Let's Get Wrecked on Poptarts and Sex [NC17] J2
Title: Let's Get Wrecked on Poptarts and Sex
Author: queenklu
Beta by:
shri_amato
Pairing: J2
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Okay, if this happened? I will let Sam and Dean out of their jar. The only things that do exist are some of the fics mentioned, and they are all recced here!
Summary: Chad discovers fanfiction. Jared discovers Jensen. Who saw this coming besides the fangirls?
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Soundtrack | Ficrec post
"Have you been living in my pocket?"
Jared has been up for three hours and two cups of coffee. Clearly, he is not awake enough for this conversation.
"No..." he offers after the minute it takes him to properly swallow the orange juice headed for his sinuses, channeling Steve Zahn, "I think someone woulda told me."
"I think you would've noticed being so close to my dick."
And there it goes, out his nostrils and all over this morning's paper.
With Jensen laughing to the sound of Jared hacking up a lung, it strikes him now how weird it is that Jensen isn't here. Then he starts thinking how weird it is that he thinks it's weird because, honestly, he shouldn't be missing someone he sees every day, and Jensen should be enjoying their time apart instead of calling him.
And then he remembers why Jensen isn't here, why on their first free weekend in three weeks Jensen got called in for voice-overs on some Dean-centric audio stuff that got damaged, and knows from experience that Jensen + boredom = heavy roaming charges.
"I hate you."
"Not according to the internets."
Jared pinches the bridge of his stinging nose and bites back a groan. "Are you reading fan fiction again?"
Once upon a time, neither one of them went near the stuff. Jared had put up with a lot of shit during Gilmore Girls, enough to know to stay away from the chat rooms and websites “dedicated” to his shows, and he suspects Jensen learned that at an even earlier age-what with his Dad The Actor and those unfortunate cowboy hat pictures.
He’d still heard about it, thanks to Chad, who, to the detriment of Jared’s email provider, regularly fills his inbox with the weirdest, most ridiculous drug-induced 'Jay-squared' fics, CC: j.acklantern@gmail.com. (According to Jensen, his sister made it for him when he first switched to acting-probably from something like brickpants@jailbait.net-and he never had the heart to change it. Which is utter bull. Jared knows Jensen’s just lazy.)
In any case, these stories are the literary equivalent of Mike Rosenbaum’s crack babies-or at least, those of Mike’s fic persona. You know, the ones where Jared is a marine biologist and Jensen is a pro-wrestler, and one day when their paths happen to cross...
"We sweat and we die, baby," Jensen shoots back absently, like he's in the middle of reading one right now.
"Yeah, well." Jared fumbles, hoping Jensen can't actually hear him blush, like some fans seem to think he can. "I miss your musk."
Jensen snorts, unimpressed. "You aren't even reading the new stuff, are you."
"Uh, no," he lies, "and it's kind of freaking me out that you are."
"Yeah, well you just blew me next to the long-lost wreckage of a civil war iron-clad stranded in the middle of Africa with warlords closing in. I’m feeling rather good about myself.”
Jared sighs and settles into the couch. “Sahara? Seriously?”
“Penelope Cruz is totally irrelevant in that movie anyway.”
~*~
The fan girls (and some boys, he supposes) have it wrong.
Well, alright, some of the stuff is fairly accurate, if you squint through the miasma of Jensen's childhood diabetes and Jared's daddy issues brought on by being raised by pygmies. Like the way they've managed to see through the front Jensen puts up at cons, because he's shy, not an asshole, and also because he's convinced if he doesn't stay closed off he'll be eaten alive. But as far as Jared's concerned? He is nothing like this caricature they've created for him, this pre-teen girl in a line-backer's body called 'Padapuppy.'
He has no idea how they can see through Jensen's facade, but take Jared's at face value and then some. He's torn through all his Supernatural behind the scenes stuff, the con videos, and yeah he's joking and smiling and goofing off, but that's all nerves. If he was as 'On' as the Padapuppy he'd shoot himself. Hell, Jensen would load the gun.
That just isn’t how they work.
Jared tried explaining it to Chris once, the first time they took him and Steve out for a night on the town and wound up spectacularly drunk in the middle of Buttfuck, Canada, Jensen across the bar with Steve getting his ass royally kicked in darts while Jared and Chris chased shots around their table. “It's like...we’re both sitting on opposite ends of the scale,” he’d slurred, shoulder blades itching, “and somewhere in the middle is this, like…a decent human being. Or two decent human beings. Whatever, I had the same sort of thing with Chad-‘s nothing for the fans to get so worked up over, you know?”
Okay, mostly he and Chad amp each other up until small countries explode, but still. Chris hadn’t yet met Chad.
“Yeah, well, I think you’re okay,” Chris had growled, ruffling his hair. “Jenny wouldn’t have brought you out with us if you sucked balls.”
The point is they don't want to screw each other. He and Jensen. They don’t.
~*~
Chris and Steve haven’t been any help ever since they found out they were a whole subculture unto themselves, which means in the middle of perfectly normal conversations over the phone with them Jensen will stop, laugh, and say, “Oh, that reminds me-you'll never guess where you fucked Steve today. No. I shit you not, the moon. Astroglide just took on a whole ‘nother meaning. No, well, you were aliens, taking a break on your quest to rescue me from the evil Space Invader who kidnapped me for his love slave."
Jensen isn't laughing meanly. It boggles Jared's mind, smack dab in the middle of his kitchen looking for a beer that goes with Madden. It's just...it's weird. Two seconds ago he was admiring the way Jensen’s moving around gathering Jared’s favorite foods under one arm with his cell tucked between his head and shoulder, and now-
"So, you read about your two friends having alien buttsex often?" Jared asks the instant Jensen hangs up, suddenly caught wondering why the hell he’s crossed his arms.
"Tentacled alien buttsex," Jensen clarifies, totally missing the point. "You have to read it. These girls are amazing."
If Jensen was Chad, Jared would know at this point that last statement had something to do with wanting into these anonymous females’ pants, to benefit from their warped and kinky minds. But he's not. Jensen really sounds like he's thinking what he said; that they're amazing, end of story.
"Did we have tentacled alien buttsex?" Jared asks, suddenly and surprisingly annoyed-like if he had gay alien sex with his costar, he should fucking know about it.
Jensen arches an eyebrow before ducking into the fridge. "I just skim those parts." And he does, Jared knows he does, because waiting for phrases to jump out at them is where they get some of their best lines. Jensen's head reappears a second later, sucking on a Sam Adams, and Jared's stomach feels like he just ate one of those tentacles.
Jensen wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes just a little bit guarded behind their smile. "From what I could tell, you seemed to enjoy it."
Jared's already in the living room (sans beer) before he's struck with the belated realization that they were playing a really weird game of gay chicken, and he just lost.
~*~
Jensen doesn't seems to think reading stories about himself fucking his costar is weird, because, "It's like that old clichéd 'I'm just reading it for the articles,' line," he told Jared once, whacking him on the chest with a sheaf of printed pages, "Only, it's true." He gets an honest to god kick out of it, and-as much as Jared wishes it was in his head-there’s no way not to notice a direct correlation between Jensen’s mood and his own. It’s that fucking scale thing, only they can pull each other up and down, too.
…His metaphors have always been for shit.
Plus, they-he and Jensen-they’re kind of busy. Like, every damn day. So sometimes the only things they have the time or energy to read happens to be the length of a standard fan fiction. Which…well, it wasn’t always the case, but it is now.
It makes Jared feel...twitchy, the feeling that he should be doing something, but he doesn't know if he's supposed to put an end to it or let it go.
It’s his fault, really. Well, and Chad’s. But pretty much everything is Chad’s fault.
~*~
"Alan Rickman totally wants to tap that."
He is still losing gay chicken. He has been losing gay chicken…all week.
"The fact that you can't remember Hans Gruber's name," Jared says to cover up his genuine bafflement, "makes me seriously reconsider your man card."
Every single movie they’ve watched, even Die Hard, for fuck's sake, turns into an evening listening to Jensen rewrite the entire movie starring their epic gay love.
"Hey. Bruce Willis is a manly man, and he still almost cries like a girl picking glass out of his feet in the bathroom." Jensen prods him deliberately on the shoulder, like Jared should be able to see what's coming. "Dibs on being McClane!"
“Why, because you regularly cry in bathrooms?” is what he’s supposed to say, but he can’t get the words out. The spot where Jensen poked him burns a little, like it might bruise.
"Screw this," he grumbles, shoving a thumb down on the channel button so he finally has somewhere else to look. "I will not let you ruin this for me, or the rest of-manly mankind,” he adds, kicking at Jensen’s knees where his legs are stretched across the couch.
Obviously, because the universe hates him, Jared's favorite childhood (okay, early teen) movie pops onto the screen, and Jared levels a glare at the side of Jensen's face, daring him to say a word.
It’s not really like he could, there’s no way-
Jensen takes a too-innocent swig from his beer, lips pursed tight in a smile around the bottle.
"You are shitting me!" Jared yells.
Jensen cough-spits his mouthful in a spray of droplets down his chin, over his jeans. Jared’s hand twitches.
"N-no," Jensen groans, scrubbing a hand over his grin before Jared can, "You were the overworked, candy-holic Pumpkin King, Harley and Sadie were your hell hounds, and Steve was Chris's Igor, pining from a-fugly."
"Yeah, well you were a fucking rag doll!" Jared points out, voice several octaves higher than it should be. Jensen just laughs.
He really, really sucks at this game.
~*~
When things started to go south with Sandy…well, they went really south, in a painfully quiet-before-the-storm way, only the storm kept not coming and not coming until Jared felt like his ears were bleeding every time he picked up the phone. It didn’t really help that being around Jensen made it ten times worse.
He didn’t know why-it was the one thing Sandy never gave him non-existent shit about, spending time with Jensen instead of her-but he still felt it like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. A lead weight with spikes, wrapped in barbed wire. It was probably worse because she didn’t not-mention it, but maybe not. He’d never been able to hide anything from Jensen, and being vulnerable like that just made him feel like the bandages were being ripped off.
Three weeks of hiding from Jensen at every opportunity (no small feat when you’re living together), and watching his entire future unravel on the screen of his Nokia hadn’t made it better, but he ignored the worst parts and told himself that was just because he wasn’t used to not being connected at the hip, that he didn’t have anything to take his mind off it.
It wasn’t his fault Chad had been sending him links to fanfiction for two years, but it was definitely his fault that he fell so low to click one.
‘Jensen walked towards Jared with such swagger in his hips that the tight leather standard Jedi britches strained to contain his arousal, shirt buttons no match for the power of the Force, especially not from one as skilled as Obi-Pada-Lecki.’
He hadn’t laughed in such a long time that his babies heard him and tore (literally) up the stairs, Jensen scrambling on their heels to pound on the door, asking if he was okay. Something along the times of, “Fuck, Jay, open the fucking door, I’ve-"
Jensen smacked him on the nose with his fist when Jared jerked open the door-an accident, but it stunned him stupid long enough for Jared to shake off another laugh and pin Jensen in a hug.
Hugging Jensen-chest to chest as tight as he could-made the ache go away, for as long as he was holding on.
“The hell?” Jensen mumbled, eyes so wide and concerned (and a little hurt) when Jared let go that he could’ve-
He could’ve shown Jensen what he was reading, and did. Even if it felt mostly like a distraction for how badly his hands were suddenly shaking.
~*~
Jared maybe gets a live journal account. And he maybe gets it to find better worse fic than Jensen, so he can catch a fucking break.
He's not very good at it.
‘Jensen shuffled towards Jared, falling against him in an embrace-or what Jared thought was an embrace until Jensen’s hands started fumbling with the coffee maker on the counter behind him.’
Jared keeps reading, waiting for one of them to mention Jared’s peg leg or Jensen’s night shift at the hospital.
‘“Come on, man,” Jared laughed, catching Jensen’s hands and pushing him back. “You seriously cannot get up this late and expect time for a coffee break and a blow job.”’
Aaaaany day now.
‘Jensen looked honestly torn about which one he wanted. Jared laughed.’
And then proclaimed his evil plot to take over the world, he prompts, sighing impatiently as he clicks the down arrow.
‘“Coffee now,” Jensen mumbled against Jared’s freshly shaven jaw, “Blow job in your trailer after we finish the scene where you cry like a girl?”’
…Uh.
‘“Is that before or after Dean angsts about hell?”
Holy…
This…this is a story about him and Jensen.
No, like really him and Jensen, where they aren't rock stars or veterinarians or college-roommates-sometimes-hookers, where they're just... They’re them. Fuck, they’re describing the way Jensen looks all sleep and caffeine deprived, the way Jared's seen-sees-Jensen every single morning.
What. The fuck. Is this legal?
He’s kind of really creeped out for a second because-okay, irrationally, but still-his brain starts thinking the fan girls are watching them.
But they aren’t (he checks-no cameras). And there’s more.
They’re going in detail about the look on Jared's face at a basketball game with Sandy, the weekend of Jensen's 30th birthday. They’re talking about Jensen's sweater vests and Jared's "Everything's Bigger in Texas," t-shirt, and the way they both look calmer in front of the cameras with their arms looped easily around each other than apart.
That twitchy feeling-like he’s just streamlined three cups of espresso-comes back so fast and hard it takes everything he has to keep from smashing his computer and taking the kids for a run, maybe a ten mile loop, just take the dogs and go and not think about Jensen at all. Except for leaving a note. Because Jensen will-
Not. Care. Because. It’s. Not…real.
"Jesus..." Jared rakes a hand through his hair, takes a breath.
And keeps reading, scrolling down every time he sees the tell-tale words, 'their lips met' and tuning back in for the post-coital...No, really, there's not a whole lot of words after the porn, most times. And Jared doesn't need to have his brain map out exactly what Jensen would look like fucked stupid. He doesn't.
Fuck, especially since it’s not even like some random character with Jensen’s name and some crazy-ass job like-where the hell are the rodeo clowns?
That night he doesn’t sleep much at all. The sixth time he snorts awake dreaming of Jensen curling up under the covers with him (sometimes wearing the glasses he doesn’t need anymore-fucking lasic surgery, fucking Dark Angel-) it’s four in the morning, and he might as well turn the computer back on.
Sometimes the Padapuppy makes an appearance, but mostly it's just them being...well, as close to them as people who've never met them can guess, and sometimes the attention to detail is so close he catches himself thinking, Jesus, did this really happen? like Jensen really has been making fuck-me eyes at random P.A.s behind his back.
He knows at that point he’s getting a little too emotionally invested, but he’s always been that way with reading, so thinking Christ, Jensen, just tell me, takes a couple seconds to sink in.
Jared goes still. "Tell me what?" he asks the computer, voice on the narrow edge of silent. It stays quiet, low hum of the monitor not so much calming as it’s making his nerves vibrate.
Because there isn't anything to tell. He would know. Jensen wouldn't even have to say anything. Obviously. Nothing to get...worked up over. And definitely not disappointed about, Jesus Christ.
He needs to take a break so he does, shuts the computer off and runs with the dogs, comes into the kitchen with a nice sheen of sweat to find Jensen yawning around a cup of coffee in a way that would definitely be a precursor to sex if this was a fanfic.
“Mm,” Jensen hums, voice sleep-rough as he slides off the breakfast bar stool. “Musky.”
Jared, still riding the endorphin high, shoots back easily, “Shut up, Pudgy Midway,” and smacks Jensen’s ass on his way to the fridge.
Jensen grunts in surprise and Jared laughs, and all is right in the world until Jensen says, “Your brains are no match for my tractorbeam.”
He can’t get his hand to stop tingling for hours.
~*~
Jared booked his flight to break up with Sandy the night he and Jensen discovered fanfiction. He hates that he has to hope there’s no correlation.
What really has no correlation (with any of this) is Danneel. Jensen was so excited every time he called home-well, called Jared, who was at home-while he was off filming Ten Inch Hero.
“It’s like-I dunno, if you and I had been friends for as long as we have but never got to work together.”
“You’d be gabbing on the phone with Chris talking about the color of my eyes in the sunlight?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Jensen laughed, “You know what I mean. I get to show off for her, man! I get to prove that I’m good at what I do for a living! It’s very Neanderthal.”
“So just like your face.”
“Yeah, well, you know what? Danneel likes my face just fine.”
“You’re not replacing me already, are you?” Jared said easy enough, even though Sadie’s head was feeling a little heavy on his chest. He felt kind of empty, too, like he hadn’t eaten all day (which wasn’t true). “Because, remember, your name is on the lease-that gives me at least a year of obligatory best friend status.”
There was a faint buzz of static like Jensen was sighing, but when he talked there was definitely a smile. “No, dude, no chance of that. Hey, I gotta run. I’ll be back in two weeks, don’t let Harley eat my shoes.”
Jared was half-way through a bowl of ramen before he started wondering if that sigh had sounded relieved.
~*~
It’s three weeks after Jared smacked Jensen on the ass-not that anything’s changed to make that a significant time mark-and his obsession with non-AU isn’t going away. In fact, it seems to be getting worse. Not only is he loosing gay chicken, he has to keep reminding himself they’re still playing.
Right now Jared's half-way through a fic about Jensen getting shot by a crazed fan during the writer's strike when his chest starts hurting so bad he has to sit back, rubbing at the ache and absently wondering if he's getting a cold before the next paragraph catches his eye and the pain sharpens with the thought of Jensen in a coma, silent and hurting and-
Jared lets his eyes close, makes his breathing slow down, reminding himself that Jensen is fine, just out running errands…Jesus Christ, he needs to stop reading fanfiction, because that reminds him of a fic he read this morning where Jensen bought him a huge bag of lime-apple gummy worms to apologize for some couple-y fight brought on by nothing more than being in close quarters.
He wants that.
What? a voice that sounds a lot like Jensen's snarks, his ears still ringing from shock, Me nearly dying to save you? Or me waiting on you hand and foot?
Shit, no. Jared feels it so sharp he literally shakes his head, like a rope yanking his jaw. He wants this. He scrolls down and jabs a finger at the screen, the part where Jensen wakes up and panics because Jared left the hospital room for just a second, and in real life Jared's heart starts hurting again at the way Jensen's looking at him on the page. He wants that. He wants to be that, for Jensen.
…Oh.
Wow.
Jared sits back, ears burning.
Who saw this coming besides the fangirls?
The door slams downstairs, making Jared jump so hard his knees dislodge the keyboard and send it skittering under the desk so that when he ducks to get it he bangs his head hard enough on the edge to see stars. Jensen's calling his name, thumping upstairs, seconds away from walking in a room with a computer monitor covered in that One Fucking Picture the fangirls won't let die, the one where Jared's laughing at something Jensen said and Jensen has his chin propped up with one hand, looking at him like-
"You reading porn about me?"
The voice is definitely just outside his door, and Jared does the only thing he can think of half-stuffed under a desk. He unplugs everything.
"Dude."
Jensen sounds a little weird, so Jared nearly pulls something twisting to see over his back end to Jensen's face. For a split second, Jensen looks like he's frowning at something on Jared's shorts (is he wearing the gag ones Chad got him saying 'Juicy?' He can't fucking remember) and then he catches sight of Jared's face and smiles, eyebrow inching up towards his hairline.
"You and the computer desk need a minute?"
"The dogs knocked stuff loose," Jared says, almost before Jensen's finished, shaking the fist full of chords in what little room he has left.
"Uh huh..." Jensen sounds over the top skeptical, like when he doesn't really care and just wants to get a rise out of a person, but he's backing up-which doesn't quite compute. "Whatever. I'm making enchiladas, so wash your mitts and get ready to strip that monster chicken."
"That monster smoked chicken," Jared's supposed to shoot back, reminding Jensen that he'll be thanking him for weeks every time they have leftovers that Jared talked him into the 20lb-er. But Jensen's already in the kitchen by the time Jared gets his act together-in his defense, they weren’t planning on the enchiladas until tomorrow-and by then it's too late.
Fuck.
Fuck.
~*~
Three weeks after he broke up with Sandy, Jensen dragged him to a low key get-together over at Tom’s. Jared was still a little raw, but the look on Jensen’s face when he realized the sheer number of people at this ‘low key’ event made him feel a little better. He even cracked a smile, which lasted just long enough for him to squeeze inside the house and get literally tackled against Tom’s living room wall.
Gasping breath back into his lungs, it took him a couple seconds before he could see anything but stars. And by then there was a strangely familiar arm looped around his neck, yanking him down.
“You don’t call, you don’t write!” Chad bellowed in his ear, methodically fucking up Jared’s hair, “Where’s the motherfucking love?”
Jared read a fanfiction once written from Chad’s point of view, and laughed so hard he pulled a stomach muscle and fell out of his chair. Chad responded to the forwarded link with several photoshopped pictures of him and Jensen cuddling while naked, which Jared deleted without opening.
Now, though, he was grinning helplessly on his own, couldn’t seem to stop, because he always forgets how much he misses Chad until he sees him again.
“What the hell are you doing in Canada?” Jared yelled back, arms just a little too tight around Chad’s smaller body.
“Jenny called me!” It was the most terrifying thing in the world, but Chris and Chad got on like wildfire (in the best and worst sense of the word). They were the only two in the semi-civilized world allowed use of that nickname-the only time Jared tried it out Jensen ripped him a new one and didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day.
He disentangled just long enough to shoot a glance back towards Jensen-where he was wrapping himself up in the arms of a definitely recognizable girl. “Said you were down in the dumps,” Chad added, watching Jared’s face, arm still wrapped around his head so Jared had no choice about pressing their temples together.
Jensen caught his eye over the brunette’s shoulder and flashed him a grin, one Jared couldn’t help returning even if it seemed to disappear kind of fast.
“Danneel’s here too?” he asked, bass of whatever music was on making his heart thump off-beat.
“Beer!” Chad hollered, right in his ear, and bent Jared nearly in half to frog-march him to the keg.
It never took long to get drunk at one of Tom’s parties. Once Jared caught himself staring at that mop of dark hair across the room, contemplating whether or not he should tell Tom about the time Tom got turned into a pregnant dog-well, once he started thinking that, Jared figured he was definitely successful on the getting-drunk front.
Jensen kept appearing and disappearing in the crowd, sometimes with Danny, sometimes not, always turned toward Jared. Or that’s what it felt like. But he never came over, no matter how many times Jared nearly broke things trying to wave him their way.
“Jay, Jay…” Chad never acted more like his fic persona than when drunk, but the creepy part was, he hadn’t started acting that way since after he found livejournal. No, seriously. Even Chad said so.
See, right now Chad was snickering, flat on his back, which was somehow sprawled across Jared’s front, and there might have been a bong floating around. Maybe literally.
Jared snickered back, prodding the space between Chad’s eyes.
“Jay,” Chad barked, right in his face, “Gotta lis’ me.” He paused, then smacked him upside the head.
“Ow!” They were on a couch, Jared realized in a moment of clarity before he waved it away. So they were maybe half-sitting up. Cool.
“I’m not squinty,” Chad told him, fist clenching in Jared’s hair. Something else clenched, but Jared couldn’t really place it.
“Never said you were!” he snapped instead, indignation flooding back.
“Yeah, well, sometimes you think it!” Chad slumped back, back of his head thumping against the armrest and his eyes-somber to the point of miserable-"When y’ gonna tell me?”
“Uh?” Jared said, highly intelligently.
“Not squinty,” Chad said again, squinting up at Jared’s face. “Srsly,” he added without a hint of vowels, “Know you. Known you since-ever. Y’get-fucked up, no girl. Seen it. Saw with Alexis, an’ that one chick after ‘lexis, and the one after that chick after ‘lexis…an’ now no Sandy, and no fucked up. Down, yes. Fucked, no. Right?”
“Uh.” This time it was a little dumber.
“Tell me.” Chad breathed alcohol fumes over Jared’s face, making him giggle and palm the back of Chad’s fuzzy head. The hair was just a little too short, little too blond… Jared blinked.
“Tell- What?” he asked, felt his eyes go pleading and hopeless because he didn’t have a clue.
Chad just sighed, patted Jared’s face. “’S okay. You’ll catch on, guess. Shots!”
When he woke up he was back home, tucked in his bed, a phone number scrawled in pink lipstick on his forehead, lip-marks down his cheeks. The number was Chad’s. He knows, because he called it.
“HA!” was all his best friend said, sounding like hell fucked over, “Knew it.” And hung up.
That was the day Jensen and Danneel had their first fight.
~*~
It was also a couple months ago, and Jared hasn’t been on a real date since. There hasn’t been any pressure to-which, Chad’s right, is a little weird for him. But he just hasn’t felt that click. Not even that, there’s no drive to find the click. Before this morning he thought maybe it was because there was no one that could ever compete with Sandy. But now…
Now Jared has smoked chicken grease up to his elbows, fingers numb from the temperature of the bird pulled from their fridge not ten minutes earlier. Jensen's at the counter, lining up the multitudes of cans he needs to make this work. It's not really cooking if it comes from a can, Jensen says every time Jared calls him Emeril, but Jared still thinks it's pretty awesome.
He's paying more attention to Jensen's face that he is deboning-otherwise there would be a boner joke somewhere in the mess he's in-watching the way Jensen's mouth twitches as he reads the cans, the way he looks so calm and focused while he spins and pries them open. Black beans, diced green chilies, red enchilada sauce. He's got a system. Jared’s only now noticing he likes it maybe too much.
Because when Jensen glances over at him, he hasn't moved in two minutes and his hand is inside the chicken. Where there is no meat.
What are you doing? Jensen’s face asks, the same time his quirked eyebrow quips, Chicken molester.
Jared's up and shouldering Jensen to one side of the sink before he can say anything, using his elbow to flip the faucet on at the same time he mumbles, "My hands are cold." He doesn't think about how close they are, or how the space between their hips feels hotter than it should, or anything but getting the feeling back in his fingers.
A heavy sort of resignation settles in his chest, suddenly. Padapuppy has it easy. He always gets his guy.
Not that…Jared necessarily wants to get ‘his guy,’ but, you know, if, theoretically, he did-Jensen, cowboy hats aside, doesn't like men. As far as he knows. Well, hell, as far as he knew (before this afternoon) Jared didn’t like men either. And it’s not really like he has a sudden urge to hit a gay bar, it's just... It's Jensen. It's kind of like, ‘Of course.’
It's kind of like, "You're fucked!" but presented really cheerfully.
Jared's working the soap along his fingers more thoroughly than he needs to, trying to coax the blood back into circulation, when Jensen coughs and nudges him with his shoulder. "Hey, hand me that?"
He looks a little flushed, at least in the glance Jared lets himself sneak before snagging the tortillas out of the microwave and presenting them with a flourish and one of their lines. "My lord."
Jensen's supposed to say, "Scream it like you mean it!" but he just kind of ducks his head and gets to work pouring things in a pot.
Something’s not quite right, if Jensen fumbled a cue like that. Jared stops moving, trying to figure out-but Jensen was kind of in a funk when he came home. Everything seemed fine this morning, so…
So, of course, "Jesus, this chicken's freezing," is the only thing Jared can think to say.
"I left a note telling you to get it out at three," Jensen points out, lifting one shoulder in a shrug that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. "What-" He clears his throat, tucking the stirring spoon ladle-up into his back pocket. "What were you up to all day?"
Oh. Jared frowns a little at the spoon, something niggling at the back of his mind before he shakes it off. Jensen doesn’t look guilty, he looks…tense, yeah, but exhausted, too. Almost his oh-my-god-when-is-hiatus look but not exactly. It makes his stomach churn, reminds Jared of Jensen’s Danneel Face when things were going downhill.
Jared realizes then that a) he’s been staring too long, b) Jensen asked him a question, and c) he doesn’t really have a good answer.
“Just…I dunno, not much.” He shakes his hands dry, goes around the counter to his chicken, and instantly feels a little less like suffocating, but a little heavier, too. “Read some, checked email, watched TV…nothing big.”
There’s a lull, and then, “What are you reading these days?”
Okay, now it’s getting creepy. Jared almost rubs his hands down his thighs in his own nervous gesture before he remembers the grease and rests his wrists on the sides of the bowl. “Um, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies?” (He is, really. Just…not so frequently, as of late. And he has no idea why, but he’s been dropping hints that he’s easing off the fanfiction, simply because…he’s not reading the kind Jensen would approve of anymore.)
Here’s the part where Jensen’s supposed to laugh and rib him about his crazy need to make an effort at liking gifts, even though it was a present from Mackenzie and if ever there was a girl who could beat the shit out of Jared it’s Jensen’s sister-but it doesn’t matter, because it doesn’t happen.
“Hm. You liking it alright?”
In a last ditch effort Jared pastes on a lopsided smile and tries, “It’d be a lot better starring the infamous Jay-squared. You’d be Darcy, of course, with your I’m-shy-and-mysterious-ask-me-how thing going, and I’d be”-he strikes a pose, flexing like a pro-wrestler-"plucky Elizabeth Bennett, zombie killer extraordinaire. We’d team up and fight evil, like Chad.”
Jensen fumbles an open can right into the sink.
“Shit! Fucking-"
“Whoa.” Okay, enough. Jared’s not off the stool, but only because sudden movements might be bad. “Calm down, Jen, we’ve got-"
Jensen picks up the half empty can and slams it into the trashcan, half way across the kitchen, without taking a step.
“Nice shot,” Jared offers, not a hint of actual congratulations in his tone. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”
Jensen runs a knuckle over the line of his jaw, a sort of breathless laugh, almost Dean. But when Jensen finally meets his eyes there’s no trace of Winchester, just a quiet kind of-"Nothing.”
Jared doesn’t move, not even bothering with a shrug. Because one thing the fangirls have right? He knows Jensen.
(Which kind of sucks, because if he didn’t he might be able to convince himself that Jensen secretly liked men and just hadn’t let on.)
“I just-" Ding. Even though Jensen’s waving it away as he talks, which only means it’s even more important. “I ran into some fans at the grocery store. And-yeah, you know?”
Jared doesn’t know, because Jared wasn’t there. But he has this flash in his brain of Kripke telling the press that the deranged woman who’d shot Jensen wasn’t really a fan, she was just mentally unstable.
“You okay?” He bites his tongue but not fast enough, wants to smack himself the instant the words are out.
“What? No, I’m fine.” Jensen looks surprised, but honest, only slightly annoyed. “I just-" He snags a beer from the fridge, arms wide and back to casual. “They caught me off-guard, is all.”
Jared’s voice drops about three octaves, feigning horror. “You didn’t tell them you like reading fanfiction, did you?”
“No.” Jensen looks properly scandalized, which-thank god. “They asked me about you, actually…mostly. And, you know, if I thought Genevieve was good enough for you.”
Jared blinks. A couple times. “Me and Genevieve?”
“Yeah!” Jensen’s trying just a little too hard, but Jared doesn’t know what he’s trying for. “I thought she had a boyfriend!”
“…I thought she was a lesbian.” They don’t really hang out with Gen that often, honestly. She’s the least sociable recurring actor they’ve ever had, not that they can tell that to the fans. They like to think the Supernatural cast is one big happy family, which is mostly true…just not with Genevieve.
Jensen laughs, but it’s weird. Jared sits back a little, trying to wrap his head around it, which is why his mouth blurts, “Did they ask you about Danneel?” without any sort of permission from his brain.
Jensen goes too still for a second before he turns around to fix Jared with a look. “Dude. We haven’t even told our agents that we’re over. They’re fan girls,” Jensen adds, rubbing at his eyes, “Not psychic.”
Jared feels an almost painful sort of burning in the tips of his ears, like really focused blushing, and something hot and lower than his chest, and he thinks, Maybe not psychic, but still pretty damn perceptive.
“So, wait. Are you flipping over me and Gen? It’s-"
“Jesus, Jay, how the hell can you tell us apart?”
…What? “Well, for starters, one of you has a penis,” he points out, hackles on the rise because What. The. Fuck.
Jensen deflates, and there’s the guilt, wrapped up in his features and the set of his shoulders so thick it makes Jared’s stomach churn. “I’m sorry. Shit.” He’s got a new can of black beans in his hands, thumbnail tracing the label. “Sorry. It’s nothing. I haven’t- This thing with Danneel, I haven’t been sleeping too hot and-taking it out on you.” There’s an ‘of course’ in his voice before he curses again, turning back to the stove.
“Hey,” Jared says when he can trust himself not to sound like a pig-tailed Padapuppy. “You can always take shit out on me, man. It’s what I’m here for.”
His co-star makes a noise that’s sort of like a scoff, glancing back over his shoulder with a smile that’s all uncertain Yeah, I know-like he wants to know, but doesn’t trust himself to, and that right there is Jensen in a jar.
“I’d tell you if I was dating anyone,” Jared adds, not entirely sure why and trying so hard not to fuck them up. “You know that, right? Hell, I-" Oh, shit. Here’s something he was hoping never to tell anyone, but he can’t make himself stop, can only try to make it sound as casual as he possibly can, “I called you after getting engaged before I called my parents.”
Jared can feel Jensen staring at him before he raises his eyes, reaches for a smile. “Seriously. I’d give you a hug if I didn’t have greasy chicken fingers.”
Jensen looks entirely too grateful for that.
~*~
When Jensen and Danneel ended it was hard, fast, and brutal, bad because they’d been friends long enough to know every button to punch. Jared remembers a fleeting thought that if he and Jensen ever dated and broke up, it would be something like this, only worse.
And Jared got front row seats to the event.
Jensen tried his best to get her to fly up so they could do it in person, but that technique only worked on someone willing to get on a plane.
“No. Fuck you, Jensen Ackles, this relationship only ever happened on the phone, it’ll fucking well die on the phone!” Jensen didn’t have the volume turned up on his cell, she was just that loud.
Jared couldn’t get out of earshot unless jumping into oncoming traffic at 60 miles an hour out of a vehicle he was driving was a viable option, but honestly? He was considering it. They had been driving back from dinner when she called, and Jared was looking so hard for a shoulder to pull over onto that it felt like his eyes were bleeding.
“Danny-"
“Jesus, Jensen!” Now she sounded like she was falling apart, anger sliding into hurt. “You promised you’d try.”
“I did. God, Dan, I did.”
And that’s it. Jared cut across two lanes of traffic and turned illegally into an exit-only road leading to some high school that was closed for the day, literally fell out of his truck the instant his seatbelt jerked free.
He knew he was breathing much too shakily for the one not getting broken up with, but-fuck, Jensen’s voice.
He sat on the pavement for an hour, back against his door-because moving further away felt…wrong-so when Jensen leaned over the cab to open it all he managed was a little nudge before Jared’s weight pushed it shut again.
It took him a minute to stand, bones creaking from holding one position in the chilled air so long. The door creaked too when he opened it, and Jensen was…so small on his side of the truck.
Jared had never had doubts about whether to touch Jensen or not. He’d never thought Jensen might shove him away, before. He didn’t know why this time felt different.
“What,” Jensen croaked, wet eyes on the dashboard, painful smile tearing at his mouth, “I gotta be squinty for you to put out?”
It felt like the hug when Dean got back from hell, only a hell of a lot sadder. Dean would never hold onto anyone the way that Jensen did.
PART TWO
Author: queenklu
Beta by:
shri_amato
Pairing: J2
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Okay, if this happened? I will let Sam and Dean out of their jar. The only things that do exist are some of the fics mentioned, and they are all recced here!
Summary: Chad discovers fanfiction. Jared discovers Jensen. Who saw this coming besides the fangirls?
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Soundtrack | Ficrec post
"Have you been living in my pocket?"
Jared has been up for three hours and two cups of coffee. Clearly, he is not awake enough for this conversation.
"No..." he offers after the minute it takes him to properly swallow the orange juice headed for his sinuses, channeling Steve Zahn, "I think someone woulda told me."
"I think you would've noticed being so close to my dick."
And there it goes, out his nostrils and all over this morning's paper.
With Jensen laughing to the sound of Jared hacking up a lung, it strikes him now how weird it is that Jensen isn't here. Then he starts thinking how weird it is that he thinks it's weird because, honestly, he shouldn't be missing someone he sees every day, and Jensen should be enjoying their time apart instead of calling him.
And then he remembers why Jensen isn't here, why on their first free weekend in three weeks Jensen got called in for voice-overs on some Dean-centric audio stuff that got damaged, and knows from experience that Jensen + boredom = heavy roaming charges.
"I hate you."
"Not according to the internets."
Jared pinches the bridge of his stinging nose and bites back a groan. "Are you reading fan fiction again?"
Once upon a time, neither one of them went near the stuff. Jared had put up with a lot of shit during Gilmore Girls, enough to know to stay away from the chat rooms and websites “dedicated” to his shows, and he suspects Jensen learned that at an even earlier age-what with his Dad The Actor and those unfortunate cowboy hat pictures.
He’d still heard about it, thanks to Chad, who, to the detriment of Jared’s email provider, regularly fills his inbox with the weirdest, most ridiculous drug-induced 'Jay-squared' fics, CC: j.acklantern@gmail.com. (According to Jensen, his sister made it for him when he first switched to acting-probably from something like brickpants@jailbait.net-and he never had the heart to change it. Which is utter bull. Jared knows Jensen’s just lazy.)
In any case, these stories are the literary equivalent of Mike Rosenbaum’s crack babies-or at least, those of Mike’s fic persona. You know, the ones where Jared is a marine biologist and Jensen is a pro-wrestler, and one day when their paths happen to cross...
"We sweat and we die, baby," Jensen shoots back absently, like he's in the middle of reading one right now.
"Yeah, well." Jared fumbles, hoping Jensen can't actually hear him blush, like some fans seem to think he can. "I miss your musk."
Jensen snorts, unimpressed. "You aren't even reading the new stuff, are you."
"Uh, no," he lies, "and it's kind of freaking me out that you are."
"Yeah, well you just blew me next to the long-lost wreckage of a civil war iron-clad stranded in the middle of Africa with warlords closing in. I’m feeling rather good about myself.”
Jared sighs and settles into the couch. “Sahara? Seriously?”
“Penelope Cruz is totally irrelevant in that movie anyway.”
~*~
The fan girls (and some boys, he supposes) have it wrong.
Well, alright, some of the stuff is fairly accurate, if you squint through the miasma of Jensen's childhood diabetes and Jared's daddy issues brought on by being raised by pygmies. Like the way they've managed to see through the front Jensen puts up at cons, because he's shy, not an asshole, and also because he's convinced if he doesn't stay closed off he'll be eaten alive. But as far as Jared's concerned? He is nothing like this caricature they've created for him, this pre-teen girl in a line-backer's body called 'Padapuppy.'
He has no idea how they can see through Jensen's facade, but take Jared's at face value and then some. He's torn through all his Supernatural behind the scenes stuff, the con videos, and yeah he's joking and smiling and goofing off, but that's all nerves. If he was as 'On' as the Padapuppy he'd shoot himself. Hell, Jensen would load the gun.
That just isn’t how they work.
Jared tried explaining it to Chris once, the first time they took him and Steve out for a night on the town and wound up spectacularly drunk in the middle of Buttfuck, Canada, Jensen across the bar with Steve getting his ass royally kicked in darts while Jared and Chris chased shots around their table. “It's like...we’re both sitting on opposite ends of the scale,” he’d slurred, shoulder blades itching, “and somewhere in the middle is this, like…a decent human being. Or two decent human beings. Whatever, I had the same sort of thing with Chad-‘s nothing for the fans to get so worked up over, you know?”
Okay, mostly he and Chad amp each other up until small countries explode, but still. Chris hadn’t yet met Chad.
“Yeah, well, I think you’re okay,” Chris had growled, ruffling his hair. “Jenny wouldn’t have brought you out with us if you sucked balls.”
The point is they don't want to screw each other. He and Jensen. They don’t.
~*~
Chris and Steve haven’t been any help ever since they found out they were a whole subculture unto themselves, which means in the middle of perfectly normal conversations over the phone with them Jensen will stop, laugh, and say, “Oh, that reminds me-you'll never guess where you fucked Steve today. No. I shit you not, the moon. Astroglide just took on a whole ‘nother meaning. No, well, you were aliens, taking a break on your quest to rescue me from the evil Space Invader who kidnapped me for his love slave."
Jensen isn't laughing meanly. It boggles Jared's mind, smack dab in the middle of his kitchen looking for a beer that goes with Madden. It's just...it's weird. Two seconds ago he was admiring the way Jensen’s moving around gathering Jared’s favorite foods under one arm with his cell tucked between his head and shoulder, and now-
"So, you read about your two friends having alien buttsex often?" Jared asks the instant Jensen hangs up, suddenly caught wondering why the hell he’s crossed his arms.
"Tentacled alien buttsex," Jensen clarifies, totally missing the point. "You have to read it. These girls are amazing."
If Jensen was Chad, Jared would know at this point that last statement had something to do with wanting into these anonymous females’ pants, to benefit from their warped and kinky minds. But he's not. Jensen really sounds like he's thinking what he said; that they're amazing, end of story.
"Did we have tentacled alien buttsex?" Jared asks, suddenly and surprisingly annoyed-like if he had gay alien sex with his costar, he should fucking know about it.
Jensen arches an eyebrow before ducking into the fridge. "I just skim those parts." And he does, Jared knows he does, because waiting for phrases to jump out at them is where they get some of their best lines. Jensen's head reappears a second later, sucking on a Sam Adams, and Jared's stomach feels like he just ate one of those tentacles.
Jensen wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes just a little bit guarded behind their smile. "From what I could tell, you seemed to enjoy it."
Jared's already in the living room (sans beer) before he's struck with the belated realization that they were playing a really weird game of gay chicken, and he just lost.
~*~
Jensen doesn't seems to think reading stories about himself fucking his costar is weird, because, "It's like that old clichéd 'I'm just reading it for the articles,' line," he told Jared once, whacking him on the chest with a sheaf of printed pages, "Only, it's true." He gets an honest to god kick out of it, and-as much as Jared wishes it was in his head-there’s no way not to notice a direct correlation between Jensen’s mood and his own. It’s that fucking scale thing, only they can pull each other up and down, too.
…His metaphors have always been for shit.
Plus, they-he and Jensen-they’re kind of busy. Like, every damn day. So sometimes the only things they have the time or energy to read happens to be the length of a standard fan fiction. Which…well, it wasn’t always the case, but it is now.
It makes Jared feel...twitchy, the feeling that he should be doing something, but he doesn't know if he's supposed to put an end to it or let it go.
It’s his fault, really. Well, and Chad’s. But pretty much everything is Chad’s fault.
~*~
"Alan Rickman totally wants to tap that."
He is still losing gay chicken. He has been losing gay chicken…all week.
"The fact that you can't remember Hans Gruber's name," Jared says to cover up his genuine bafflement, "makes me seriously reconsider your man card."
Every single movie they’ve watched, even Die Hard, for fuck's sake, turns into an evening listening to Jensen rewrite the entire movie starring their epic gay love.
"Hey. Bruce Willis is a manly man, and he still almost cries like a girl picking glass out of his feet in the bathroom." Jensen prods him deliberately on the shoulder, like Jared should be able to see what's coming. "Dibs on being McClane!"
“Why, because you regularly cry in bathrooms?” is what he’s supposed to say, but he can’t get the words out. The spot where Jensen poked him burns a little, like it might bruise.
"Screw this," he grumbles, shoving a thumb down on the channel button so he finally has somewhere else to look. "I will not let you ruin this for me, or the rest of-manly mankind,” he adds, kicking at Jensen’s knees where his legs are stretched across the couch.
Obviously, because the universe hates him, Jared's favorite childhood (okay, early teen) movie pops onto the screen, and Jared levels a glare at the side of Jensen's face, daring him to say a word.
It’s not really like he could, there’s no way-
Jensen takes a too-innocent swig from his beer, lips pursed tight in a smile around the bottle.
"You are shitting me!" Jared yells.
Jensen cough-spits his mouthful in a spray of droplets down his chin, over his jeans. Jared’s hand twitches.
"N-no," Jensen groans, scrubbing a hand over his grin before Jared can, "You were the overworked, candy-holic Pumpkin King, Harley and Sadie were your hell hounds, and Steve was Chris's Igor, pining from a-fugly."
"Yeah, well you were a fucking rag doll!" Jared points out, voice several octaves higher than it should be. Jensen just laughs.
He really, really sucks at this game.
~*~
When things started to go south with Sandy…well, they went really south, in a painfully quiet-before-the-storm way, only the storm kept not coming and not coming until Jared felt like his ears were bleeding every time he picked up the phone. It didn’t really help that being around Jensen made it ten times worse.
He didn’t know why-it was the one thing Sandy never gave him non-existent shit about, spending time with Jensen instead of her-but he still felt it like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. A lead weight with spikes, wrapped in barbed wire. It was probably worse because she didn’t not-mention it, but maybe not. He’d never been able to hide anything from Jensen, and being vulnerable like that just made him feel like the bandages were being ripped off.
Three weeks of hiding from Jensen at every opportunity (no small feat when you’re living together), and watching his entire future unravel on the screen of his Nokia hadn’t made it better, but he ignored the worst parts and told himself that was just because he wasn’t used to not being connected at the hip, that he didn’t have anything to take his mind off it.
It wasn’t his fault Chad had been sending him links to fanfiction for two years, but it was definitely his fault that he fell so low to click one.
‘Jensen walked towards Jared with such swagger in his hips that the tight leather standard Jedi britches strained to contain his arousal, shirt buttons no match for the power of the Force, especially not from one as skilled as Obi-Pada-Lecki.’
He hadn’t laughed in such a long time that his babies heard him and tore (literally) up the stairs, Jensen scrambling on their heels to pound on the door, asking if he was okay. Something along the times of, “Fuck, Jay, open the fucking door, I’ve-"
Jensen smacked him on the nose with his fist when Jared jerked open the door-an accident, but it stunned him stupid long enough for Jared to shake off another laugh and pin Jensen in a hug.
Hugging Jensen-chest to chest as tight as he could-made the ache go away, for as long as he was holding on.
“The hell?” Jensen mumbled, eyes so wide and concerned (and a little hurt) when Jared let go that he could’ve-
He could’ve shown Jensen what he was reading, and did. Even if it felt mostly like a distraction for how badly his hands were suddenly shaking.
~*~
Jared maybe gets a live journal account. And he maybe gets it to find better worse fic than Jensen, so he can catch a fucking break.
He's not very good at it.
‘Jensen shuffled towards Jared, falling against him in an embrace-or what Jared thought was an embrace until Jensen’s hands started fumbling with the coffee maker on the counter behind him.’
Jared keeps reading, waiting for one of them to mention Jared’s peg leg or Jensen’s night shift at the hospital.
‘“Come on, man,” Jared laughed, catching Jensen’s hands and pushing him back. “You seriously cannot get up this late and expect time for a coffee break and a blow job.”’
Aaaaany day now.
‘Jensen looked honestly torn about which one he wanted. Jared laughed.’
And then proclaimed his evil plot to take over the world, he prompts, sighing impatiently as he clicks the down arrow.
‘“Coffee now,” Jensen mumbled against Jared’s freshly shaven jaw, “Blow job in your trailer after we finish the scene where you cry like a girl?”’
…Uh.
‘“Is that before or after Dean angsts about hell?”
Holy…
This…this is a story about him and Jensen.
No, like really him and Jensen, where they aren't rock stars or veterinarians or college-roommates-sometimes-hookers, where they're just... They’re them. Fuck, they’re describing the way Jensen looks all sleep and caffeine deprived, the way Jared's seen-sees-Jensen every single morning.
What. The fuck. Is this legal?
He’s kind of really creeped out for a second because-okay, irrationally, but still-his brain starts thinking the fan girls are watching them.
But they aren’t (he checks-no cameras). And there’s more.
They’re going in detail about the look on Jared's face at a basketball game with Sandy, the weekend of Jensen's 30th birthday. They’re talking about Jensen's sweater vests and Jared's "Everything's Bigger in Texas," t-shirt, and the way they both look calmer in front of the cameras with their arms looped easily around each other than apart.
That twitchy feeling-like he’s just streamlined three cups of espresso-comes back so fast and hard it takes everything he has to keep from smashing his computer and taking the kids for a run, maybe a ten mile loop, just take the dogs and go and not think about Jensen at all. Except for leaving a note. Because Jensen will-
Not. Care. Because. It’s. Not…real.
"Jesus..." Jared rakes a hand through his hair, takes a breath.
And keeps reading, scrolling down every time he sees the tell-tale words, 'their lips met' and tuning back in for the post-coital...No, really, there's not a whole lot of words after the porn, most times. And Jared doesn't need to have his brain map out exactly what Jensen would look like fucked stupid. He doesn't.
Fuck, especially since it’s not even like some random character with Jensen’s name and some crazy-ass job like-where the hell are the rodeo clowns?
That night he doesn’t sleep much at all. The sixth time he snorts awake dreaming of Jensen curling up under the covers with him (sometimes wearing the glasses he doesn’t need anymore-fucking lasic surgery, fucking Dark Angel-) it’s four in the morning, and he might as well turn the computer back on.
Sometimes the Padapuppy makes an appearance, but mostly it's just them being...well, as close to them as people who've never met them can guess, and sometimes the attention to detail is so close he catches himself thinking, Jesus, did this really happen? like Jensen really has been making fuck-me eyes at random P.A.s behind his back.
He knows at that point he’s getting a little too emotionally invested, but he’s always been that way with reading, so thinking Christ, Jensen, just tell me, takes a couple seconds to sink in.
Jared goes still. "Tell me what?" he asks the computer, voice on the narrow edge of silent. It stays quiet, low hum of the monitor not so much calming as it’s making his nerves vibrate.
Because there isn't anything to tell. He would know. Jensen wouldn't even have to say anything. Obviously. Nothing to get...worked up over. And definitely not disappointed about, Jesus Christ.
He needs to take a break so he does, shuts the computer off and runs with the dogs, comes into the kitchen with a nice sheen of sweat to find Jensen yawning around a cup of coffee in a way that would definitely be a precursor to sex if this was a fanfic.
“Mm,” Jensen hums, voice sleep-rough as he slides off the breakfast bar stool. “Musky.”
Jared, still riding the endorphin high, shoots back easily, “Shut up, Pudgy Midway,” and smacks Jensen’s ass on his way to the fridge.
Jensen grunts in surprise and Jared laughs, and all is right in the world until Jensen says, “Your brains are no match for my tractorbeam.”
He can’t get his hand to stop tingling for hours.
~*~
Jared booked his flight to break up with Sandy the night he and Jensen discovered fanfiction. He hates that he has to hope there’s no correlation.
What really has no correlation (with any of this) is Danneel. Jensen was so excited every time he called home-well, called Jared, who was at home-while he was off filming Ten Inch Hero.
“It’s like-I dunno, if you and I had been friends for as long as we have but never got to work together.”
“You’d be gabbing on the phone with Chris talking about the color of my eyes in the sunlight?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Jensen laughed, “You know what I mean. I get to show off for her, man! I get to prove that I’m good at what I do for a living! It’s very Neanderthal.”
“So just like your face.”
“Yeah, well, you know what? Danneel likes my face just fine.”
“You’re not replacing me already, are you?” Jared said easy enough, even though Sadie’s head was feeling a little heavy on his chest. He felt kind of empty, too, like he hadn’t eaten all day (which wasn’t true). “Because, remember, your name is on the lease-that gives me at least a year of obligatory best friend status.”
There was a faint buzz of static like Jensen was sighing, but when he talked there was definitely a smile. “No, dude, no chance of that. Hey, I gotta run. I’ll be back in two weeks, don’t let Harley eat my shoes.”
Jared was half-way through a bowl of ramen before he started wondering if that sigh had sounded relieved.
~*~
It’s three weeks after Jared smacked Jensen on the ass-not that anything’s changed to make that a significant time mark-and his obsession with non-AU isn’t going away. In fact, it seems to be getting worse. Not only is he loosing gay chicken, he has to keep reminding himself they’re still playing.
Right now Jared's half-way through a fic about Jensen getting shot by a crazed fan during the writer's strike when his chest starts hurting so bad he has to sit back, rubbing at the ache and absently wondering if he's getting a cold before the next paragraph catches his eye and the pain sharpens with the thought of Jensen in a coma, silent and hurting and-
Jared lets his eyes close, makes his breathing slow down, reminding himself that Jensen is fine, just out running errands…Jesus Christ, he needs to stop reading fanfiction, because that reminds him of a fic he read this morning where Jensen bought him a huge bag of lime-apple gummy worms to apologize for some couple-y fight brought on by nothing more than being in close quarters.
He wants that.
What? a voice that sounds a lot like Jensen's snarks, his ears still ringing from shock, Me nearly dying to save you? Or me waiting on you hand and foot?
Shit, no. Jared feels it so sharp he literally shakes his head, like a rope yanking his jaw. He wants this. He scrolls down and jabs a finger at the screen, the part where Jensen wakes up and panics because Jared left the hospital room for just a second, and in real life Jared's heart starts hurting again at the way Jensen's looking at him on the page. He wants that. He wants to be that, for Jensen.
…Oh.
Wow.
Jared sits back, ears burning.
Who saw this coming besides the fangirls?
The door slams downstairs, making Jared jump so hard his knees dislodge the keyboard and send it skittering under the desk so that when he ducks to get it he bangs his head hard enough on the edge to see stars. Jensen's calling his name, thumping upstairs, seconds away from walking in a room with a computer monitor covered in that One Fucking Picture the fangirls won't let die, the one where Jared's laughing at something Jensen said and Jensen has his chin propped up with one hand, looking at him like-
"You reading porn about me?"
The voice is definitely just outside his door, and Jared does the only thing he can think of half-stuffed under a desk. He unplugs everything.
"Dude."
Jensen sounds a little weird, so Jared nearly pulls something twisting to see over his back end to Jensen's face. For a split second, Jensen looks like he's frowning at something on Jared's shorts (is he wearing the gag ones Chad got him saying 'Juicy?' He can't fucking remember) and then he catches sight of Jared's face and smiles, eyebrow inching up towards his hairline.
"You and the computer desk need a minute?"
"The dogs knocked stuff loose," Jared says, almost before Jensen's finished, shaking the fist full of chords in what little room he has left.
"Uh huh..." Jensen sounds over the top skeptical, like when he doesn't really care and just wants to get a rise out of a person, but he's backing up-which doesn't quite compute. "Whatever. I'm making enchiladas, so wash your mitts and get ready to strip that monster chicken."
"That monster smoked chicken," Jared's supposed to shoot back, reminding Jensen that he'll be thanking him for weeks every time they have leftovers that Jared talked him into the 20lb-er. But Jensen's already in the kitchen by the time Jared gets his act together-in his defense, they weren’t planning on the enchiladas until tomorrow-and by then it's too late.
Fuck.
Fuck.
~*~
Three weeks after he broke up with Sandy, Jensen dragged him to a low key get-together over at Tom’s. Jared was still a little raw, but the look on Jensen’s face when he realized the sheer number of people at this ‘low key’ event made him feel a little better. He even cracked a smile, which lasted just long enough for him to squeeze inside the house and get literally tackled against Tom’s living room wall.
Gasping breath back into his lungs, it took him a couple seconds before he could see anything but stars. And by then there was a strangely familiar arm looped around his neck, yanking him down.
“You don’t call, you don’t write!” Chad bellowed in his ear, methodically fucking up Jared’s hair, “Where’s the motherfucking love?”
Jared read a fanfiction once written from Chad’s point of view, and laughed so hard he pulled a stomach muscle and fell out of his chair. Chad responded to the forwarded link with several photoshopped pictures of him and Jensen cuddling while naked, which Jared deleted without opening.
Now, though, he was grinning helplessly on his own, couldn’t seem to stop, because he always forgets how much he misses Chad until he sees him again.
“What the hell are you doing in Canada?” Jared yelled back, arms just a little too tight around Chad’s smaller body.
“Jenny called me!” It was the most terrifying thing in the world, but Chris and Chad got on like wildfire (in the best and worst sense of the word). They were the only two in the semi-civilized world allowed use of that nickname-the only time Jared tried it out Jensen ripped him a new one and didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day.
He disentangled just long enough to shoot a glance back towards Jensen-where he was wrapping himself up in the arms of a definitely recognizable girl. “Said you were down in the dumps,” Chad added, watching Jared’s face, arm still wrapped around his head so Jared had no choice about pressing their temples together.
Jensen caught his eye over the brunette’s shoulder and flashed him a grin, one Jared couldn’t help returning even if it seemed to disappear kind of fast.
“Danneel’s here too?” he asked, bass of whatever music was on making his heart thump off-beat.
“Beer!” Chad hollered, right in his ear, and bent Jared nearly in half to frog-march him to the keg.
It never took long to get drunk at one of Tom’s parties. Once Jared caught himself staring at that mop of dark hair across the room, contemplating whether or not he should tell Tom about the time Tom got turned into a pregnant dog-well, once he started thinking that, Jared figured he was definitely successful on the getting-drunk front.
Jensen kept appearing and disappearing in the crowd, sometimes with Danny, sometimes not, always turned toward Jared. Or that’s what it felt like. But he never came over, no matter how many times Jared nearly broke things trying to wave him their way.
“Jay, Jay…” Chad never acted more like his fic persona than when drunk, but the creepy part was, he hadn’t started acting that way since after he found livejournal. No, seriously. Even Chad said so.
See, right now Chad was snickering, flat on his back, which was somehow sprawled across Jared’s front, and there might have been a bong floating around. Maybe literally.
Jared snickered back, prodding the space between Chad’s eyes.
“Jay,” Chad barked, right in his face, “Gotta lis’ me.” He paused, then smacked him upside the head.
“Ow!” They were on a couch, Jared realized in a moment of clarity before he waved it away. So they were maybe half-sitting up. Cool.
“I’m not squinty,” Chad told him, fist clenching in Jared’s hair. Something else clenched, but Jared couldn’t really place it.
“Never said you were!” he snapped instead, indignation flooding back.
“Yeah, well, sometimes you think it!” Chad slumped back, back of his head thumping against the armrest and his eyes-somber to the point of miserable-"When y’ gonna tell me?”
“Uh?” Jared said, highly intelligently.
“Not squinty,” Chad said again, squinting up at Jared’s face. “Srsly,” he added without a hint of vowels, “Know you. Known you since-ever. Y’get-fucked up, no girl. Seen it. Saw with Alexis, an’ that one chick after ‘lexis, and the one after that chick after ‘lexis…an’ now no Sandy, and no fucked up. Down, yes. Fucked, no. Right?”
“Uh.” This time it was a little dumber.
“Tell me.” Chad breathed alcohol fumes over Jared’s face, making him giggle and palm the back of Chad’s fuzzy head. The hair was just a little too short, little too blond… Jared blinked.
“Tell- What?” he asked, felt his eyes go pleading and hopeless because he didn’t have a clue.
Chad just sighed, patted Jared’s face. “’S okay. You’ll catch on, guess. Shots!”
When he woke up he was back home, tucked in his bed, a phone number scrawled in pink lipstick on his forehead, lip-marks down his cheeks. The number was Chad’s. He knows, because he called it.
“HA!” was all his best friend said, sounding like hell fucked over, “Knew it.” And hung up.
That was the day Jensen and Danneel had their first fight.
~*~
It was also a couple months ago, and Jared hasn’t been on a real date since. There hasn’t been any pressure to-which, Chad’s right, is a little weird for him. But he just hasn’t felt that click. Not even that, there’s no drive to find the click. Before this morning he thought maybe it was because there was no one that could ever compete with Sandy. But now…
Now Jared has smoked chicken grease up to his elbows, fingers numb from the temperature of the bird pulled from their fridge not ten minutes earlier. Jensen's at the counter, lining up the multitudes of cans he needs to make this work. It's not really cooking if it comes from a can, Jensen says every time Jared calls him Emeril, but Jared still thinks it's pretty awesome.
He's paying more attention to Jensen's face that he is deboning-otherwise there would be a boner joke somewhere in the mess he's in-watching the way Jensen's mouth twitches as he reads the cans, the way he looks so calm and focused while he spins and pries them open. Black beans, diced green chilies, red enchilada sauce. He's got a system. Jared’s only now noticing he likes it maybe too much.
Because when Jensen glances over at him, he hasn't moved in two minutes and his hand is inside the chicken. Where there is no meat.
What are you doing? Jensen’s face asks, the same time his quirked eyebrow quips, Chicken molester.
Jared's up and shouldering Jensen to one side of the sink before he can say anything, using his elbow to flip the faucet on at the same time he mumbles, "My hands are cold." He doesn't think about how close they are, or how the space between their hips feels hotter than it should, or anything but getting the feeling back in his fingers.
A heavy sort of resignation settles in his chest, suddenly. Padapuppy has it easy. He always gets his guy.
Not that…Jared necessarily wants to get ‘his guy,’ but, you know, if, theoretically, he did-Jensen, cowboy hats aside, doesn't like men. As far as he knows. Well, hell, as far as he knew (before this afternoon) Jared didn’t like men either. And it’s not really like he has a sudden urge to hit a gay bar, it's just... It's Jensen. It's kind of like, ‘Of course.’
It's kind of like, "You're fucked!" but presented really cheerfully.
Jared's working the soap along his fingers more thoroughly than he needs to, trying to coax the blood back into circulation, when Jensen coughs and nudges him with his shoulder. "Hey, hand me that?"
He looks a little flushed, at least in the glance Jared lets himself sneak before snagging the tortillas out of the microwave and presenting them with a flourish and one of their lines. "My lord."
Jensen's supposed to say, "Scream it like you mean it!" but he just kind of ducks his head and gets to work pouring things in a pot.
Something’s not quite right, if Jensen fumbled a cue like that. Jared stops moving, trying to figure out-but Jensen was kind of in a funk when he came home. Everything seemed fine this morning, so…
So, of course, "Jesus, this chicken's freezing," is the only thing Jared can think to say.
"I left a note telling you to get it out at three," Jensen points out, lifting one shoulder in a shrug that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. "What-" He clears his throat, tucking the stirring spoon ladle-up into his back pocket. "What were you up to all day?"
Oh. Jared frowns a little at the spoon, something niggling at the back of his mind before he shakes it off. Jensen doesn’t look guilty, he looks…tense, yeah, but exhausted, too. Almost his oh-my-god-when-is-hiatus look but not exactly. It makes his stomach churn, reminds Jared of Jensen’s Danneel Face when things were going downhill.
Jared realizes then that a) he’s been staring too long, b) Jensen asked him a question, and c) he doesn’t really have a good answer.
“Just…I dunno, not much.” He shakes his hands dry, goes around the counter to his chicken, and instantly feels a little less like suffocating, but a little heavier, too. “Read some, checked email, watched TV…nothing big.”
There’s a lull, and then, “What are you reading these days?”
Okay, now it’s getting creepy. Jared almost rubs his hands down his thighs in his own nervous gesture before he remembers the grease and rests his wrists on the sides of the bowl. “Um, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies?” (He is, really. Just…not so frequently, as of late. And he has no idea why, but he’s been dropping hints that he’s easing off the fanfiction, simply because…he’s not reading the kind Jensen would approve of anymore.)
Here’s the part where Jensen’s supposed to laugh and rib him about his crazy need to make an effort at liking gifts, even though it was a present from Mackenzie and if ever there was a girl who could beat the shit out of Jared it’s Jensen’s sister-but it doesn’t matter, because it doesn’t happen.
“Hm. You liking it alright?”
In a last ditch effort Jared pastes on a lopsided smile and tries, “It’d be a lot better starring the infamous Jay-squared. You’d be Darcy, of course, with your I’m-shy-and-mysterious-ask-me-how thing going, and I’d be”-he strikes a pose, flexing like a pro-wrestler-"plucky Elizabeth Bennett, zombie killer extraordinaire. We’d team up and fight evil, like Chad.”
Jensen fumbles an open can right into the sink.
“Shit! Fucking-"
“Whoa.” Okay, enough. Jared’s not off the stool, but only because sudden movements might be bad. “Calm down, Jen, we’ve got-"
Jensen picks up the half empty can and slams it into the trashcan, half way across the kitchen, without taking a step.
“Nice shot,” Jared offers, not a hint of actual congratulations in his tone. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”
Jensen runs a knuckle over the line of his jaw, a sort of breathless laugh, almost Dean. But when Jensen finally meets his eyes there’s no trace of Winchester, just a quiet kind of-"Nothing.”
Jared doesn’t move, not even bothering with a shrug. Because one thing the fangirls have right? He knows Jensen.
(Which kind of sucks, because if he didn’t he might be able to convince himself that Jensen secretly liked men and just hadn’t let on.)
“I just-" Ding. Even though Jensen’s waving it away as he talks, which only means it’s even more important. “I ran into some fans at the grocery store. And-yeah, you know?”
Jared doesn’t know, because Jared wasn’t there. But he has this flash in his brain of Kripke telling the press that the deranged woman who’d shot Jensen wasn’t really a fan, she was just mentally unstable.
“You okay?” He bites his tongue but not fast enough, wants to smack himself the instant the words are out.
“What? No, I’m fine.” Jensen looks surprised, but honest, only slightly annoyed. “I just-" He snags a beer from the fridge, arms wide and back to casual. “They caught me off-guard, is all.”
Jared’s voice drops about three octaves, feigning horror. “You didn’t tell them you like reading fanfiction, did you?”
“No.” Jensen looks properly scandalized, which-thank god. “They asked me about you, actually…mostly. And, you know, if I thought Genevieve was good enough for you.”
Jared blinks. A couple times. “Me and Genevieve?”
“Yeah!” Jensen’s trying just a little too hard, but Jared doesn’t know what he’s trying for. “I thought she had a boyfriend!”
“…I thought she was a lesbian.” They don’t really hang out with Gen that often, honestly. She’s the least sociable recurring actor they’ve ever had, not that they can tell that to the fans. They like to think the Supernatural cast is one big happy family, which is mostly true…just not with Genevieve.
Jensen laughs, but it’s weird. Jared sits back a little, trying to wrap his head around it, which is why his mouth blurts, “Did they ask you about Danneel?” without any sort of permission from his brain.
Jensen goes too still for a second before he turns around to fix Jared with a look. “Dude. We haven’t even told our agents that we’re over. They’re fan girls,” Jensen adds, rubbing at his eyes, “Not psychic.”
Jared feels an almost painful sort of burning in the tips of his ears, like really focused blushing, and something hot and lower than his chest, and he thinks, Maybe not psychic, but still pretty damn perceptive.
“So, wait. Are you flipping over me and Gen? It’s-"
“Jesus, Jay, how the hell can you tell us apart?”
…What? “Well, for starters, one of you has a penis,” he points out, hackles on the rise because What. The. Fuck.
Jensen deflates, and there’s the guilt, wrapped up in his features and the set of his shoulders so thick it makes Jared’s stomach churn. “I’m sorry. Shit.” He’s got a new can of black beans in his hands, thumbnail tracing the label. “Sorry. It’s nothing. I haven’t- This thing with Danneel, I haven’t been sleeping too hot and-taking it out on you.” There’s an ‘of course’ in his voice before he curses again, turning back to the stove.
“Hey,” Jared says when he can trust himself not to sound like a pig-tailed Padapuppy. “You can always take shit out on me, man. It’s what I’m here for.”
His co-star makes a noise that’s sort of like a scoff, glancing back over his shoulder with a smile that’s all uncertain Yeah, I know-like he wants to know, but doesn’t trust himself to, and that right there is Jensen in a jar.
“I’d tell you if I was dating anyone,” Jared adds, not entirely sure why and trying so hard not to fuck them up. “You know that, right? Hell, I-" Oh, shit. Here’s something he was hoping never to tell anyone, but he can’t make himself stop, can only try to make it sound as casual as he possibly can, “I called you after getting engaged before I called my parents.”
Jared can feel Jensen staring at him before he raises his eyes, reaches for a smile. “Seriously. I’d give you a hug if I didn’t have greasy chicken fingers.”
Jensen looks entirely too grateful for that.
~*~
When Jensen and Danneel ended it was hard, fast, and brutal, bad because they’d been friends long enough to know every button to punch. Jared remembers a fleeting thought that if he and Jensen ever dated and broke up, it would be something like this, only worse.
And Jared got front row seats to the event.
Jensen tried his best to get her to fly up so they could do it in person, but that technique only worked on someone willing to get on a plane.
“No. Fuck you, Jensen Ackles, this relationship only ever happened on the phone, it’ll fucking well die on the phone!” Jensen didn’t have the volume turned up on his cell, she was just that loud.
Jared couldn’t get out of earshot unless jumping into oncoming traffic at 60 miles an hour out of a vehicle he was driving was a viable option, but honestly? He was considering it. They had been driving back from dinner when she called, and Jared was looking so hard for a shoulder to pull over onto that it felt like his eyes were bleeding.
“Danny-"
“Jesus, Jensen!” Now she sounded like she was falling apart, anger sliding into hurt. “You promised you’d try.”
“I did. God, Dan, I did.”
And that’s it. Jared cut across two lanes of traffic and turned illegally into an exit-only road leading to some high school that was closed for the day, literally fell out of his truck the instant his seatbelt jerked free.
He knew he was breathing much too shakily for the one not getting broken up with, but-fuck, Jensen’s voice.
He sat on the pavement for an hour, back against his door-because moving further away felt…wrong-so when Jensen leaned over the cab to open it all he managed was a little nudge before Jared’s weight pushed it shut again.
It took him a minute to stand, bones creaking from holding one position in the chilled air so long. The door creaked too when he opened it, and Jensen was…so small on his side of the truck.
Jared had never had doubts about whether to touch Jensen or not. He’d never thought Jensen might shove him away, before. He didn’t know why this time felt different.
“What,” Jensen croaked, wet eyes on the dashboard, painful smile tearing at his mouth, “I gotta be squinty for you to put out?”
It felt like the hug when Dean got back from hell, only a hell of a lot sadder. Dean would never hold onto anyone the way that Jensen did.
PART TWO