’s when he responded, the words slow and deliberate. “Jared. This isn’t a you thing. It’s me--”
“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Jared interrupted, feeling shitty and pissed off and angry and hurt and, fuck but he wished he’d never even laid eyes on Jensen-fucking-Ackles or his goddamnmotherfucking karaoke tape. “Jensen, seriously?”
Jensen’s jaw tightened. “I just don’t. Sing for. People.” The words were razor-edged and brittle, and at any other time Jared would’ve taken a giant step back, hands held up in surrender and an apology on his lips.
But that shit was over. Fucking over, and in the wake of everything he’d gone through over the past three months, there was just absolutely no way Jared was letting Jensen get away with that bullshit. No. Way.
“Mike, Tom, Kristin, Allison, Steve, Chris,” Jared continued listing off the names of the people he now knew for a fact had heard Jensen sing. Willingly. And as the list went on, and Jared ran out of fingers to count with, the rage and betrayal grew and grew until it was practically eating at his insides and he just wanted to reach out and…strangle Jensen.
“Jared.”
“I’m not fucking done!” he yelled, ignoring the surprised look on Jensen’s face as he took a step closer, huffing and puffing and fingers twitching. “You’ll goddamn sing for people you barely know…for strangers in a bar, but you won’t do it for me. And…what the fuck, Jen? I mean, what the fuck?”
“Jared, just-”
“And I don’t even know why it freaking matters!” Jared rolled right over Jensen’s words, dragging his fingers into his hair and tugging at the strands until his scalp burned in protest. “It shouldn’t matter! So what, you don’t wanna sing for me. Big fucking deal! It’s not like I don’t know you’re…”
And then, it clicked. Of course it did. And as Jared’s eyes flew to Jensen’s, and he realized Jensen had realized that he’d finally figured it out, heat crept up his neck and Jared tasted the bitter flavor of chagrin on his tongue.
He mouthed soundlessly for a moment, trying to come up with the best possible way to say Oops, sorry, I forgot you were a little shy in the midst of my psychotic breakdown, but all he could come up with was a soft, broken, “Jen, I’m…I’m sorry, I…”
But Jensen had gone stock-still, expression frozen as he stared at Jared all wide-eyed and unblinking. Jared held his breath, waiting for the inevitable smack-down and for the possibility - the probability - of Jensen storming out of his apartment and out of his life, for good. God knew Jared wouldn’t exactly blame him. And Jensen didn’t even know the half of what was really tearing Jared up inside.
But when Jensen finally spoke, it wasn’t to give Jared a tongue-lashing. It was to ask, “Jared. Is that me?”
Jared blinked, frowning his confusion at the abrupt change in subject until he followed Jensen’s horrified gaze to the stereo, still playing at low volume in the living room. Song Number 5, of course. His eyes flew back to Jensen’s, and in as careful a tone as he could manage, he replied, “I told you. Mike gave me your tape.”
And Jensen exploded into motion, leaving Jared flabbergasted and baffled as he ducked his head to avoid being clobbered by Jensen’s wildly flailing limbs. Jensen’s voice was mortified as he hissed out, “Oh, God, I thought you were just fucking with me, man!”
When Jensen moved to pass him, Jared reached out and caught his friend by the arm, fingers squeezing as Jensen made a sound of protest and tried to jerk away. Jared tugged him closer, Jensen’s side up against his front as he licked his lips, heart thundering in his ears. “No. Jensen, please, this…this is my favorite one.”
It wasn’t what he’d meant to say. He’d totally meant to put Jensen at ease, reassure him that he was good and had nothing to be nervous about, that despite his own personal hurt that Jensen obviously wasn’t ready to share this part of himself with Jared, he shouldn’t be embarrassed by it.
Jensen froze in reaction to Jared’s admission, and Jared didn’t release his grip, even when the seconds dragged on and Jensen didn’t try to make another move. They both just stood there, Jensen’s digitized voice wrapping around them, and then…
It was soft, subtle, but it was there, and Jared sucked in a sharp breath when Jensen - flesh and blood Jensen - began singing softly, matching the words and lyrics and harmonizing with his own recorded voice.
Jensen wouldn’t look at him, and really, it was more of a whisper than anything else, but hearing his Jensen singing the song that had kept him hard and aching and completely fucked the hell up for days was just too much for Jared’s already exhausted control to handle. His cock stirred, and he couldn’t even hide it. Wasn’t even sure he wanted to.
Jensen trailed off, having taken notice himself, and slowly turned around to face Jared. Jared half-expected to see disgust, horror, coloring his best friend’s expression, but instead Jensen just looked blank. Numb…much the same way Jared himself had felt only moments before Jensen had arrived.
But in Jensen’s eyes…Jared read the truth there, saw his friend struggling to mask his alarm. And Jared felt like the biggest asshole on the planet, because he knew…he knew he should let Jensen walk away.
Just like he knew he wasn’t going to.
“I’m sorry,” he managed again, and truly, he was, but that didn’t stop him from taking Jensen’s face in his hands, from bringing their mouths close together as he skimmed Jen’s features with his eyes and repeated the apology.
“Jared, I don’t…”
“I know,” he interrupted, voice as upset as Jensen’s. “But I need…just, please…”
When their lips touched, Jared stilled, waiting for Jensen to jerk back and slam his fist in his face and leave, or spit on him and call him a fag and then punch him in the face and leave. To which Jared would then have to die a slow and painful death, even though it’d be no more than what he deserved.
But Jensen did none of that. He didn’t exactly participate in the kiss, but he didn’t pull away. And Jared could taste Jensen…taste familiar things like beer, and pretzels, and a hint of wintergreen gum, and honest-to-God he should be freaking the fuck out, but all of those things - Jensen - only served to ebb the flow of need inside of him. And make it even stronger.
He let out a strangled sound, tilting his hands, Jensen’s face, to a different angle. Let his tongue glide inside Jensen’s mouth and across his molars and tangle briefly with Jensen’s as Jensen jerked and made an unrecognizable noise of his own.
It was only then that Jared realized he was grinding, desperately, against Jensen’s stomach. And Jensen was breathing shallowly, eyes glazed and indecipherable when Jared pulled back, hands still cradling Jensen’s head.
Jared licked his lips again, torn between utter elation and absolute misery as he studied Jensen’s stricken features. “I’m so sorry,” he tried again, voice nearly breaking. “I can’t help it around you anymore. I don’t know…”
“Just…just do what you need to do, man,” Jensen said hoarsely, and Jared didn’t miss the tremble in his voice. The unnerved look that passed fleetingly across his features. And then he paused, and moved closer, even though his expression didn’t change. “I trust you.”
And then, he started singing again. Song Number 5.
And Jared was fucking fucked.
He was pretty sure he whimpered - in victory? Defeat? Regret? - and then he was humping against Jensen, eyes closed to block out the look in Jensen’s gaze as his friend kept singing to him, for him. Because Jensen knew he needed it, and Jensen would do anything for Jared.
How had he ever forgotten that?
At one point, Jensen leaned into him, letting his head rest under Jared’s chin as he wobbled through the lyrics, voice shattered, and Jared searched for the strength to put a stop to what was happening. For Jensen’s sake.
But Jensen was still singing. And Jared just could. Not. Resist. Not when this was every perverse and twisted fantasy concocted over the past few months brought to life. Not when it was Jensen, and Jensen was doing this for him, and…
“Oh, God,” Jared groaned, thrusting up and against the muscled flesh of Jensen’s abdomen, coming hot and hard inside his pants as Jensen kept on and on and on, his words soothing and comforting now as he reached out and stroked along Jared’s arm. Mumbling things that Jared didn’t understand, or maybe just didn’t want to.
They stood like that, locked together, fused by hands and song and Jared’s come, and then Jared finally looked down to meet Jensen’s gaze. Certain that, surely, now the pain would come. The guilt. The oh myfuckinggod, what’ve you done to me?
Instead, Jensen just sort of smiled, stepping back and making a face as he looked down at the wet spot seeping through the lower half of his shirt. Jared’s cheeks flamed, and his stomach knotted, but Jensen just looked back up and said in a deadpanned tone, “See, this is why I don’t sing for people, dude.”
And Jared could only laugh. Because if he didn’t do that, he knew he’d cry.
cont..
[click on CD cover]
Chapter: The Deconstruction of Jared Padalecki
Written by: keepaofthecheez and la_folle_allure
(courtesy of lostt1)
---[ track one ] You’re My Best Friend
Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly philosophical, Jared figured maybe it was Fate that had thrown him and Jensen together. Destiny, or some such shit. To what end he didn’t know, but he liked to entertain himself with the idea that he and Jen were meant to do incredible things together; that the world had simply been waiting for their chemistry to collide and bring life to…something.
And yeah, it was sappy as fuck and Jared would never actually own up to thinking that, but there was really no other way to explain the way he and Jensen fit; the way they complemented each other so easily, even from the very first moments they’d spent together. Jared hadn’t been in the business as long as Jensen, but he’d been around long enough to know that that kind of stuff just didn’t happen in the acting world.
Sure, he’d loved his time on Gilmore Girls, and Chad was a great guy and Jared liked hanging out with him and all, but where his and Chad’s relationship was built more on time and history and just having practically grown up together on set, Jared’s relationship with Jensen just…was. From the get-go. It was like there’d been no “getting to know you” period between them; just “Hi, I’m Jared” “I’m Jensen” and then, bam.
Insta-best friends.
They got a lot of good-natured ribbing from nearly everyone over it, but Jared didn’t really give a damn. Sometimes he suspected that Jensen did, but Jared knew better than anyone how hard it was for Jensen to open up about things. Well, with people other than Jared, anyway. The hints of reserve and timidity that came through in interviews barely skimmed the true depths of Jensen’s quiet persona.
See, the thing was…Jensen could be as loud and obnoxious as Jared. Hell, get the guy drunk and you could watch him strip and dance on the tables - and Jared had to bite back a grin at the reminder of that memorable event - but Jensen chose his company well. Carefully. It had only taken a few mishaps in his early career, and Jensen had locked down and barely let the wild guy out in front of anyone.
He was perfectly happy to let Jared play the Jerry Lewis to his Dean Martin; to sit back as Jared made an ass out of himself, all wide grin and smart-ass remarks, while Jensen just looked on with an indulgent smile on his face.
Yin and yang. White and black. Salt and pepper…and Jared was running out of decent comparisons, but the point was, he and Jensen just balanced one another.
For example.
They had an early call that morning, and as Jared had showered off the perspiration from his daily morning run, he’d just known that Jensen’s ass would still be in bed, alarm clock probably going off in his ear. How the hell Jensen managed to sleep through that shrill motherfucking thing Jared would never understand, but then all one really did need to understand was that Jensen wasn’t a morning person. The end.
Whereas Jared liked to be up with the sunrise, pumped and ready for whatever the day might bring. Jensen joked and chalked it up to Jared’s “youth and vitality”; overly exaggerating the mere four year age difference between them, and Jared would hit him over the head with whatever object he had handy, but all teasing aside, they had each other’s backs.
Jared kept Jensen from oversleeping morning call and hooking up with (anymore) Playboy models, and Jensen kept Jared from looking like a complete and total ginormous dorkus everywhere he went. With only partial success.
When Jared stepped through Jensen’s front door, the key Jensen had given him dangling from his fingers, he fully expected to find the place utterly silent and Jensen sleeping like the dead. Instead, the sound of running water greeted his ears, so he shrugged off his outer coat, tossing it haphazardly onto the small kitchen table before bounding up the stairs. Now that he was here, and Jensen was obviously awake, he could relax while he waited for Jensen to finish up.
He crossed the master bedroom, stopping in front of the partially closed bathroom door with fist poised to knock and mouth open to announce his presence. And then, he heard it. He pressed closer against the door, straining to listen, an odd sort of feeling working its way through his system. A wide grin stretched across his lips as the humming became more identifiable, and plans of mockery began to solidify in his mind. And really, just hearing Jensen singing the theme song to Freakazoid was enough to keep Jared in hysterics for at least a month.
The second Jensen’s waterlogged voice called out, “Freaka me, freaka you!” Jared completely lost it and turned away from the bathroom, his fist barely concealing a bark of laughter as he headed back downstairs for the kitchen. He was still snickering when Jensen came downstairs ten minutes later, barefoot and shirtless as he finished zipping up a pair of faded jeans. “You better not have drunk the whole damn pot,” he muttered glancing up from his fly to stare at Jared through sleep-heavy eyes.
Jared nodded toward the coffee pot, sipping at his own overly-sweetened mug of decaf. Jensen and Chad both made fun of him for it, but Jared couldn’t really handle much caffeine. He loved coffee, but it made him jerky and jumpy and he was already way too fucking hyper as it was, so it was decaf or sweet tea. And Jensen was a coffee-drinker so, when in Rome…
Jensen was whistling under his breath, back to Jared as he made his own cup before turning and taking a sip with a deep sigh of appreciation. Jared watched him idly, hip pressed up against the opposite counter as he thought of how best to make fun of Jensen for his shower sonata.
And then, Jared realized - he’d never actually heard Jensen singing before. Sure, he knew that Jensen did, had known it from almost that first night they’d gone out and gotten drunk together, sharing secrets and conquests and telling tall-tales and the like. He’d just never actually listened to Jensen sing.
His smile tipped at the edges, and that same fleeting awkwardness he’d felt standing outside of Jensen’s bathroom door returned as his fingers clenched around his mug. He’d never really thought about the fact that Jensen didn’t sing around him, although he’d professed to love it so much that night two years ago. And suddenly, for whatever reason, it became crucial that Jared hear Jensen sing, while Jensen knew he was listening.
Jensen was watching him, a puzzled little smile curving his lips, head cocked as if to say “What’s up, dude?” and Jared blinked. Then grinned, long and slow as he sat his cup down on the counter.
“Pretty good stuff,” he drawled when Jensen took another sip of coffee, lids fluttering in blatant appreciation of the beverage.
Jensen grunted his agreement, tongue snaking out to catch a drop that lingered on his lower lip. And Jared just kept on smiling, innocently, as he added, “Hey, Jensen?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s the best part of waking up again?”
Jensen frowned at Jared’s sing-song tone, then followed Jared’s pointed gaze toward the can of Folgers coffee grounds, and rolled his eyes before taking another sip. His expression clearly read whatever, dude.
“Come on,” Jared pressed cheerfully, moving closer and nudging Jensen’s shoulder with his own before humming the first few bars of the theme song himself. He was met with nothing but silence, and huffed out a breath. “Man, I know you know the words.”
“Are you on something, Jared?” Jensen finally answered, a suspicious gleam in his eyes. “I mean, Mike didn’t give you anything, did he? Because you know not to take any of the weird crap Mike-”
“Oh, just forget it,” Jared grumbled, stepping back and feeling more disappointed than he cared to admit. So, what, Jensen wanted to play dumb? Fine. It was no skin off Jared’s nose.
Which really made it all the more frustrating when Jared found himself, a half hour later, trying to trick Jensen into singing for him on the way to the set. He’d even gone as far as to switch the radio to Jensen’s favorite local station, classic rock filtering out from the speakers as Jensen shot him a surprised look.
“Nice,” he grinned, sitting back and tapping his fingers against his thighs as John Fogerty sang about fortunate sons. He tilted his head, fluttering long lashes at Jared. “Am I supposed to put out now, Padalecki?”
Jared didn’t even acknowledge the joke, eyes flicking back and forth between the road and Jensen as his fingers tightened ever-so-slightly around the steering wheel. “Like this song?”
“Well, yeah,” Jensen answered, slipping on a pair of sunglasses and looking way more cool and collected than any one person had a right to. Despite the fact that they both hailed from the same state, Jensen wore sophistication like a second skin, and Jared had often wondered why that didn’t make him feel even more like a backwater hick from San Antone. It probably should, but Jensen had never let it.
Jared shot another look over, and licked his lips. Then just went for it. After all, subtlety had never been his forte. “Sing it for me,” he said, hoping his voice sounded light and teasing and not nearly as desperate as he actually felt.
“What?” Jensen laughed, sounding like Jared had suddenly started speaking in tongues and doing back flips across water.
“Sing,” Jared tried again, a little harder, and when he looked over again it was to find Jensen staring at him through the mirrored lenses. Jensen’s eyes were obviously unreadable, but his expression adequately reflected his surprise. And hesitation.
“Nah, man,” Jensen laughed again, this time a little awkwardly, and Jared silently cursed himself as Jensen then quickly changed the subject to, well, Jared had no idea, because he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention anymore.
And so it lasted throughout the day; Jared trying out various methods in an attempt to scam Jensen into singing something, anything, and Jensen brushing him off or changing the subject or just pretending he had no idea what Jared was even talking about.
Maybe it was time to bring in the big guns.
---[ track two ] One Thing Leads to Another
It was while in his trailer, washing off the day’s makeup and grit, that Jared realized that the answer had been staring him in the face all along. Because if anyone, anyone, would know how to trip Jensen up and get him to do something he was obviously trying not to do, it would be Michael Rosenbaum.
Jack-Ass Prankster Extraordinaire.
Of course, using Mike as a resource meant he’d actually have to go to Mike. Which just spelled disaster all around, because if there were ever two people who shouldn’t be left to their own devices, it was him and Rosenbaum.
He still hadn’t lived down the time he and Mike had gotten drunk together and Jared had woken up the next morning with a ring through his left nipple and shrieking like a little girl. It was a source of great amusement for Jensen, who took every opportunity to remind Jared of his mishap - usually during press junkets when he’d rest his hand on Jared’s chest and tweak the piercing until Jared was nearly crying from over-sensitization.
It took Mike exactly two seconds to realize something was wrong when Jared showed up at his place later that day, and he leaned against the front door with a smirk on his face, arms crossed and teeth flashing. “Did Dorothy lose her way home?” he drawled. “Click your heels three times and beware of munchkins.”
“Fuck you, you’re the one with the red stilettos,” Jared grumbled, too irritated to deal with Michael’s weird-ass sense of humor. “Listen, I need a favor.”
Mike’s eyes took on an intrigued gleam, and Jared was mildly amused as he watched Lex Luthor practically come to life before him. “Oh, do go on.”
Jared drew in a breath, quickly weighing his options again before just blurting it out. “I need your help to get Jensen on tape singing. Like, for a prank,” he added so that he wouldn’t sound completely and utterly pathetic. “And I know you’re the man or whatever, so I figured maybe you could help me set it up or…”
Michael’s gaze cleared, and he made a dismissive sound before waving a hand at Jared to follow him. “Dude, that’s all? I got a shitload of tapes of him you can borrow…hold up, come on in and I’ll burn them to a disc for you. It’s about time Jenny got himself knocked down a peg…Sexiest TV Guy, my ass…”
But Jared couldn’t move. He was still stuck on the fact that Mike - Michael fucking Rosenbaum - had heard Jensen sing. And apparently had records of the event. Some emotion shot through him that he couldn’t quite put a name to, but he guessed it felt about the same as Mike taking a butcher knife and stabbing him in the gut.
“Dude, you coming?” Mike’s voice called from inside, and Jared started in surprise; feeling numb and light-headed as he followed Mike through the house to the basement/karaoke parlor Mike had set up to resemble the larger one in his Los Angeles pad.
Mike was squatting in front of a large cabinet, chuckling to himself as he flipped through stacks of tapes, and Jared caught fleeting glimpses of various names Magic Marker-ed across the fronts…Tom, Barry, Harland, Allison…
“You know, one of these days I’m gonna get your name in here,” Mike was saying with glee in his voice, and then snapped up straight, waving several tapes in his hand. “A ha! Jack-pot.”
Jared plopped down in a nearby chair, fingers drumming nervously as Mike got to work burning Jensen’s tapes onto disc. When Michael finally turned around to face him again, Jared came to his feet. He could only manage a weak grin, sticking out his hand as Mike walked across the room towards him. “Thanks, man. You…this really helps. A lot.”
And it must’ve been something in his tone, or his stance, or possibly the look on his face, because Mike just...stopped. Stared at Jared with a considering expression coloring his features before that smirk - that damn smirk that warned of bad things to come - slid across Mike’s mouth, and he just…leered.
“You want this, huh?” he waved the disc, almost tauntingly, and Jared’s blood pressure began to rise. “You know…I’m a businessman, Padalecki.”
“You’re a fucking prick,” Jared snapped, reaching out to try and snatch the tapes and make a run for it, but for all that Jared was bigger, Michael was as slippery as a snake.
“And as a businessman,” Mike continued slyly, “I’m really interested in seeing what I can get for, well, everything.” Michael was clearly enjoying himself now, and Jared could just feel the embarrassment creeping along his features, because Mike knew. Of course he knew.
“What do you want, asshole?” he managed through his teeth, trying to remember that Mike was his friend, his colleague in a way, and that punching him in the face probably wasn’t the best idea, all things considered.
And then, Mike moved in close, until there was barely any room separating them from one another, and leaned up until he was totally up in Jared’s personal space. “Just you, baby,” he murmured, looking like sin personified, and Jared froze, shocked to the soles of his shoes.
A split-second later, Mike cracked up, shoving at Jared’s chest and shaking his head. “Sorry, you’ll only get this in your dreams, young Padawan. Now scurry off to your boyfriend before mine gets jealous.”
Jared sputtered at him, unsure of what to even say, and Mike continued laughing his ass off as Jared finally turned in a daze and headed for his car. He’d just opened the door to get in when Mike called his name from the doorway. Squeezing his eyes shut briefly and wishing he was already home so he could just throw shit against the wall, Jared turned his head to find Mike watching him with that same shit-eating grin.
“Make sure you check out track number five,” was all Mike said. Then he grabbed his crotch and shook it obscenely. “Gets me all hot and tingly right here, every time.”
“Fuck you,” Jared managed, slamming the car door to the sound of Michael’s maniacal “You still owe me!” followed by more laughter. The entire ride home, which really only lasted about twenty minutes, he could practically feel the CD sitting there. On the passenger seat. Mocking him.
He couldn’t listen to it in the car, not when he was feeling too fucked up and angry that Jensen was obviously willing to share a side of himself with Michael Rosenbaum that he wouldn’t share with Jared.
He needed to chill the fuck out before he heard whatever was on that disc.
He stormed into his apartment, CD clutched in his fist as Sadie and Harley ran up to greet him, barking and obviously expecting the usual attention Jared gifted them with each and every minute he was at home.
Jared walked right past them. Didn’t even stop to check the bowls of water on the kitchen floor, or to make sure Harley hadn’t wound up munching on the couch while he’d been gone. Sadie’s offended sniff and Harley’s disappointed whimper didn’t even register as he flung his stuff on the couch, storming down the hall to his bedroom with the CD still in hand.
He walked right over to his stereo system, hand trembling as he inserted the disc and prepared to queue the music. His finger hovered over the play button for several long seconds, and then he spun around and dragged a palm down his face.
Christ, was this really the kind of friend he was? Jensen obviously didn’t want him to hear him sing, for whatever reason, and here was Jared…going behind his back to a mutual friend and digging up whatever dirt he could get his hands on.
He curled up on his bed, emotions mixed. On the one hand, Jensen was his best friend, so he should respect his privacy. It wasn’t rocket science. But on the other hand, Jensen was his best friend and was fucking hiding something from him.
He had the fleeting thought that had this been Chad, or any of his other friends from the industry or back home, he’d have shrugged it off and forgotten about it. But this was Jensen. And when push came to shove, Jared found he couldn’t quite deal with that.
He sat up, swallowing hard as he reached for the remote and pressed RANDOM. There was a moment of static as the disc started, and then…well, Jared wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to hear, but Tom Welling’s voice sure as hell hadn’t been it.
“I warned you, man. He’s fucking persistent.”
“Diligent, Tommy. Diligent.”
Jared frowned, wondering what the hell Mike had given him, and then he heard something bouncy and bubbly start playing, and Jensen’s slurred laughter.
“Fuck you, Rosenbaum. You wanna sing so bad? Be my guest.”
“But Jensen, you gotta have faith!”
And Jared, surprisingly, found himself grinning in return as George Michael’s voice echoed over the CD, and Jensen began cursing, and Tom was laughing, and Mike was singing along - badly - and then Jensen started singing, still laughing and swearing vengeance upon Mike’s head, but he sounded happy and, yeah, drunk, but a happy drunk.
And Jared couldn’t stop smiling; feeling like a lead weight had been lifted from his chest. Everything he’d been worried about evaporated in the midst of Jensen’s voice singing eighties pop and obviously enjoying it because, really, when Jensen was happy, Jared was, too.
And that was all there was to it.
He found himself singing along with Jensen, through the rest of Faith and (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction and Beat It - which was nearly enough to make Jared forgive Michael Rosenbaum for every transgression that had ever been laid at his feet. Feeling light-hearted and back to his normal self, Jared paused the CD and headed downstairs.
This time, he met his dogs with a smile on his face, crouching down to let Harley lick at his fingers as he fed him some treats. Sadie took a little more coaxing, but eventually she forgave his earlier behavior as well, tail twitching as she nosed at his knee in a not-so-subtle demand for dinner.
Later as Jared was getting ready for bed, he started the CD again, chuckling as he brushed his teeth to the sound of Jensen and Mike karaoking to I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That). He was pulling off his shirt, getting ready to slide between the sheets when the track changed again.
And Jared froze.
The music that was thrumming through his speakers was devoid of all the 80s synth-pop that Mike was so fond of and instead consisted of a single guitar, a gloomy melody, and Jensen. Jared’s eyes flickered to the glaring red TRACK 5 highlighted on his CD player.
He couldn’t quite reconcile what he knew of Jensen with what he was hearing now; this utterly broken and shattered person who seemed to have emotions inside of him that Jared didn’t even know existed. He just sort of stood there, shirt half-off and biceps burning from where cotton dug into skin, but he honestly couldn’t move and do anything about it.
Only when the song ended did he blink, starting, pulling his shirt the rest of the way off with jerky movements before grabbing for the remote and skipping back.
Playing song number five again.
And then, again.
He tried to listen to the entire CD after that, desperately needing to prove to himself that he could, but he never got any farther than track 5. The third time it happened, Jared finally gave up and pressed repeat, falling back onto his bed with a solid thud and staring unblinkingly at the ceiling as Jensen’s raw voice filled his bedroom.
Jared slept for a total of thirty minutes that night.
---[ track three ] (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction
Jared woke up again almost as soon as he’d fallen asleep, cranky and exhausted and hard as fucking hell, although he couldn’t remember having dreamt about anything that would warrant the massive wood he’d sprung. Shrugging it off, he pressed his hand against the erection stretching the seam of his boxers, idly palming himself as he struggled to finish waking up.
Within minutes, the lazy hand play had turned to something altogether more serious, and it wasn’t any time at all before he’d lost the underwear and was jerking his cock in long, tight-fisted strokes. The promise of relief hovered on the near horizon, and Jared could just feel the crappiness ebbing away as his orgasm drew closer. He dug his heels into the mattress, hips lifting, and then there was a loud click, some static, and Jared registered two things at once.
He’d fallen asleep with Jensen’s CD still playing. And Jensen was still. Singing. Goddamn Track Number Five.
He let go of his cock as if it had burned him, sitting up so quickly that a slash of pain knifed through his forehead, but he ignored that in favor of freaking the hell out that he’d just been masturbating to the sound of his best friend’s voice.
Okay. Wait. He needed to back the hell up. He hadn’t realized that he’d left the CD on, hadn’t even noticed it when he’d started touching himself. This wasn’t about Jensen or his singing or anything other than the fact that Jared had woken up horny, which was pretty fucking usual, and needed to jerk off before work.
He moved to take his dick in hand again, still hard and aching, but just couldn’t bring himself to finish the job while Jensen’s voice continued to play out through his speakers. Jared half-dragged himself out of the bed, stumbling toward the stereo and slapping the OFF button before heading to the shower.
He tried to jerk off twice while the hot water pelted his back, hand pressed up against the tile and feet spread apart; teeth sinking into his lower lip and tongue darting out to lick the upper one. But every time he’d get close, every time he could feel the come nearly bursting at his slit, he’d remember the sound of Jensen’s voice, and he just. Couldn’t. Fucking. Do it.
When he finally made it to work, a half-hour later than usual, he was feeling downright pissy at being deprived of a full night’s sleep and his morning orgasm. Not to mention that it was apparently I Love the 80’s week on all the radio stations he’d programmed in his car, and he’d had to listen to not one, but two of the songs from Jensen’s CD on the way.
If someone was trying to punish him, they were doing a helluva good job so far.
It didn’t help matters any further that the first person he saw when he got on set was Jensen, looking sleepy but rested as he sprawled out in his director’s chair, sipping from a Styrofoam cup and smiling at Jared as he approached.
The smile slipped just a bit when he caught sight of Jared’s expression, and Jared wondered if he really looked as shitty as he felt. This question was confirmed the next second when Jensen whistled and handed over the coffee. “Dude. You look like you need this more than I do.”
Jared just glared back through half-slitted eyes, snatching the cup away and downing the steaming hot liquid in one long gulp. Jensen’s eyes went a little wide as Jared started choking, and he made a move to get out of his seat. “Jared, what the fuck…are you all right?”
“M’fine,” Jared managed, crumpling the cup in his hand and tossing it into a nearby trash can. Jensen didn’t look like he quite believed him, but didn’t say anything else as Jared flopped down into the other chair and shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket.
Several of moments of silence passed before Jensen cleared his throat. “So,” he said, sounding way too fucking happy and carefree for Jared’s bitchy mood, “today should be cool, right? I hear they’re finally letting you get a little action, man.” He punctuated this statement with a wink and a shoulder nudge, then started to talk about their female guest star - Jared couldn’t even remember her damn name, which was odd since he always knew shit like that.
“Jensen, when you and Mike used to hang out before you met me,” Jared began, not even waiting for Jensen to come to a pause before steamrolling right over his words, “what’d you guys do?”
He looked over to catch Jensen’s reaction, fully expecting Jensen to look away or look guilty or something, but Jensen just shrugged as if Jared’s question was nothing out of the ordinary.
“We, you know, we’d shoot the shit…drink, watch the games. That’s all,” he answered, meeting Jared’s gaze as a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Why? You thinking of throwing me over for Rosenbaum?”
Normally Jared would’ve had an equally sarcastic comeback, but right then all he could think about was that Jensen had lied to him. Had looked right in his motherfucking face and lied. All that shit he’d been fed the night they’d met, all of the “I don’t sing in front of people” bullshit was just that. Bull. Shit. Apparently, Jensen just didn’t sing in front of some people, and Jared apparently fell smack-dab into that category.
He’d expected the anger, what with his mood and the lack of sleep, but he hadn’t expected the wave of hurt that crashed through him upon the realization that not only had Jensen been keeping things from him, but that he still had every intention of doing so even when Jared all but admitted he knew.
He spent the rest of the day dropping subtle hints here and there, but Jensen never took the bait. And as the filming drew to a close, Jared found himself feeling angrier than he could ever remember. He stalked off to his trailer the minute the last scene was done, ignoring Jensen as he slammed the door to block out everyone and everything.
Within minutes he had his pants around his ankles and was furiously jacking himself off, glaring at some vacant point on the wall as he tried to think about anything other than Jensen fucking Ackles. He thought of Lauren Graham, whom he’d always suffered a miserable crush on, and various other hot actresses he’d met or worked with through the years. Hell, he even tried thinking of Sandy, although that lasted about as long as it took to remember the night they’d broken up and Jensen had taken him out to cheer him up and goddamn it couldn’t Jensen just get the fuck out of his damn masturbation-
“Jared?”
He nearly groaned when Jensen’s voice sounded from outside the door, his fist pounding at the metal as Jared moved to slap a restraining hand against it despite the fact that he’d remembered to bolt the lock. “What?” he yelled, sounding pissed and frustrated and confused.
There was a moment’s hesitation, and then, “Seriously, man…you all right? Do you need me to drive you home or something?”
Home. Where Jensen’s CD was stashed. Jared’s voice cracked as he quickly shouted, “No!”
Again, a moment’s pause, and then the doorknob rattled. He could hear Jensen’s low curse before he snapped out, “Dude, what the fuck’s going on in there? Since when do you lock your door? Jared?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. With an agonized groan he tucked himself back in his underwear, jerking his jeans up his hips before unlatching the door with trembling fingers and throwing it open to reveal a completely bewildered Jensen on the other side.
“What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” Jared answered, a sneer twisting his lips as he thrust his hips out to let Jensen see the tent in his fly. Jensen’s eyes widened a fraction as he took in Jared’s sweating and flushed features.
“Oh, man, shit,” he gave an awkward little laugh, hands held up as he took a step back. “I didn’t know…”
Jared cut him off by slamming the door shut with his foot. He could just picture Jensen’s surprised expression through the metal, but at that moment didn’t particularly give a damn what or how his friend felt.
He just needed to get home. Like twelve hours ago.
Thankfully, Jensen was nowhere to be found when Jared emerged from his trailer fifteen minutes later, still hard and completely unsatisfied. He ignored the calls and goodbyes from various cast and crew, eyes firmly set on the parking lot, keys biting into his hand.
Thankfully, he managed to find the patience to deal with Sadie and Harley when he got home, because he wasn’t sure if Sadie would be able to forgive two transgressions in two days. But the minute they were distracted and playing with each other, Jared made for his room.
He’d nearly run off the road three times on the way home, and his legs felt like dead weights as he stood at the foot of the bed. He stared at the mattress for several long seconds, and then just sort of…fell forward, bouncing once as his cheek pressed up against the soft cotton sheets. Something hard and rectangular was jabbing into his hip, and Jared shifted to relieve the pressure, and just like that, it happened again.
He sat straight up when Jensen’s voice blared out, eyes falling to the remote that was still nestled partway beneath his thigh. He grabbed for it with trembling fingers, heart pounding in his ears as the song track changed, and then it was too late. Jared could only sit there, frozen and helpless as Song Number 5 started, and his dick went instantly and unapologetically hard.
He was barely even aware of shrugging his clothes off, of taking himself in hand and jerking with short, quick strokes that were met with frantic bursts of his hips. He tasted blood on his tongue from where his teeth were chewing through the tender flesh, and he knew goddamn well that were his mother, his little sister and his goddamn priest to walk in the room at that particular moment, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
He could feel it getting closer; the song’s climax swelled and Jensen’s voice strengthened, and Jared’s thrusts became desperate and greedy, and then he was comingcomingcoming in hot, molten bursts that nearly ripped him in half as dizzying pleasure tore through him and his mind was crying out, “This is so fucked up!”
It was the most intense thing he’d ever experienced, and afterward, he just sort of wilted into the mattress, hand still wrapped loosely around his cock as Jensen’s voice echoed in his head, softer now and somehow, soothing.
Jared slept like a baby that night.
---[ track four ] Beat It
When Jared next woke up, he felt warm and happy and back to his old self. Yesterday’s weirdness already a distant memory, Jared jumped out of bed at the crack of dawn, managing to work in an extra two miles on his run before heading back to get ready for work.
He made a stop at a nearby bakery on the way to the set, feeling slightly guilty about the way he’d treated everyone the day before. When he arrived ten minutes later, arms laden with boxes of warm muffins, he offered the closest group of crew members a sheepish smile.
“Sorry, guys,” he said in his best “aw, shucks” tone of voice, and sure enough, within minutes everyone seemed to have forgotten his previous behavior and they were all scrambling for pastries and slapping him on the back and pinching his cheeks and it was a Jared love-fest like every other day on set. He let out a happy sigh, biting into a banana-nut muffin when a hand clapped him on the shoulder. He glanced over to find Jensen leaning in to survey a bakery box.
“You better have saved me a cranberry one,” was all he said, and Jared knew instantly that things between them were fine. More than fine. Things were great in fact, and to test that theory he snorted and bumped Jensen’s hip with his own.
“Naturally, sweetheart,” he teased, handing over a muffin bursting with ripe fruit. “You old men need all the fiber you can get.”
Jensen batted his lashes, blowing Jared a kiss as he took the muffin, then turned to walk away. Jared stared at his retreating figure, dick tingling. His mind immediately tried to return to the previous night, to his hand on his cock as Jensen’s voice rang in his ears, but Jared shoved an entire muffin in his mouth and clamped down on the memory before it could fully solidify.
That didn’t stop him from reacting to Jensen’s voice at odd intervals throughout the day. It was little, minor things that would get to him…the way Jensen rounded out his vowels when his character called out to Jared’s, the way Jensen flubbed a line and would laugh all self-deprecatingly. The way he’d pass Jared and make some kind of crack beneath his breath that would’ve normally had Jared snorting in amusement, but now just made him ache with God only knew what.
When he got home that night, he was determined not to listen to Jensen’s CD. He played with his dogs, worked out, watched some football on television, ordered in from his favorite restaurant, and totally forgot about Jensen and singing and the disc that was still sitting in his CD player. And the more he did, the better he felt, until he got into bed later that night.
And couldn’t get to sleep.
It went on for days, wherein Jared would feel completely cool and normal, with only the occasional odd tingle whenever Jensen was nearby, and then he’d go home, or go out, and everything would be fine. But when it came time to turn off the lights and pass out, he could only stare at the ceiling and think about the one thing he wasn’t supposed to.
It was a week before he finally broke down and played the CD again, falling asleep to the sound of Jensen’s voice in his ears. It was another week before he caught himself jerking off at random intervals, and the music was always playing somewhere in the house.
And, okay, that weirded him out just a little, but he was able to justify it in his mind. After all, it wasn’t like it was really Jensen’s voice that was doing this to him. He was a guy in his twenties; masturbating was a way of life, and one Jared whole-heartedly endorsed. It wasn’t like it was odd for him to jerk off once or twice a day...hell, if he had the time, he’d do it more than that.
It wasn’t until the end of the first month that things went from mildly abnormal into straight-up fucked-up territory.
As he lay in bed, covers up to his chin and eyes wide open, he silently cursed himself for drinking that last Red Bull and pulled himself up into a sitting position. The room was dark, quiet, and cool, perfect sleeping conditions, but he couldn’t seem to get his body to wind down.
He found himself, fifteen minutes later, rearranging the furniture in his room. Bed in that corner, dresser in another. He even went as far as to move the double-wide bookshelf he’d bought - not because he, like, owned books, but because he’d been unable to resist the pure fucking beauty of the thing in the store - after he’d spent an entire frustrating afternoon with Jensen, maneuvering the massive thing into his room to begin with.
After that, his limbs were protesting and his lids were heavy and he was sure he’d be able to climb inside the sheets and pass out before his head hit the pillow, but his gaze snagged on the dresser. Or more specifically, the CD player.
And just like that, all the bottled up anger and irritation and frustration inside of him exploded like a popped cork, and why the fuck wouldn’t Jensen just sing for him? Why did people like Michael Rosenbaum and Tom Welling and Chris Kane get to hear it, and not Jared? It didn’t make any goddamn sense, and Jared was failing miserably at not caring.
So, fine. He’d listen to the damn CD again. But he was so skipping track 5.
Which meant, of course, that he skipped right to it.
Now he was feeling mopey and confused and fucking turned-on, and he wanted his bed like sixty minutes ago, so he crawled between the sheets, trying to ignore the nagging erection pressing against his boxers like a not-so-subtle reminder that he was slowly losing his goddamn mind.
Jared bit his lip, hesitating briefly before reaching for himself, and then he simply held his cock in his hand while listening to Jensen’s melancholy voice. And then he was stroking, faster and faster, and Jensen was still singing and he knew Jensen was still singing, and he couldn’t fucking stop and it was all so fucked the hell up and…
”Christ,” he drew out on a long gasp short minutes later, coming in a sharp burst of pleasure as his fingers squeezed and wrung his cock dry.
God, what the fuck was happening to him?
He spent the following night experimenting; jerking off with various background noises, with no noise at all, hell, he even tried it with the eleven o’clock news playing. The only time he was able to successfully achieve orgasm was when the sound of his best friend’s voice was crooning softly in his ears.
And then, Jared got pissed. How dare Jensen fuck him up like this? All he’d wanted was to hear the bastard sing something - anything - and Jensen had ducked and dodged until Jared had started obsessing and one thing had led to another, and now the motherfucker had messed with Jared’s head until he was incapable of thinking about anything else.
Jared was fucked up now, and it was all Jensen’s fault.
Another two weeks went by, and Jared fell deeper and deeper into the hole he’d created. By the start of the third month, he didn’t even need the CD anymore. He was jacking off to the mere sound of Jensen’s voice, and couldn’t sleep until he’d done so.
And then, Jensen called during it.
At first, Jared completely missed what his friend was saying; hand wrapped around his dick, thumb lazily circling the tip, phone stuck between his ear and his shoulder. “Sorry, man, I didn’t quite catch that,” he managed, swallowing back a small moan when Jensen chuckled and repeated himself.
“I’m serious, dude. It’s confusing. I mean, how the fuck am I supposed to know if I want the spicy nacho or the spicy jalapeño? Is there even a difference? And why are there fifteen different brands of canned chili?”
What the…Jensen was talking about fucking grocery shopping and Jared was getting hard from it? God, he was so gonna fry for this shit.
“I think the jalapeño’s hotter,” he answered inanely, just to keep Jensen talking. One hand drifted up beneath his shirt, toying with the silver barbell through his nipple as he caught his tongue between his teeth and bit down. Jensen’s voice, combined with the stimulus to his cock and chest, was almost unbearably too much.
It got so bad at one point that he had to mute the receiver, biting off a ragged groan as Jensen kept on talking, completely oblivious to the fact that Jared was touching himself in his bed. When Jensen finally paused for breath, Jared’s come was glistening across his fingers and then Jensen was saying goodbye.
The next day on set, Jared could barely meet his gaze, and he bit Jensen’s head off every time his friend spoke. He could tell that Jensen was utterly and completely flabbergasted by his behavior, but every time he felt the slightest hint of guilt over the hurt that flashed through Jen’s eyes, he’d remember Jensen’s deceit and felt betrayed all over again.
---[ track five ] The Song on Track Number 5
Eventually, Jensen stopped seeking him out after takes; stopped smiling altogether whenever their gazes met. Jared ignored the questions in his friend’s eyes, choosing to shun everyone and sit by himself rather than join the rest of the crew and thusly, Jensen.
Which was why he was surprised, to say the least, when Jensen stopped by his trailer days into their mutual cold war to invite him out for the night.
“We’re hitting some new karaoke place Mike found,” Jensen was saying as Jared stood there staring at him, and Jared wondered if it was just his insanity at work again or if there really was a hint of pleading coloring Jensen’s tone. “You’re in, right?”
Jared’s first inclination was to scream and throw things, but instead he managed a calm, albeit cool, tone when he replied, “Karaoke, huh?”
Jensen’s smile faltered, and then returned bigger and brighter than ever. “Come on. It’ll be fun. And you’ll get to see Rosenbaum make a complete ass out of himself…never fails to entertain.”
“Rosenbaum,” Jared echoed, fists clenching at his sides. He opened his mouth to tell Jensen that he and Rosenbaum could take the express elevator to Hell, but all that came out was a bitten off, “Oh, I’ll be there.”
Jensen features almost crumpled in relief, and then his expression was back to normal. “Okay. Awesome.” He flashed Jared a smile, already backing away. “So, meet you at your place later?”
“Whatever.”
Jared brooded as Jensen practically ran away from him, and wondered how he could want to choke the life out of someone and do dirty, nasty things to them at the exact same time. He’d never imagined himself as a kinky kind of guy, but right then he wouldn’t have minded tying Jensen up and beating him with a…feather pillow. Or something.
Okay, obviously he wasn’t all that kinky. Or creative, anyway.
Jensen showed up at the exact time he’d said, which was odd in and of itself because Jensen operated on a plus-thirty minutes schedule. Jared never looked for him until a half-hour after whatever the scheduled time was, so when he opened the door at exactly ten o’clock to find Jensen standing there, he could only blink in surprise.
Jensen rubbed his palms together, tilting his head expectantly. “Ready, dude?”
Jared was silent as he followed Jensen to his car, silent on the short drive downtown, silent as they entered the club and walked over to meet Mike and Tom and a few of the other Smallville cast members who he didn’t really know but Jensen did, and wasn’t that just the story of his goddamn life?
It was while Jensen was hugging Kristin Kreuk and she pulled away saying, “You gonna sing tonight, Jen?” that Jared felt his blood pressure start to rise. He flopped into the nearest chair, glaring daggers at them both as Tom ordered drinks.
“Seriously, someone’s gotta help make Mike sound half-way decent,” Allison laughed from beside Jared, glancing at him as if she expected him to agree. Jared managed a tight-lipped tilt of his mouth that failed miserably at being a smile.
Jensen laughed a bit uncomfortably, scratching his head and shrugging his shoulders. “Nah,” was all he said, shooting a quick look in Jared’s direction. Jared reached out and grabbed at a glass of beer, bringing it to his lips before he said or did, well, anything.
Two hours later, Jared was trying to remember what he’d ever even liked about Jensen Ackles in the first place. Everyone else was off doing whatever - Jared didn’t know - leaving him and Jensen sitting at the table alone, both on pins and needles and not speaking. At all.
Jared stuffed a handful of peanuts in his mouth, crunching down on the salty snack as he stared at Jensen through narrowed eyes. Jensen was looking everywhere but at him, expression pained, and Jared felt a moment’s pleasure at the obvious discomfort he was causing his “friend”.
Served the asshole right.
Finally, Jensen let out something resembling a growl, and turned to Jared with a hissed, “Fine. I’ll do it! Okay? Just stop pouting for chrissake.”
And Jared realized he’d been waiting for this moment for days, weeks. Months. He leaned across the table, lowering his voice as he replied, “So, you’ll sing in front of all these people…all these people, but you won’t sing for me?”
Jensen blinked, clearly misunderstanding Jared’s words as irritation and confusion crept across his features. “What? I thought you wanted…dude, you’ve been acting like a bitch for weeks now. What gives?”
And goddamn if Jensen getting all pissy and defiant in return didn’t make his dick go from zero-to-sixty. Furious and horny and ready to murder them both, Jared came to his feet, not even caring that Jensen could probably see the impressive boner in his pants. “You know what? You’re fucking me up, and I’m done, Jensen.”
Jensen was standing, too, red-faced and angry. “Say what?”
“I’ve heard you fucking sing, Jen!” Jared exploded, all but throwing himself across the table to strangle Jensen. “I got some tapes from Mike…I had to go to fucking Mike, man!”
Jensen was quiet for a minute, then snorted. “God, this that what this is about? What, you’re jealous of Mike or something?”
And the mocking in his tone was more than Jared could take.
He rounded the table, not stopping until he and Jensen were standing toe-to-toe, and he didn’t give a fuck if anyone was watching or not when he grabbed Jensen’s collar and jerked him up. “I’m jealous that you won’t sing for me, Jensen. Me.”
And Christ, maybe it came out a little more possessive than he’d intended, because Jensen’s jaw fell open and he stared at Jared through eyes Jared couldn’t quite read. But he was pretty damn sure there was some fear in there somewhere, and it suddenly made him sick to his stomach.
“Jared, I…”
“Fuck this,” Jared muttered, letting go of Jensen’s shirt and stepping back. “You just…you just do whatever, man. I’m going home.”
“Jared.”
He gave Jensen the finger, turning around and storming through the club, ignoring Michael and Tom and everyone else who called his name. Remembering at the last moment that Jensen had driven him, he jerked out his cell phone and called the nearest cab company, and was riding home within fifteen minutes.
The sound of the door slamming behind him as he entered his apartment was no consolation to Jared’s frazzled nerves, and he spent several seconds just standing in the foyer between his living room and kitchen. Hands fisted, lids heavy. Jaw trembling.
Motherfucking son of a bitch. This was all goddamn Mike’s fault. Except for where it was really Jensen’s fault, because the fucker just wouldn’t do the one thing Jared asked of him…the one. Damn. Thing. It wasn’t like Jared made a habit of demanding that Jensen do ridiculous, embarrassing shit. Hell, Jared would have had no problem doing it for Jensen. If Jensen had said jump, Jared would’ve asked how high, for how long, and if Jensen might’ve wanted fries with that.
He fell on the couch, a whirlwind of heavy arms and legs, sinking into the cushions and letting out a sigh of frustration that had Sadie looking up from her perch on the opposite side of the room. They had a short-termed glaring match, and then Jared barked out, “What? You got a problem?”
Sadie made a soft snuffling sound, turning around and gifting Jared with a view of her backside, which was some pretty dead-on symbolism for Jared’s life right about then. He cursed, reaching over to grab the television remote. His hand hovered in midair for several long seconds, and then he made a grab for the stereo controller instead.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hissed, pressing buttons that he’d become so familiar with that he could have programmed the tracks blind, deaf and dumb. The second Jensen’s voice came through the speakers, raw and broken, Jared twitched, all but curling up into a fetal position on the sofa.
Song Number 5 was playing for a third consecutive time when there was a knock on the door, and at first Jared didn’t move a muscle. He wasn’t curious in the least about who was at the door - he knew damn well who it was. Just like he knew damn well that if he actually stood up, walked over and opened the door, something was gonna happen. And he wasn’t necessarily sure it would be for the best.
In fact, he was pretty damn sure of the opposite.
Then again, Jared had never been one to think shit through.
Which was how he ended up finding himself, hand on the doorknob as he stared at Jensen through narrowed eyes. Jensen looked much as he had when Jared had stormed out of the bar; confused, irritated, a little upset, maybe. Hands shoved in his pockets, he stared back at Jared with flattened lips as the cool Vancouver air ruffled the tips of his hair.
“Dude, what the fuck? Am I gonna have to stand out here all night?”
Jared’s eyes narrowed even more, until all he saw of Jensen was two tiny slits. He shoved at the door, swinging it wide open, and then turned on his heel and stalked back into the living room. He heard Jensen’s muffled curse, and then the door shut and footsteps followed him.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. And then, “Jared, what…what aren’t you telling me?”
It was the honest panic in Jen’s voice that finally broke through Jared’s numb shell. The I reallyreally don’t know what the hell’s going on here, and I’m scared that I’m missing something important. Please just tell me.
So, Jared did. Everything he’d been bottling up for days that seemed like years came spilling out in a diarrhea of the mouth worse than anything he’d ever experienced before. And for him, that was saying something.
“I just, you’re my best friend, Jensen,” he heard himself saying, shouting, as his rant came to a close ten minutes later, arms and hands flapping between them in accentuation. “It’s been over a year, and yet you still don’t trust me enough to do one stupid little thing I ask?”
Jensen’s expression didn’t change, but somehow gave off the impression of someone who’d been slapped. A little, humorless laugh escaped his throat, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in obvious frustration. His eyes didn’t move from Jared’s when he responded, the words slow and deliberate. “Jared. This isn’t a you thing. It’s me--”
“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Jared interrupted, feeling shitty and pissed off and angry and hurt and, fuck but he wished he’d never even laid eyes on Jensen-fucking-Ackles or his goddamnmotherfucking karaoke tape. “Jensen, seriously?”
Jensen’s jaw tightened. “I just don’t. Sing for. People.” The words were razor-edged and brittle, and at any other time Jared would’ve taken a giant step back, hands held up in surrender and an apology on his lips.
But that shit was over. Fucking over, and in the wake of everything he’d gone through over the past three months, there was just absolutely no way Jared was letting Jensen get away with that bullshit. No. Way.
“Mike, Tom, Kristin, Allison, Steve, Chris,” Jared continued listing off the names of the people he now knew for a fact had heard Jensen sing. Willingly. And as the list went on, and Jared ran out of fingers to count with, the rage and betrayal grew and grew until it was practically eating at his insides and he just wanted to reach out and…strangle Jensen.
“Jared.”
“I’m not fucking done!” he yelled, ignoring the surprised look on Jensen’s face as he took a step closer, huffing and puffing and fingers twitching. “You’ll goddamn sing for people you barely know…for strangers in a bar, but you won’t do it for me. And…what the fuck, Jen? I mean, what the fuck?”
“Jared, just-”
“And I don’t even know why it freaking matters!” Jared rolled right over Jensen’s words, dragging his fingers into his hair and tugging at the strands until his scalp burned in protest. “It shouldn’t matter! So what, you don’t wanna sing for me. Big fucking deal! It’s not like I don’t know you’re…”
And then, it clicked. Of course it did. And as Jared’s eyes flew to Jensen’s, and he realized Jensen had realized that he’d finally figured it out, heat crept up his neck and Jared tasted the bitter flavor of chagrin on his tongue.
He mouthed soundlessly for a moment, trying to come up with the best possible way to say Oops, sorry, I forgot you were a little shy in the midst of my psychotic breakdown, but all he could come up with was a soft, broken, “Jen, I’m…I’m sorry, I…”
But Jensen had gone stock-still, expression frozen as he stared at Jared all wide-eyed and unblinking. Jared held his breath, waiting for the inevitable smack-down and for the possibility - the probability - of Jensen storming out of his apartment and out of his life, for good. God knew Jared wouldn’t exactly blame him. And Jensen didn’t even know the half of what was really tearing Jared up inside.
But when Jensen finally spoke, it wasn’t to give Jared a tongue-lashing. It was to ask, “Jared. Is that me?”
Jared blinked, frowning his confusion at the abrupt change in subject until he followed Jensen’s horrified gaze to the stereo, still playing at low volume in the living room. Song Number 5, of course. His eyes flew back to Jensen’s, and in as careful a tone as he could manage, he replied, “I told you. Mike gave me your tape.”
And Jensen exploded into motion, leaving Jared flabbergasted and baffled as he ducked his head to avoid being clobbered by Jensen’s wildly flailing limbs. Jensen’s voice was mortified as he hissed out, “Oh, God, I thought you were just fucking with me, man!”
When Jensen moved to pass him, Jared reached out and caught his friend by the arm, fingers squeezing as Jensen made a sound of protest and tried to jerk away. Jared tugged him closer, Jensen’s side up against his front as he licked his lips, heart thundering in his ears. “No. Jensen, please, this…this is my favorite one.”
It wasn’t what he’d meant to say. He’d totally meant to put Jensen at ease, reassure him that he was good and had nothing to be nervous about, that despite his own personal hurt that Jensen obviously wasn’t ready to share this part of himself with Jared, he shouldn’t be embarrassed by it.
Jensen froze in reaction to Jared’s admission, and Jared didn’t release his grip, even when the seconds dragged on and Jensen didn’t try to make another move. They both just stood there, Jensen’s digitized voice wrapping around them, and then…
It was soft, subtle, but it was there, and Jared sucked in a sharp breath when Jensen - flesh and blood Jensen - began singing softly, matching the words and lyrics and harmonizing with his own recorded voice.
Jensen wouldn’t look at him, and really, it was more of a whisper than anything else, but hearing his Jensen singing the song that had kept him hard and aching and completely fucked the hell up for days was just too much for Jared’s already exhausted control to handle. His cock stirred, and he couldn’t even hide it. Wasn’t even sure he wanted to.
Jensen trailed off, having taken notice himself, and slowly turned around to face Jared. Jared half-expected to see disgust, horror, coloring his best friend’s expression, but instead Jensen just looked blank. Numb…much the same way Jared himself had felt only moments before Jensen had arrived.
But in Jensen’s eyes…Jared read the truth there, saw his friend struggling to mask his alarm. And Jared felt like the biggest asshole on the planet, because he knew…he knew he should let Jensen walk away.
Just like he knew he wasn’t going to.
“I’m sorry,” he managed again, and truly, he was, but that didn’t stop him from taking Jensen’s face in his hands, from bringing their mouths close together as he skimmed Jen’s features with his eyes and repeated the apology.
“Jared, I don’t…”
“I know,” he interrupted, voice as upset as Jensen’s. “But I need…just, please…”
When their lips touched, Jared stilled, waiting for Jensen to jerk back and slam his fist in his face and leave, or spit on him and call him a fag and then punch him in the face and leave. To which Jared would then have to die a slow and painful death, even though it’d be no more than what he deserved.
But Jensen did none of that. He didn’t exactly participate in the kiss, but he didn’t pull away. And Jared could taste Jensen…taste familiar things like beer, and pretzels, and a hint of wintergreen gum, and honest-to-God he should be freaking the fuck out, but all of those things - Jensen - only served to ebb the flow of need inside of him. And make it even stronger.
He let out a strangled sound, tilting his hands, Jensen’s face, to a different angle. Let his tongue glide inside Jensen’s mouth and across his molars and tangle briefly with Jensen’s as Jensen jerked and made an unrecognizable noise of his own.
It was only then that Jared realized he was grinding, desperately, against Jensen’s stomach. And Jensen was breathing shallowly, eyes glazed and indecipherable when Jared pulled back, hands still cradling Jensen’s head.
Jared licked his lips again, torn between utter elation and absolute misery as he studied Jensen’s stricken features. “I’m so sorry,” he tried again, voice nearly breaking. “I can’t help it around you anymore. I don’t know…”
“Just…just do what you need to do, man,” Jensen said hoarsely, and Jared didn’t miss the tremble in his voice. The unnerved look that passed fleetingly across his features. And then he paused, and moved closer, even though his expression didn’t change. “I trust you.”
And then, he started singing again. Song Number 5.
And Jared was fucking fucked.
He was pretty sure he whimpered - in victory? Defeat? Regret? - and then he was humping against Jensen, eyes closed to block out the look in Jensen’s gaze as his friend kept singing to him, for him. Because Jensen knew he needed it, and Jensen would do anything for Jared.
How had he ever forgotten that?
At one point, Jensen leaned into him, letting his head rest under Jared’s chin as he wobbled through the lyrics, voice shattered, and Jared searched for the strength to put a stop to what was happening. For Jensen’s sake.
But Jensen was still singing. And Jared just could. Not. Resist. Not when this was every perverse and twisted fantasy concocted over the past few months brought to life. Not when it was Jensen, and Jensen was doing this for him, and…
“Oh, God,” Jared groaned, thrusting up and against the muscled flesh of Jensen’s abdomen, coming hot and hard inside his pants as Jensen kept on and on and on, his words soothing and comforting now as he reached out and stroked along Jared’s arm. Mumbling things that Jared didn’t understand, or maybe just didn’t want to.
They stood like that, locked together, fused by hands and song and Jared’s come, and then Jared finally looked down to meet Jensen’s gaze. Certain that, surely, now the pain would come. The guilt. The oh myfuckinggod, what’ve you done to me?
Instead, Jensen just sort of smiled, stepping back and making a face as he looked down at the wet spot seeping through the lower half of his shirt. Jared’s cheeks flamed, and his stomach knotted, but Jensen just looked back up and said in a deadpanned tone, “See, this is why I don’t sing for people, dude.”
And Jared could only laugh. Because if he didn’t do that, he knew he’d cry.
cont..
[click on CD cover]