love is a battlefield (and you have given me the arms)
title love is a battlefield (and you have given me the arms)
fandom supernatural rps/j2
rating nc-17
pairing jared/jensen, jared/omc, mentions of jensen/ofc
summary jared is running from all he left behind; his friends, his family, his love. his humanity. he should know he can't run forever.
warnings language, man on man lovin' (slash)
disclaimer last time i checked, you can't own people, so jared and jensen are their own property. for the meantime. title comes from susie suh's "your battlefield".
word count 6,363
author's note written for siiy for waltzmatildah's queensland flood auction. sorry this has taken me way too long, dear! i hope it fits in with your "jensen as a jealous!werewolf" prompt, at least in the most vaguest of ways. let me know how you like it; if you don't, i can always change it.
He finds a job in a second hand bookstore the third week he's living here. Its got books piled high to the ceiling on all kinds of shelves; Misha, the owner, seems to have picked up bookcases from the curb, garage sales, and one that even looks like it had been thrown in the dumpster before he jumped in and fished it out. However, no matter where anything in the shop came from, it all smells like Lemon Pledge. The books themselves have come from all over, too. The bookshop's got a sell program where anyone can come in off the street and sell the books they just don't want to read anymore for a small penny. Then, there's the online catalogues and the Goodwill and the school libraries that Misha (sometimes, though not lately) tends to wander into, empty handed, and leaves with his jacket bursting at the seams. Whenever Jared sees the Jefferson High School and Mason High School stamps on the inside over, he blots them out with price stickers and pretends they don't exist. Though their shiny, plastic covers kind of give them away.
He likes working here. It's slow, but not dead, and Misha's a character. He understands Jared's need for privacy, but sometimes that damn hippie bastard knows more than he should. Jared feels at home amongst the turned down pages and torn jacket covers and yellowing books because, in some ways, they're just as damaged as he is.
Jared likes living here. Langford is an up-and-coming suburb of Chicago, without all that business bullshit that drives people bat-shit insane. It's quirky in the hipster kind of way, taking on an independent indie/alternative feel that hasn't quite been tarnished with clichés and faux-uniqueness. Unlike Seattle and Portland and the major cities that pretend to be smaller than they actually are, Langford still feels genuine. It's more community than city, but with a slowly rising population, it's quickly shedding its small-town feel and adopting something a little more developed.
But none of those reasons, though they be very good reasons to live here, is why Jared chose Langford to settle his bones. His brilliant decision pretty much consisted of closing his eyes and choosing the first dot on the map his finger hit. A far more advanced game of Pin The Tail On The Donkey. Only this time, it's Pin Jared's Future. He's just glad he didn't end up in Canada; try explaining that to his parents. It's bad enough their son abandoned his Texas home for some "yuppie paradise where they drink Starbucks and listen to girls who can't play their instruments". If he had abandoned the United States for Canada...well, let's just say he'd be lucky if he ever heard from his family at all ever again.
Jared doesn't really make friends easily, but here, it's like he's starting over fresh. He's left his old life behind and embraces the new experiences he meets and the people that go along with them. Misha introduces him to Genevieve, the owner of Iron Bells, a gym predominantly for women though the occasional horn dog joins thinking it'll get him laid. She's a bright, young thing with a no-nonsense attitude and lisp she tries desperately to hide. It comes out more when she drinks. Against his better wishes, Jared also befriends Chad. He's the full-time barista at Exit 191 Coffee, a tiny shop that sells organic brews laced with plenty of espresso. He's exactly that type of horn dog that would join a ladies gym, and he would, too, if Gen hadn't threatened to cut off his penis and frame it in the gym's lobby. Then there's some talk about just how diseased Chad's penis really is (because, let's face it, he's a man-whore and everyone in Langford knows it), and that's about time the bar cuts them off. There are other people that fade in and out of Jared's everyday life, but he maintains that close group of friends.
On nights when he feels sociable and decides to leave the safety and relative comfort of his one-bedroom apartment (it was listed as a "studio" apartment, but he doesn't think his landlady, the 87-year-old Mrs. Marsh knows quite what a "studio" apartment is), he meets his new friends out at Paddy's Pub, a hole-in-the-wall bar where the beer is four dollars a pitcher and the dart board is so torn up that darts won't even stick anymore. When the group drinks enough to really let down their guard, they inevitably pepper their new arrival (Jared) with questions about his past, friends, family, and anything that happened before Langford. He guesses he's new enough that the novelty factor hasn't quite worn off yet. He's still that foreign object in their midst, the onion with the layers they haven't peeled back yet. And he's okay with that, but it doesn't mean he's going to spill his guts at the slightest provocation.
Besides, if he really gave in -he means, really and truly decided to unburden himself by telling the truth- and cracked under their drunken pressure, he's reasonably sure they'd set down their glasses (because it's sacrilege to throw a glass and waste beer in Paddy's), turn, and run for the fucking hills.
Once upon a time, Jared Padalecki of Dallas, Texas was a normal boy. He grew up in a normal house with normal parents, normal siblings, and went to a normal college for a normal degree in plain, normal English. His momma was a teacher and she always instilled in him the power of the written word. Jared grew up surrounded by books and constantly used them as an outlet for his slightly boring life; instead of sitting in front of the television and playing video games like his older brother, he'd read about Sinbad and lions and wardrobes and a boy named Harry Potter because those are the things that interested him; stories. So, when he announced at the dinner table that he'd changed his major from Undecided to English, his momma knew he'd be perfectly suited to walk down that road.
But things, as Life often teaches us, don't usually go as planned.
Long story short: Jared meets guy, Jared really likes guy, Jared falls in love with guy, and then guy...fucking bites him and turns him into a werewolf.
Yeah, see? Not really planned.
Another thing Jared learns about Langford the moment he shows up in town, zooming through the windy hills of Illinois in his rental car, is it's surrounded by forest on three sides. It's not barren forest either like the trees in Texas. These are full-grown evergreens and maples and oaks and all kinds of trees that he can't even put names on. It's a dense forest with plenty of wildlife and game to lure in outside hunters during deer season. It's the perfect place to do his business.
No, not that kind of business. What Jared means is do his wolf business because, as most people know thanks to pop culture, Jared's a werewolf now. Once a month on the full moon (or when he's particularly angry, a fun fact he's learned when trying to deal with his landlady's ridiculous notions regarding lease agreements and handyman services), he goes furry. Like, the ultimate furry level a guy can go without naming himself Ferbie. Energy builds up within him, a never ending circuit of electricity that roils and eventually bursts within him like a lightning storm in his gut. In a matter of seconds, his bones all simultaneously break and reform themselves, his blood vessels and veins reroute themselves, his guts churn into mush.
It's all unbelievably painful, but it's over in a matter of moments and the end result is a wolf the size of a small sedan that used to be a man.
Over the past year, Jared has grown used to his "condition". He doesn't like it -in fact, he'd cut it out of himself if he could, no matter the consequences- but he's used to it by now. He's used to the heightened senses that come with being a were; the sight that lets him spot eagles in the air diving for prey, the nose that lets him differentiate Misha's earthy scent from the scent of the similarly earthy books he surrounds himself with, and the ears that let him pick up the beetle scurrying back and forth over a dropped breadcrumb in the corner of Paddy's. And while these gifts (for they are gifts; they do come in handy sometimes) might make anyone want to take on the burden of becoming a wolf like him, it doesn't outweigh the hatred and anger that replaces the love he once felt for the man that made him like this.
To most, the forest surrounding Langford is pretty. Mere wonders of Nature that cause people to stop, stare, then continue on with their days. It's not anything important because it's something they see every damn day. But to Jared, it's a fucking salvation. Once he sheds his human skin and drops to all fours as a wolf, he needs somewhere to go. His canine brain interprets his apartment as a small box, a cage, that wants to keep him confined. It's suffocating to the inherently wild creature he becomes once a month.
Plus, his claws play havoc with his hardwood floors.
But the forest provides the perfect outlet to let the creature within him run wild. The creature is in its natural habitat. When he crosses the mossy threshold of the forest and makes his way into its dark heart, it's like coming home. All the smells and sights and sounds are perfect, as they should be, and it's comforting. He can run with the rest of the beasts, hunt with them, and keep his existence a secret from those that would surely see him as nothing more than a danger. More often than not, he falls asleep listening to the sounds of squirrels scurrying and grasshoppers chirping.
When he wakes, he exits the forest and calmly walks back to his car where a fresh change of clothes is awaiting him, dresses, and drives away like nothing happened.
Jared is running. He knows this. He's not too proud to admit that he is running away from his problems. It's something he's never really done because his parents raised a man, not a yellow-bellied turncoat that splits at the first sign of trouble. They raised him to solve his own issues and clean up his own messes, but he's afraid this is one mess he can't face. This is one time he is okay with being a yellow-bellied turncoat instead of the man they raised him to be.
The months turn cold here, winter descending on Langford with a ferocity he never knew in Texas. Texan winters were chilly days and cold nights, misty rain, and the occasional northern snow flurry. One year, when Jared was little, it snowed in San Antonio and people were panicking. Jared himself has only seen snow twice in his life, and when the first flakes fall above him, he's almost startled. Then, he's excited like a kid discovering something new to marvel at. He even sticks his tongue out and decides he likes the taste of fresh snow because it doesn't taste like anything.
Snow covers the entire city in a thick, white blanket. Jared learns how to drive in it; carefully, going at least ten miles per hour less than the posted speed limit. While his friends are whipping past him in their sedans and little sports cars, calling him 'Grandma' and 'Slowpoke', he's staying as cautious as can be. He ignores their little jibes and says he'd rather be slow than dead. Now, instead of 'slowpoke', they call him 'drama queen' and he likes that even less.
It's now been four months since he packed his bags, shut his house, and made the trek across the country to Langford. He's settling here; he feels more comfortable by the day. He's beginning to think he's gotten away, escaped the harsh reality he left behind him. Jared keeps his eyes peeled for any sign that his past might be coming up to bite him, literally, but so far, he's been left alone. Maybe that's how it's going to be from now on. They think he's too much trouble to follow, so they don't even bother tracking him down. He holds out that specific hope for awhile, thinking he's finally escaped it all. While he can't just shove it all to the mind's attic (he has the constant monthly reminder of what he's become), he can at least pretend that it never happened.
Whoever says hope is a foolish emotion is a wise man. Depressing and jaded as hell, but wise nonetheless.
Jared's been dating Matt for awhile now. He used to come into the bookstore regularly looking for this and that. His wishes never seemed to make much sense or follow any kind of pattern. Most customers come in specifically for science fiction fun, harlequin romance bullshit, or military fictions mostly written by Tom Clancy (hack). Then, when they've read that, they return and look for the same kind of schlock all over again. But Matt comes in week after week and buys different things. Jared can't pin down his tastes; one day, he's reading Homer, the next he's searching out Edgar Allen Poe's complete collection, and the next minute he's obsessed with finding the latest Terry Goodkind. Hell, one day he even picked up Twilight and asked if it was any good before shrugging and adding it to his cart.
But the books weren't the only thing Matt came into the store for. Somehow, he viewed the books as a mating dance between he and Jared because one day, he storms into the store and demands to know why Jared won't ask him out.
Matt's blunt like that.
Jared only agrees to go out with him when he finds out Matt didn't take to Twilight that much.
It's close to the full moon, two days away, when Matt and Jared leave their favorite French restaurant and head back to Jared's place. The streets of Langford are pretty much deserted at this late hour despite the fact that it's Date Night and most couples should be strolling the frost-bitten streets holding hands and whispering sweet nothings to themselves and the cold night air. Jared, while always up for romantic hooey like holding hands, is more than happy to walk close to his date (they hadn't really discussed the terms 'boyfriend' yet, but Jared knows it's coming up soon) and conspiratorially bumps elbows every so often. When this happens, Matt meets Jared's eyes with his green ones and gives him a wink or a smile on those pretty lips of his. This just urges Jared to do it more often until some might see his constant stumbling and interpret it as public drunkenness.
Luckily, there isn't a cop in sight. They're probably on dates of their own, participating in the same romantic rituals.
Jared's apartment isn't far. More like a half mile away; they walked to the restaurant, and now full of crepes, decide to burn off some of the calories doing the same back. Jared has some ideas for working the rest off later tonight.
The building where Jared lives is a three story office building that's been converted into apartments, albeit very high-priced ones. However, the landlady, Mrs. Lorrie, is a bit on the senile side, and when her son entrusted the building to her seasoned care, she started handing out ridiculously low priced leases like they were hard candies. Jared almost feels guilty for taking advantage of her, but she's a nice enough lady whose son shouldn't have given her control simply because she's his mother. Still, he often passes her apartment at the end of the hall and accepts her invitation to share a nightcap. Turns out, she used to be a flapper dancer. She even tries to show off some of her old moves, but Jared makes her sit down at once when she looks like she's going to crack her hip right in front of him.
It's late, but there's no telling what hours his landlady keeps, so Jared and Matt decide to sneak past her door as silently as possible. As they walk, they get closer and closer, arms touching, hands touching, finally heads coming together. They're practically one person in terms of space when they come to Jared's apartment door.
Jared's open apartment door.
Which he most certainly did not leave open.
Matt notices it first. He's running sure fingers up and down Jared's bicep when he happens to glance over and sees the ajar door. It's not busted; the lock isn't scarred or pitted, and the doorjamb is intact. It hasn't been particularly forced. But neither has it been opened with Jared's permission. There's a lamp within switched on, casting softened light into the hall. Jared never leaves his lights on.
His date makes a move towards the open door, but Jared grabs him by the forearm and stays his movements.
"Let me," Jared instructs in a soft voice in case someone is inside, listening. Matt doesn't want him to go, but Jared makes him stay behind. After all, if someone's in there, what is Matt going to do. He's not the one with the enhanced senses and superhuman abilities. Those might come in handy when facing a raving lunatic who likes to break into people's houses.
"Are you sure? We should just call the cops and wait till they get here," Matt suggests. Jared knows it's a logical assumption to make; that the cops could help in a situation like this. But he immediately dismisses it; why get the cops involved when Jared has the capability to clean up his own messes, with far less detriment to the tax payers in the meantime. Instead, he just shakes his head and leaves Matt to worry in the hallway.
The door is open, yes, but that's all that appears to be disturbed in his apartment. Besides the lamp that had been switched on, nothing has been moved, broken, or stolen. Jared knows the layout of his own home, and it looks like it's as he left it.
However, there's something he can't quite put his finger on starting to niggle at the back of his mind.
With Matt still in the hallway, Jared takes a big whiff of the air in the apartment and, with his new nose, sifts through the scents to find those of the intruder or intruders. As he learned rather recently, a werewolf's enhanced sense of smell goes further than one might assume. They are able to distinguish and separate smells, yes, but a werewolf never forgets a scent. It's how mothers find their babies, mates find their matching pair, enemies track each other down. It comes in handy from time to time.
Jared can smell it, alright. The intruder. Mixed in with breakfast from this morning, Jared's new soap, and Jared's own scent, an underlying musk identifies the person or persons that decided to use his house as an escape for their Friday night frivolity.
Unfortunately for Jared, it's a scent he recognizes.
He immediately heads into the hall again, preventing Matt from stepping inside the apartment at all. He even steps in front of him when he wants to crane his neck and peek within.
"I think I want to be alone," Jared tells him, working hard to get his voice to sound the proper mixture of sadness and fear. Not so much to raise Matt's concern that he insists staying the night (and not for anything fun), but enough to make him empathize with Jared's condition and acquiesce without much resistance.
Ten minutes later, after much explaining and the promise to call if something happens, Jared watches Matt slink off into the night, tail tucked between his legs, head hung like he's been forgotten. Unfortunately for him, he already has.
When Matt is gone, all trace of him vanished, Jared steps back over his apartment threshold and promptly closes the door.
"Okay, you can come out now."
It's like a shadow is unfolding itself from the very wall. A tall (though not as tall as Jared) man with bushy brown hair streaked with gray and matching beard appears in the hallway leading towards Jared's bedroom. Jared has to stop himself from smiling, embracing the man like family, even though they once were. The newcomer with his sharp brown eyes and strong jaw, the wicked sense of humor, even the platinum wedding band on his finger as a constant reminder of the no-nonsense lady he left back in Dallas reminds Jared of home. Why wouldn't he? Hell, he even smells Texan, and that's quite the feat. Once upon a time, Jared would have embraced him like a brother. But not anymore. Because like Dallas and the rest of the states beneath the Mason-Dixon line, Jared's ex got Jeffrey Morgan in the 'divorce'.
"Jared," Jeff greets him, eyes crinkling at the sides when he smiles. The crinkles around his eyes bring back memories; sipping beer after changing his truck's oil in the driveway, watching Jeff and his wife, Mary-Louise, dance slowly to a country song in the background on the juke, running, transformed, side by side through the forest. Jared's got nothing but happy memories when it comes to Jeff, but he also can't help but hate the sight of him. Because it means Jared's ex is nearby; the two never go anywhere without the other.
"What're you doing here?" Jared asks, hating how his emotions are so damned transparent in his voice. He knows Jeff can hear the near-fear and inevitable anger striping his words.
"Just go where I'm told, man," Jeff answers honestly. He shrugs and shoves his body away from the wall. Instead of standing, he takes a seat in the living room on Jared's comfortable, beat-up couch Chad sold him for ten bucks. He props his boots up on the wicker basket/coffee table.
"And where's your master now? Let you off the leash for the night?" Jeff's inherited servitude, a position handed down to him by his father, to Jared's ex is and always will be a sore spot for the older werewolf. He is more than happy to take a silver bullet or knife or stray punch aimed for Jensen, but he's not a servant. He's the second in command, but most see him as an errand boy and Jeff hates it when people can't make the distinction between "commanding officer" and errand boy.
"At least I'm not the Alpha's bitch," Jeff replies good-naturedly, at least in tone. His eyes are icy and they nearly burn Jared with their intensity.
"Oh, yes you are, Jeff," someone calls from behind Jared, laughter painting his voice yellow and bright.
Tension sprouts all over Jared's body. His muscles bunch, storing energy, readying themselves to spring into action and away from here at the merest mention of danger.
And Jensen's danger; Jared's sure of it. He always has been.
Jensen's in the open doorway between the kitchen and the rest of the living area, and Jared doesn't know how he could have missed him. Jared will always notice Jensen. No matter what.
He takes in the Alpha's appearance. Time might had dulled Jared's memories, but it's only enhanced Jensen's good looks. It hasn't been that long since Jared left Dallas, nothing more than a blink in the grand scheme of things, but things have changed. The dirty blond hair Jared used to card his fingers through is a longer and hangs into Jensen's eyes. Those green eyes with flecks to match his freckles; Jared's memorized each speck and gleam of color. He's packed on muscle; his shoulders are broadened, his chest more defined, the faint veins in his forearms a little less faint. Jensen more than fills out his jeans, Jared notices. It's tied together by Jensen's scent, a bow wrapped around the package, still unchanged, the same that used to haunt Jared's waking hours and dance through his dreams.
Already, he smells it on the air, and it sets his blood ablaze.
"Jensen." Jared hates how his lungs breathe around the name, how it fills his mind and mouth like a sweet chocolate before he says it. He's almost sad to let it go.
"Jay." Jensen doesn't move closer to him, but his voice falls, softens. He almost fools Jared into thinking he still cares. Or ever did. "How've you been? I've been looking for you."
Jared knew Jensen wouldn't let him leave, couldn't. According to Jensen, they're mated for life. The same fire ignites in their blood, the same blood that flows through their veins, and a connection like that can't be thrown asunder. Ever.
However, he honestly expected it to take longer. Much longer.
But Jeff is the best when it comes to sniffing people out. Jared probably didn't stand a chance.
"I've been good." Jared nods, trying to affirm his point. I've been good...without you. "Trying to live my life." Without you. It still fucking smarts, even now. But the small amount of pain doesn't change his mind in the slightest. Pretty much.
Jensen shakes his head, chuckles in that infuriating way he has when he knows something you don't, when he wants to savor the moment between unknowing and knowing. He's an asshole that way.
"You living your life. Ya know, you had a life. Back in Dallas, with me." His voice goes thin and strained, tight like a bowstring.
Jared does his own shrug. "Wasn't much of a life."
He can sense it coming, the impending argument. Jared's always been a little hot-tempered, and Jensen is like a fucking volcano. He explodes, and continues to burn as he destroys everything in his path. It was that hot-headedness and stubbornness Jared first found so attractive about Jensen. However, back then, he mistook it for passion, mistook him for an artist with fire in his belly. Now, Jensen's no more than a petulant and unruly child stamping his foot on the ground when he doesn't get his way.
Apparently, Jeff can sense it, too, because he immediately jumps up and heads out. He doesn't want to get into the middle of this. It isn't his fight, and for some reason, Jared's grateful when he shuts the front door behind him. Grateful to hear the boot falls on the stairs leading out to the street because Jared doesn't want an audience here. It's too personal, the sight of Jensen and Jeff tearing open all the old wounds Jared worked so hard to stitch shut.
"It was enough for me," Jensen insists. He comes closer, and the fucking smell of him is so strong it burns Jared's nostrils. It's spicy and natural, cinnamon drenched in sunlight and buried in the earth. It's Jensen.
"It wasn't enough for me," Jared insists. He comes closer, too, hopefully drenching Jensen's senses in him because he, too, can fight dirty.
"Why not? You loved me, I loved you. I told you every fucking day. Suddenly, it's not good enough for you?" Jared ignores the blatant hurt in Jensen's words, voice, eyes. He tries to remind himself why he's pissed, why he was pissed back then, why it was enough to leave that safety and security and love, why he had to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible. And never look back.
"It wasn't that, Jen."
"Then what! What could have possibly been so horrible that you couldn't stand to be with me any longer?"
Jensen's angry now. His voice deepens, drops into his chest, and he's near-hoarse with rage that it chokes the words as they bubble up from his throat. And Jared's angry that he's angry, and he's so fucking pissed off he can't see straight.
"You took everything from me!" Jared shouts, yells his throat near-bloody.
"What the fuck are you talking about? I gave you everything! What did you need that I didn't provide? Tell me, Jared, what I could have possibly done differently to make you happy because I did everything I could think of to keep you, to make you happy, and you threw it all in my face when you disappeared."
Jensen waits for a response. He's waiting and Jared wants so badly to kill him, rip into him with the claws he can sprout from his fingers. He hates him then more than he's ever hated anyone, and he wants to see what Jensen's insides look like on the outside.
"You made me what I am. You took my goddamned humanity from me, and you don't give a fuck because you never had any. You don't know what it means to someone like me, someone with a fucking soul, how important that soul is. Was. Now, I'm something so...so...unnatural, so different. I don't even recognize myself in the mirror anymore, and you did that to me. You tore out what made me me and you don't care what ruin you left behind as long as you had what you wanted."
And, as Jared rattles off what he's been sitting on for the past two years ever since he woke in the forest covered in blood and changed forever, he knows it completely misses the mark. Like he said, Jensen has no idea what humanity is; he's always been a werewolf, fucking born one, and he's always been destined to lead his Pack. He's the good Alpha, the son his werewolf daddy can be proud of. And because of all that, he doesn't get it, never will, and that makes Jared more angry than ever.
"It was the only way," Jensen argues. HIs eyes are flames and fire and they show everything. "You know that, I've told you. If you had stayed human, I would have had to turn you out. But you're mine, you've always been mine, you always will be mine. I did what I had to do to keep you. You need to understand that. You never did, though." He adds the last part as an afterthought, a sad one.
The fact of the matter is that no, Jared never understood Jensen. Not in the way he wanted because while Jared thinks more in the here and now, Jensen thinks in forevers and eternities. He consumes and consumes and consumes, and eventually, there's nothing left but the bones of what was.
But the thing is, Jared knows this. Knew this. Always did, and he fucking loved it. He loved being the center of Jensen's world. After he changed and stayed with Jensen for those few weeks before leaving it all behind, Jensen put him first and the Pack second. He loved knowing he mattered so much to someone out there that they'd throw themselves off a damned cliff to keep him safe. That passion and intensity and near-obsession with him sent fucking arousal skittering like bugs underneath the skin. It turned him on to mean that much to someone, to have Jensen love him so completely.
It still turns him on now, as he finds out when he feels the blood turning South and his dick thickening against the zipper on his jeans.
However, no matter how much Jared loved to fuck Jensen's brains out (actually, it was the other way around most of the time), nothing makes up for what Jensen stole from him.
It's unforgivable.
But Jared doesn't have to forgive Jensen to want him.
"What are you really doing here, Jensen?" Jared asks, suddenly ready to throw in the towel and just give in to make this fucking night end. "I mean, really really, because you just don't travel a thousand miles, regardless of whom you're hunting down. And you could have always sent Jeff to get me if you really wanted me back."
Jensen laughs.
Jared loves how he laughs. Jared hates how he loves how Jensen laughs.
"Jig's up, I guess," Jensen admits. "Jeff actually found you a week ago. He spent a shit ton of time hiding his scent from you, covering his tracks so you wouldn't get suspicious. Even had one of the younger wolves do some recon when he got a little too close to being discovered." Jensen closes the gap between them, twining his long lean fingers around Jared's wrists. Jared doesn't move, just thinks about the bands of heat wrapped around him. Thinks about where those fingers have been, where they could be if he just said the word. "But the funniest thing happened." Jensen glues their thighs together, dick to dick, lining them up, pushing himself into Jared's space. And Jensen fills Jared's vision and mind and everything. "Jeff called me and told me about your little boyfriend. Matt, right? I knew then I had to get my ass up here if I was to stake out my territory." Jensen tilts his head, slots his mouth ever closer to Jared's, and fits their lips together. Barely connected. "Looks like I was just in time."
"Fuck you," Jared hisses against Jensen's tongue. He won't deny the desire welling up within him, but he also won't give in so easily. This was a new day, a new Jared.
"Oh, baby, you wish," Jensen hums into him, thrusting his hips every so shallowly into Jared's.
It's so fucking hard to say no when Jensen's practically on top of him. Everything -the desire, the fucking lust, the afternoons spent tangled together between the sheets with Jensen balls deep inside him- comes back and Jared thinks how easy it would be to give in. How fucking sweet it would be to let go and sink back into what they once were.
And before he can say no, Jensen's mouth is at that spot on his neck, behind his ear, that shoots tingles of pleasure down his neck and straight to his cock when he nips and plays with it. Before he can say no, Jensen maneuvers the zipper on Jared's jeans and has his hand down his pants, through the slit in his underwear, and wrapped around Jared's cock like a fucking vice.
And before he can say no, Jared says yes because no matter how he and Jensen feel about each other when the day's done, they've always been good at this.
They're naked in Jared's bed. It's too damned hot in the apartment and they're sweating as they slide against one another. Jensen's got his hand wrapped around Jared's dick like a fucking joystick, directing the game however which way he wants. As he strokes up, twists his thumb over Jared's sensitive head and smears the faint drops of precome around till they disappear, Jared lets out little breathy moans and twists his hands in the sheets, eyes firmly closed against the traitorous vision before him.
It's so damn good. That's the problem; it's too damned good, and Jared can't get enough. He can't deny the fingers that play at his hole, slickly dipping within and hooking immediately to find that right angle where everything bleeds white. He doesn't want the hot mouth on his cock to end because the second it does, he'll break into a thousand pieces. Jensen's mouth and hands and fingers hold him together right now, and that's all he wants to know.
And when Jensen's dick is suddenly inside him, filling him to the brim, stretching him in more ways than one, he doesn't think about how much he fucking loves this man, how much he fucking wants him, how much he fucking hates him. He thinks about the thrusts Jensen makes, slow and timely like he's got years and years to enjoy this. He doesn't think, just feels, when Jensen strokes his dick in time with his coordinated movements within him, inside, so deep that Jared doesn't know where one begins and the other ends. And when Jensen speeds up, so eager for that last bit of friction to send him over the edge, Jared digs his nails into Jensen's hips, draws blood, and lavishes himself with Jensen's cries as he comes deep inside Jared's ass.
It's all so damn good. It's all too damn good. But as Jared comes down, unable to find the energy to even want to move, he doesn't think before he falls asleep, Jensen's head pillowed on his chest.
The next morning isn't as awkward as Jared thinks it would be. Before Jensen rises, Jared slips from bed, showers, and answers the few texts from Matt about his apartment and the so-called break in. Jared doesn't tell him about Jensen and Jeff and the sex, and he doesn't want to. He merely puts his phone into the drawer and walks to the kitchen to make coffee, bare ass naked.
It's the scent of the roast freshly dripping that has Jensen in a matching state standing in Jared's kitchen, hair mussed as he drinks his morning brew.
As Jared watches his pink tongue swipe the last few drops of coffee from the rim and the green eyes disappear beneath golden lashes in the morning-coffee-ecstasy, Jared wonders what the fuck they're doing here.
Nothing is solved. Not like that. Jensen's dick isn't the Be-All-End-All Magic Cock that solves the world's problems, much less Jared's. He still loves Jensen, yes, and it's obvious they still want each other bad. But none of this erases what Jensen did, what he made Jared into, what he took, stole.
And as Jared drinks his coffee with his ex-lover, he thinks about how things might change yet again here. How nothing is set in stone and even a rift as great as theirs can be mended, slowly but surely. Of course, he pledges nothing, the burn of hurt too deeply seeded within to even contemplate such a promise.
But, instead of ruining the silent agreement of the morning with half-cocked ideas and romantic notions, Jared simply watches Jensen drink his coffee.
End.
fandom supernatural rps/j2
rating nc-17
pairing jared/jensen, jared/omc, mentions of jensen/ofc
summary jared is running from all he left behind; his friends, his family, his love. his humanity. he should know he can't run forever.
warnings language, man on man lovin' (slash)
disclaimer last time i checked, you can't own people, so jared and jensen are their own property. for the meantime. title comes from susie suh's "your battlefield".
word count 6,363
author's note written for siiy for waltzmatildah's queensland flood auction. sorry this has taken me way too long, dear! i hope it fits in with your "jensen as a jealous!werewolf" prompt, at least in the most vaguest of ways. let me know how you like it; if you don't, i can always change it.
He finds a job in a second hand bookstore the third week he's living here. Its got books piled high to the ceiling on all kinds of shelves; Misha, the owner, seems to have picked up bookcases from the curb, garage sales, and one that even looks like it had been thrown in the dumpster before he jumped in and fished it out. However, no matter where anything in the shop came from, it all smells like Lemon Pledge. The books themselves have come from all over, too. The bookshop's got a sell program where anyone can come in off the street and sell the books they just don't want to read anymore for a small penny. Then, there's the online catalogues and the Goodwill and the school libraries that Misha (sometimes, though not lately) tends to wander into, empty handed, and leaves with his jacket bursting at the seams. Whenever Jared sees the Jefferson High School and Mason High School stamps on the inside over, he blots them out with price stickers and pretends they don't exist. Though their shiny, plastic covers kind of give them away.
He likes working here. It's slow, but not dead, and Misha's a character. He understands Jared's need for privacy, but sometimes that damn hippie bastard knows more than he should. Jared feels at home amongst the turned down pages and torn jacket covers and yellowing books because, in some ways, they're just as damaged as he is.
Jared likes living here. Langford is an up-and-coming suburb of Chicago, without all that business bullshit that drives people bat-shit insane. It's quirky in the hipster kind of way, taking on an independent indie/alternative feel that hasn't quite been tarnished with clichés and faux-uniqueness. Unlike Seattle and Portland and the major cities that pretend to be smaller than they actually are, Langford still feels genuine. It's more community than city, but with a slowly rising population, it's quickly shedding its small-town feel and adopting something a little more developed.
But none of those reasons, though they be very good reasons to live here, is why Jared chose Langford to settle his bones. His brilliant decision pretty much consisted of closing his eyes and choosing the first dot on the map his finger hit. A far more advanced game of Pin The Tail On The Donkey. Only this time, it's Pin Jared's Future. He's just glad he didn't end up in Canada; try explaining that to his parents. It's bad enough their son abandoned his Texas home for some "yuppie paradise where they drink Starbucks and listen to girls who can't play their instruments". If he had abandoned the United States for Canada...well, let's just say he'd be lucky if he ever heard from his family at all ever again.
Jared doesn't really make friends easily, but here, it's like he's starting over fresh. He's left his old life behind and embraces the new experiences he meets and the people that go along with them. Misha introduces him to Genevieve, the owner of Iron Bells, a gym predominantly for women though the occasional horn dog joins thinking it'll get him laid. She's a bright, young thing with a no-nonsense attitude and lisp she tries desperately to hide. It comes out more when she drinks. Against his better wishes, Jared also befriends Chad. He's the full-time barista at Exit 191 Coffee, a tiny shop that sells organic brews laced with plenty of espresso. He's exactly that type of horn dog that would join a ladies gym, and he would, too, if Gen hadn't threatened to cut off his penis and frame it in the gym's lobby. Then there's some talk about just how diseased Chad's penis really is (because, let's face it, he's a man-whore and everyone in Langford knows it), and that's about time the bar cuts them off. There are other people that fade in and out of Jared's everyday life, but he maintains that close group of friends.
On nights when he feels sociable and decides to leave the safety and relative comfort of his one-bedroom apartment (it was listed as a "studio" apartment, but he doesn't think his landlady, the 87-year-old Mrs. Marsh knows quite what a "studio" apartment is), he meets his new friends out at Paddy's Pub, a hole-in-the-wall bar where the beer is four dollars a pitcher and the dart board is so torn up that darts won't even stick anymore. When the group drinks enough to really let down their guard, they inevitably pepper their new arrival (Jared) with questions about his past, friends, family, and anything that happened before Langford. He guesses he's new enough that the novelty factor hasn't quite worn off yet. He's still that foreign object in their midst, the onion with the layers they haven't peeled back yet. And he's okay with that, but it doesn't mean he's going to spill his guts at the slightest provocation.
Besides, if he really gave in -he means, really and truly decided to unburden himself by telling the truth- and cracked under their drunken pressure, he's reasonably sure they'd set down their glasses (because it's sacrilege to throw a glass and waste beer in Paddy's), turn, and run for the fucking hills.
Once upon a time, Jared Padalecki of Dallas, Texas was a normal boy. He grew up in a normal house with normal parents, normal siblings, and went to a normal college for a normal degree in plain, normal English. His momma was a teacher and she always instilled in him the power of the written word. Jared grew up surrounded by books and constantly used them as an outlet for his slightly boring life; instead of sitting in front of the television and playing video games like his older brother, he'd read about Sinbad and lions and wardrobes and a boy named Harry Potter because those are the things that interested him; stories. So, when he announced at the dinner table that he'd changed his major from Undecided to English, his momma knew he'd be perfectly suited to walk down that road.
But things, as Life often teaches us, don't usually go as planned.
Long story short: Jared meets guy, Jared really likes guy, Jared falls in love with guy, and then guy...fucking bites him and turns him into a werewolf.
Yeah, see? Not really planned.
Another thing Jared learns about Langford the moment he shows up in town, zooming through the windy hills of Illinois in his rental car, is it's surrounded by forest on three sides. It's not barren forest either like the trees in Texas. These are full-grown evergreens and maples and oaks and all kinds of trees that he can't even put names on. It's a dense forest with plenty of wildlife and game to lure in outside hunters during deer season. It's the perfect place to do his business.
No, not that kind of business. What Jared means is do his wolf business because, as most people know thanks to pop culture, Jared's a werewolf now. Once a month on the full moon (or when he's particularly angry, a fun fact he's learned when trying to deal with his landlady's ridiculous notions regarding lease agreements and handyman services), he goes furry. Like, the ultimate furry level a guy can go without naming himself Ferbie. Energy builds up within him, a never ending circuit of electricity that roils and eventually bursts within him like a lightning storm in his gut. In a matter of seconds, his bones all simultaneously break and reform themselves, his blood vessels and veins reroute themselves, his guts churn into mush.
It's all unbelievably painful, but it's over in a matter of moments and the end result is a wolf the size of a small sedan that used to be a man.
Over the past year, Jared has grown used to his "condition". He doesn't like it -in fact, he'd cut it out of himself if he could, no matter the consequences- but he's used to it by now. He's used to the heightened senses that come with being a were; the sight that lets him spot eagles in the air diving for prey, the nose that lets him differentiate Misha's earthy scent from the scent of the similarly earthy books he surrounds himself with, and the ears that let him pick up the beetle scurrying back and forth over a dropped breadcrumb in the corner of Paddy's. And while these gifts (for they are gifts; they do come in handy sometimes) might make anyone want to take on the burden of becoming a wolf like him, it doesn't outweigh the hatred and anger that replaces the love he once felt for the man that made him like this.
To most, the forest surrounding Langford is pretty. Mere wonders of Nature that cause people to stop, stare, then continue on with their days. It's not anything important because it's something they see every damn day. But to Jared, it's a fucking salvation. Once he sheds his human skin and drops to all fours as a wolf, he needs somewhere to go. His canine brain interprets his apartment as a small box, a cage, that wants to keep him confined. It's suffocating to the inherently wild creature he becomes once a month.
Plus, his claws play havoc with his hardwood floors.
But the forest provides the perfect outlet to let the creature within him run wild. The creature is in its natural habitat. When he crosses the mossy threshold of the forest and makes his way into its dark heart, it's like coming home. All the smells and sights and sounds are perfect, as they should be, and it's comforting. He can run with the rest of the beasts, hunt with them, and keep his existence a secret from those that would surely see him as nothing more than a danger. More often than not, he falls asleep listening to the sounds of squirrels scurrying and grasshoppers chirping.
When he wakes, he exits the forest and calmly walks back to his car where a fresh change of clothes is awaiting him, dresses, and drives away like nothing happened.
Jared is running. He knows this. He's not too proud to admit that he is running away from his problems. It's something he's never really done because his parents raised a man, not a yellow-bellied turncoat that splits at the first sign of trouble. They raised him to solve his own issues and clean up his own messes, but he's afraid this is one mess he can't face. This is one time he is okay with being a yellow-bellied turncoat instead of the man they raised him to be.
The months turn cold here, winter descending on Langford with a ferocity he never knew in Texas. Texan winters were chilly days and cold nights, misty rain, and the occasional northern snow flurry. One year, when Jared was little, it snowed in San Antonio and people were panicking. Jared himself has only seen snow twice in his life, and when the first flakes fall above him, he's almost startled. Then, he's excited like a kid discovering something new to marvel at. He even sticks his tongue out and decides he likes the taste of fresh snow because it doesn't taste like anything.
Snow covers the entire city in a thick, white blanket. Jared learns how to drive in it; carefully, going at least ten miles per hour less than the posted speed limit. While his friends are whipping past him in their sedans and little sports cars, calling him 'Grandma' and 'Slowpoke', he's staying as cautious as can be. He ignores their little jibes and says he'd rather be slow than dead. Now, instead of 'slowpoke', they call him 'drama queen' and he likes that even less.
It's now been four months since he packed his bags, shut his house, and made the trek across the country to Langford. He's settling here; he feels more comfortable by the day. He's beginning to think he's gotten away, escaped the harsh reality he left behind him. Jared keeps his eyes peeled for any sign that his past might be coming up to bite him, literally, but so far, he's been left alone. Maybe that's how it's going to be from now on. They think he's too much trouble to follow, so they don't even bother tracking him down. He holds out that specific hope for awhile, thinking he's finally escaped it all. While he can't just shove it all to the mind's attic (he has the constant monthly reminder of what he's become), he can at least pretend that it never happened.
Whoever says hope is a foolish emotion is a wise man. Depressing and jaded as hell, but wise nonetheless.
Jared's been dating Matt for awhile now. He used to come into the bookstore regularly looking for this and that. His wishes never seemed to make much sense or follow any kind of pattern. Most customers come in specifically for science fiction fun, harlequin romance bullshit, or military fictions mostly written by Tom Clancy (hack). Then, when they've read that, they return and look for the same kind of schlock all over again. But Matt comes in week after week and buys different things. Jared can't pin down his tastes; one day, he's reading Homer, the next he's searching out Edgar Allen Poe's complete collection, and the next minute he's obsessed with finding the latest Terry Goodkind. Hell, one day he even picked up Twilight and asked if it was any good before shrugging and adding it to his cart.
But the books weren't the only thing Matt came into the store for. Somehow, he viewed the books as a mating dance between he and Jared because one day, he storms into the store and demands to know why Jared won't ask him out.
Matt's blunt like that.
Jared only agrees to go out with him when he finds out Matt didn't take to Twilight that much.
It's close to the full moon, two days away, when Matt and Jared leave their favorite French restaurant and head back to Jared's place. The streets of Langford are pretty much deserted at this late hour despite the fact that it's Date Night and most couples should be strolling the frost-bitten streets holding hands and whispering sweet nothings to themselves and the cold night air. Jared, while always up for romantic hooey like holding hands, is more than happy to walk close to his date (they hadn't really discussed the terms 'boyfriend' yet, but Jared knows it's coming up soon) and conspiratorially bumps elbows every so often. When this happens, Matt meets Jared's eyes with his green ones and gives him a wink or a smile on those pretty lips of his. This just urges Jared to do it more often until some might see his constant stumbling and interpret it as public drunkenness.
Luckily, there isn't a cop in sight. They're probably on dates of their own, participating in the same romantic rituals.
Jared's apartment isn't far. More like a half mile away; they walked to the restaurant, and now full of crepes, decide to burn off some of the calories doing the same back. Jared has some ideas for working the rest off later tonight.
The building where Jared lives is a three story office building that's been converted into apartments, albeit very high-priced ones. However, the landlady, Mrs. Lorrie, is a bit on the senile side, and when her son entrusted the building to her seasoned care, she started handing out ridiculously low priced leases like they were hard candies. Jared almost feels guilty for taking advantage of her, but she's a nice enough lady whose son shouldn't have given her control simply because she's his mother. Still, he often passes her apartment at the end of the hall and accepts her invitation to share a nightcap. Turns out, she used to be a flapper dancer. She even tries to show off some of her old moves, but Jared makes her sit down at once when she looks like she's going to crack her hip right in front of him.
It's late, but there's no telling what hours his landlady keeps, so Jared and Matt decide to sneak past her door as silently as possible. As they walk, they get closer and closer, arms touching, hands touching, finally heads coming together. They're practically one person in terms of space when they come to Jared's apartment door.
Jared's open apartment door.
Which he most certainly did not leave open.
Matt notices it first. He's running sure fingers up and down Jared's bicep when he happens to glance over and sees the ajar door. It's not busted; the lock isn't scarred or pitted, and the doorjamb is intact. It hasn't been particularly forced. But neither has it been opened with Jared's permission. There's a lamp within switched on, casting softened light into the hall. Jared never leaves his lights on.
His date makes a move towards the open door, but Jared grabs him by the forearm and stays his movements.
"Let me," Jared instructs in a soft voice in case someone is inside, listening. Matt doesn't want him to go, but Jared makes him stay behind. After all, if someone's in there, what is Matt going to do. He's not the one with the enhanced senses and superhuman abilities. Those might come in handy when facing a raving lunatic who likes to break into people's houses.
"Are you sure? We should just call the cops and wait till they get here," Matt suggests. Jared knows it's a logical assumption to make; that the cops could help in a situation like this. But he immediately dismisses it; why get the cops involved when Jared has the capability to clean up his own messes, with far less detriment to the tax payers in the meantime. Instead, he just shakes his head and leaves Matt to worry in the hallway.
The door is open, yes, but that's all that appears to be disturbed in his apartment. Besides the lamp that had been switched on, nothing has been moved, broken, or stolen. Jared knows the layout of his own home, and it looks like it's as he left it.
However, there's something he can't quite put his finger on starting to niggle at the back of his mind.
With Matt still in the hallway, Jared takes a big whiff of the air in the apartment and, with his new nose, sifts through the scents to find those of the intruder or intruders. As he learned rather recently, a werewolf's enhanced sense of smell goes further than one might assume. They are able to distinguish and separate smells, yes, but a werewolf never forgets a scent. It's how mothers find their babies, mates find their matching pair, enemies track each other down. It comes in handy from time to time.
Jared can smell it, alright. The intruder. Mixed in with breakfast from this morning, Jared's new soap, and Jared's own scent, an underlying musk identifies the person or persons that decided to use his house as an escape for their Friday night frivolity.
Unfortunately for Jared, it's a scent he recognizes.
He immediately heads into the hall again, preventing Matt from stepping inside the apartment at all. He even steps in front of him when he wants to crane his neck and peek within.
"I think I want to be alone," Jared tells him, working hard to get his voice to sound the proper mixture of sadness and fear. Not so much to raise Matt's concern that he insists staying the night (and not for anything fun), but enough to make him empathize with Jared's condition and acquiesce without much resistance.
Ten minutes later, after much explaining and the promise to call if something happens, Jared watches Matt slink off into the night, tail tucked between his legs, head hung like he's been forgotten. Unfortunately for him, he already has.
When Matt is gone, all trace of him vanished, Jared steps back over his apartment threshold and promptly closes the door.
"Okay, you can come out now."
It's like a shadow is unfolding itself from the very wall. A tall (though not as tall as Jared) man with bushy brown hair streaked with gray and matching beard appears in the hallway leading towards Jared's bedroom. Jared has to stop himself from smiling, embracing the man like family, even though they once were. The newcomer with his sharp brown eyes and strong jaw, the wicked sense of humor, even the platinum wedding band on his finger as a constant reminder of the no-nonsense lady he left back in Dallas reminds Jared of home. Why wouldn't he? Hell, he even smells Texan, and that's quite the feat. Once upon a time, Jared would have embraced him like a brother. But not anymore. Because like Dallas and the rest of the states beneath the Mason-Dixon line, Jared's ex got Jeffrey Morgan in the 'divorce'.
"Jared," Jeff greets him, eyes crinkling at the sides when he smiles. The crinkles around his eyes bring back memories; sipping beer after changing his truck's oil in the driveway, watching Jeff and his wife, Mary-Louise, dance slowly to a country song in the background on the juke, running, transformed, side by side through the forest. Jared's got nothing but happy memories when it comes to Jeff, but he also can't help but hate the sight of him. Because it means Jared's ex is nearby; the two never go anywhere without the other.
"What're you doing here?" Jared asks, hating how his emotions are so damned transparent in his voice. He knows Jeff can hear the near-fear and inevitable anger striping his words.
"Just go where I'm told, man," Jeff answers honestly. He shrugs and shoves his body away from the wall. Instead of standing, he takes a seat in the living room on Jared's comfortable, beat-up couch Chad sold him for ten bucks. He props his boots up on the wicker basket/coffee table.
"And where's your master now? Let you off the leash for the night?" Jeff's inherited servitude, a position handed down to him by his father, to Jared's ex is and always will be a sore spot for the older werewolf. He is more than happy to take a silver bullet or knife or stray punch aimed for Jensen, but he's not a servant. He's the second in command, but most see him as an errand boy and Jeff hates it when people can't make the distinction between "commanding officer" and errand boy.
"At least I'm not the Alpha's bitch," Jeff replies good-naturedly, at least in tone. His eyes are icy and they nearly burn Jared with their intensity.
"Oh, yes you are, Jeff," someone calls from behind Jared, laughter painting his voice yellow and bright.
Tension sprouts all over Jared's body. His muscles bunch, storing energy, readying themselves to spring into action and away from here at the merest mention of danger.
And Jensen's danger; Jared's sure of it. He always has been.
Jensen's in the open doorway between the kitchen and the rest of the living area, and Jared doesn't know how he could have missed him. Jared will always notice Jensen. No matter what.
He takes in the Alpha's appearance. Time might had dulled Jared's memories, but it's only enhanced Jensen's good looks. It hasn't been that long since Jared left Dallas, nothing more than a blink in the grand scheme of things, but things have changed. The dirty blond hair Jared used to card his fingers through is a longer and hangs into Jensen's eyes. Those green eyes with flecks to match his freckles; Jared's memorized each speck and gleam of color. He's packed on muscle; his shoulders are broadened, his chest more defined, the faint veins in his forearms a little less faint. Jensen more than fills out his jeans, Jared notices. It's tied together by Jensen's scent, a bow wrapped around the package, still unchanged, the same that used to haunt Jared's waking hours and dance through his dreams.
Already, he smells it on the air, and it sets his blood ablaze.
"Jensen." Jared hates how his lungs breathe around the name, how it fills his mind and mouth like a sweet chocolate before he says it. He's almost sad to let it go.
"Jay." Jensen doesn't move closer to him, but his voice falls, softens. He almost fools Jared into thinking he still cares. Or ever did. "How've you been? I've been looking for you."
Jared knew Jensen wouldn't let him leave, couldn't. According to Jensen, they're mated for life. The same fire ignites in their blood, the same blood that flows through their veins, and a connection like that can't be thrown asunder. Ever.
However, he honestly expected it to take longer. Much longer.
But Jeff is the best when it comes to sniffing people out. Jared probably didn't stand a chance.
"I've been good." Jared nods, trying to affirm his point. I've been good...without you. "Trying to live my life." Without you. It still fucking smarts, even now. But the small amount of pain doesn't change his mind in the slightest. Pretty much.
Jensen shakes his head, chuckles in that infuriating way he has when he knows something you don't, when he wants to savor the moment between unknowing and knowing. He's an asshole that way.
"You living your life. Ya know, you had a life. Back in Dallas, with me." His voice goes thin and strained, tight like a bowstring.
Jared does his own shrug. "Wasn't much of a life."
He can sense it coming, the impending argument. Jared's always been a little hot-tempered, and Jensen is like a fucking volcano. He explodes, and continues to burn as he destroys everything in his path. It was that hot-headedness and stubbornness Jared first found so attractive about Jensen. However, back then, he mistook it for passion, mistook him for an artist with fire in his belly. Now, Jensen's no more than a petulant and unruly child stamping his foot on the ground when he doesn't get his way.
Apparently, Jeff can sense it, too, because he immediately jumps up and heads out. He doesn't want to get into the middle of this. It isn't his fight, and for some reason, Jared's grateful when he shuts the front door behind him. Grateful to hear the boot falls on the stairs leading out to the street because Jared doesn't want an audience here. It's too personal, the sight of Jensen and Jeff tearing open all the old wounds Jared worked so hard to stitch shut.
"It was enough for me," Jensen insists. He comes closer, and the fucking smell of him is so strong it burns Jared's nostrils. It's spicy and natural, cinnamon drenched in sunlight and buried in the earth. It's Jensen.
"It wasn't enough for me," Jared insists. He comes closer, too, hopefully drenching Jensen's senses in him because he, too, can fight dirty.
"Why not? You loved me, I loved you. I told you every fucking day. Suddenly, it's not good enough for you?" Jared ignores the blatant hurt in Jensen's words, voice, eyes. He tries to remind himself why he's pissed, why he was pissed back then, why it was enough to leave that safety and security and love, why he had to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible. And never look back.
"It wasn't that, Jen."
"Then what! What could have possibly been so horrible that you couldn't stand to be with me any longer?"
Jensen's angry now. His voice deepens, drops into his chest, and he's near-hoarse with rage that it chokes the words as they bubble up from his throat. And Jared's angry that he's angry, and he's so fucking pissed off he can't see straight.
"You took everything from me!" Jared shouts, yells his throat near-bloody.
"What the fuck are you talking about? I gave you everything! What did you need that I didn't provide? Tell me, Jared, what I could have possibly done differently to make you happy because I did everything I could think of to keep you, to make you happy, and you threw it all in my face when you disappeared."
Jensen waits for a response. He's waiting and Jared wants so badly to kill him, rip into him with the claws he can sprout from his fingers. He hates him then more than he's ever hated anyone, and he wants to see what Jensen's insides look like on the outside.
"You made me what I am. You took my goddamned humanity from me, and you don't give a fuck because you never had any. You don't know what it means to someone like me, someone with a fucking soul, how important that soul is. Was. Now, I'm something so...so...unnatural, so different. I don't even recognize myself in the mirror anymore, and you did that to me. You tore out what made me me and you don't care what ruin you left behind as long as you had what you wanted."
And, as Jared rattles off what he's been sitting on for the past two years ever since he woke in the forest covered in blood and changed forever, he knows it completely misses the mark. Like he said, Jensen has no idea what humanity is; he's always been a werewolf, fucking born one, and he's always been destined to lead his Pack. He's the good Alpha, the son his werewolf daddy can be proud of. And because of all that, he doesn't get it, never will, and that makes Jared more angry than ever.
"It was the only way," Jensen argues. HIs eyes are flames and fire and they show everything. "You know that, I've told you. If you had stayed human, I would have had to turn you out. But you're mine, you've always been mine, you always will be mine. I did what I had to do to keep you. You need to understand that. You never did, though." He adds the last part as an afterthought, a sad one.
The fact of the matter is that no, Jared never understood Jensen. Not in the way he wanted because while Jared thinks more in the here and now, Jensen thinks in forevers and eternities. He consumes and consumes and consumes, and eventually, there's nothing left but the bones of what was.
But the thing is, Jared knows this. Knew this. Always did, and he fucking loved it. He loved being the center of Jensen's world. After he changed and stayed with Jensen for those few weeks before leaving it all behind, Jensen put him first and the Pack second. He loved knowing he mattered so much to someone out there that they'd throw themselves off a damned cliff to keep him safe. That passion and intensity and near-obsession with him sent fucking arousal skittering like bugs underneath the skin. It turned him on to mean that much to someone, to have Jensen love him so completely.
It still turns him on now, as he finds out when he feels the blood turning South and his dick thickening against the zipper on his jeans.
However, no matter how much Jared loved to fuck Jensen's brains out (actually, it was the other way around most of the time), nothing makes up for what Jensen stole from him.
It's unforgivable.
But Jared doesn't have to forgive Jensen to want him.
"What are you really doing here, Jensen?" Jared asks, suddenly ready to throw in the towel and just give in to make this fucking night end. "I mean, really really, because you just don't travel a thousand miles, regardless of whom you're hunting down. And you could have always sent Jeff to get me if you really wanted me back."
Jensen laughs.
Jared loves how he laughs. Jared hates how he loves how Jensen laughs.
"Jig's up, I guess," Jensen admits. "Jeff actually found you a week ago. He spent a shit ton of time hiding his scent from you, covering his tracks so you wouldn't get suspicious. Even had one of the younger wolves do some recon when he got a little too close to being discovered." Jensen closes the gap between them, twining his long lean fingers around Jared's wrists. Jared doesn't move, just thinks about the bands of heat wrapped around him. Thinks about where those fingers have been, where they could be if he just said the word. "But the funniest thing happened." Jensen glues their thighs together, dick to dick, lining them up, pushing himself into Jared's space. And Jensen fills Jared's vision and mind and everything. "Jeff called me and told me about your little boyfriend. Matt, right? I knew then I had to get my ass up here if I was to stake out my territory." Jensen tilts his head, slots his mouth ever closer to Jared's, and fits their lips together. Barely connected. "Looks like I was just in time."
"Fuck you," Jared hisses against Jensen's tongue. He won't deny the desire welling up within him, but he also won't give in so easily. This was a new day, a new Jared.
"Oh, baby, you wish," Jensen hums into him, thrusting his hips every so shallowly into Jared's.
It's so fucking hard to say no when Jensen's practically on top of him. Everything -the desire, the fucking lust, the afternoons spent tangled together between the sheets with Jensen balls deep inside him- comes back and Jared thinks how easy it would be to give in. How fucking sweet it would be to let go and sink back into what they once were.
And before he can say no, Jensen's mouth is at that spot on his neck, behind his ear, that shoots tingles of pleasure down his neck and straight to his cock when he nips and plays with it. Before he can say no, Jensen maneuvers the zipper on Jared's jeans and has his hand down his pants, through the slit in his underwear, and wrapped around Jared's cock like a fucking vice.
And before he can say no, Jared says yes because no matter how he and Jensen feel about each other when the day's done, they've always been good at this.
They're naked in Jared's bed. It's too damned hot in the apartment and they're sweating as they slide against one another. Jensen's got his hand wrapped around Jared's dick like a fucking joystick, directing the game however which way he wants. As he strokes up, twists his thumb over Jared's sensitive head and smears the faint drops of precome around till they disappear, Jared lets out little breathy moans and twists his hands in the sheets, eyes firmly closed against the traitorous vision before him.
It's so damn good. That's the problem; it's too damned good, and Jared can't get enough. He can't deny the fingers that play at his hole, slickly dipping within and hooking immediately to find that right angle where everything bleeds white. He doesn't want the hot mouth on his cock to end because the second it does, he'll break into a thousand pieces. Jensen's mouth and hands and fingers hold him together right now, and that's all he wants to know.
And when Jensen's dick is suddenly inside him, filling him to the brim, stretching him in more ways than one, he doesn't think about how much he fucking loves this man, how much he fucking wants him, how much he fucking hates him. He thinks about the thrusts Jensen makes, slow and timely like he's got years and years to enjoy this. He doesn't think, just feels, when Jensen strokes his dick in time with his coordinated movements within him, inside, so deep that Jared doesn't know where one begins and the other ends. And when Jensen speeds up, so eager for that last bit of friction to send him over the edge, Jared digs his nails into Jensen's hips, draws blood, and lavishes himself with Jensen's cries as he comes deep inside Jared's ass.
It's all so damn good. It's all too damn good. But as Jared comes down, unable to find the energy to even want to move, he doesn't think before he falls asleep, Jensen's head pillowed on his chest.
The next morning isn't as awkward as Jared thinks it would be. Before Jensen rises, Jared slips from bed, showers, and answers the few texts from Matt about his apartment and the so-called break in. Jared doesn't tell him about Jensen and Jeff and the sex, and he doesn't want to. He merely puts his phone into the drawer and walks to the kitchen to make coffee, bare ass naked.
It's the scent of the roast freshly dripping that has Jensen in a matching state standing in Jared's kitchen, hair mussed as he drinks his morning brew.
As Jared watches his pink tongue swipe the last few drops of coffee from the rim and the green eyes disappear beneath golden lashes in the morning-coffee-ecstasy, Jared wonders what the fuck they're doing here.
Nothing is solved. Not like that. Jensen's dick isn't the Be-All-End-All Magic Cock that solves the world's problems, much less Jared's. He still loves Jensen, yes, and it's obvious they still want each other bad. But none of this erases what Jensen did, what he made Jared into, what he took, stole.
And as Jared drinks his coffee with his ex-lover, he thinks about how things might change yet again here. How nothing is set in stone and even a rift as great as theirs can be mended, slowly but surely. Of course, he pledges nothing, the burn of hurt too deeply seeded within to even contemplate such a promise.
But, instead of ruining the silent agreement of the morning with half-cocked ideas and romantic notions, Jared simply watches Jensen drink his coffee.
End.