Fic: No Pain, No Gains, Jensen/Jared, NC-17 1/2
Title: No Pain, No Gains
Fandom: Supernatural RPF
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17
Length: 16,300 words
Content notes: graphic sex, gratuitous gym descriptions, extreme schmoop. Do not read if you'd like whole teeth by the end
Notes: written for this excellent prompt at spn_masquerade, now finished and tidied up, with deep thanks to miss_morland for her beta help - any mistakes that remain are entirely my own.
Summary: Jensen runs a small, local gym, Jared's the local bookshop owner who's never contemplated getting fit before.
It's been a slow day. A slow enough day that Danneel at the front desk is gently snoozing on a pile of application forms, and even the most dedicated personal trainers have fled in favor of a bowl of nachos and several beers. "Superbowl," Jensen says to Danneel, and she shifts with a grunt. "It's always quiet during Superbowl."
The last thing anyone wants while watching other people endorse peak athleticism is to be getting a workout in themselves. Usually the evening is their peak time, after work commuters getting a quick session in before they head off, but tonight it's pretty much dead. Jensen didn't expect anything else, but he's got the TV on in his office and one appointment, and he doesn't yet know enough people in town to organize anything himself. He suspects he's fallen between several stools with the people he does know, since everyone had assumed he was already going somewhere else.
"Come on," he says and pokes her awake. "Off you go."
"No can do," she replies. "Not leaving you here in sole charge of the premises. Who knows what you might do? Forget to rerack the weights, sabotage the juice bar, shred the paper towels, the list is endless."
"Juice bar is a bit of a misnomer," Jensen says with a dry look. "It's a fridge full of water." The clientele they seem to have attracted isn't the type to drink the chia seed filled 800 calorie smoothies that the last place he worked in offered.
"Point stands. I bet you'll sabotage old Mrs Perlman's favorite machine."
"If by sabotage you mean reset the weights, then yes, I am going to sabotage her. Again, for the fifty-fifth day running. It's become a personal war." Jensen shakes his head. There's a neat ledger full of complaints from Mrs Perlman over the fact that the machine magically resets itself overnight from her preferred 10lb lift. "Regardless, off you go. I'm sure you've got somewhere better to be tonight than headbutting a desk. I'm going to close up early after this last appointment and I can easily handle the huge stream of customers likely to flood in before then."
She doesn't need telling three times. "If you're sure," she says, shrugging on her IronMan hoodie and casting an anxious eye over him. "If you're done early, why don't you come over and join us? It's just going to be me, Gen, Tom, a few of the guys."
"I'm good," he says without hesitation, and mentally kicks himself for it. "I've got to get a semi-decent workout in myself, you know."
She doesn't take offence, just smiles and picks up her bag. "See you tomorrow," she says. "Don't forget Chris will be on desk duty, and I'm trotting Mrs Singh through induction. It’s Boxers Box day as well.”
“I know,” he says, and he doesn’t mean to make it sound as doom-laden as it probably does. Boxers Box is a problem he’s going to leave until tomorrow, on the principle that thinking about a problem that can’t be fixed isn’t going to make it any smaller.
There’s exactly one person in the cardio area, a woman sweating it out on the elliptical, head down and focused on the ground rather than the TV overhead, and even she’s beginning to get puffed, legs going slower and slower even as he watches. He heads back out to the empty little reception area and prints her out the squat information she’d asked for last time they’d chatted, and then idles about waiting for his final appointment of the evening.
He doesn’t expect much. They ran an offer in a local paper recently offering free induction days to get a sample of what a gym and personal training could do for gym-shy people, and while the uptake has been decent, the follow-through has been disappointing. They started with a good base of people from the previous owners, but they need to expand, and business is dismayingly slow. There are a few enthusiasts, a few more weight loss seekers, and a scattering of people with no fixed idea of what they want, but not enough of any one type to give a direction.
When Jared (Jensen noted the name down from the call) walks into the door, he doesn’t muster much hope in Jensen’s soul as to a new sign up either. But beggars can’t be choosers, and Jensen puts on as bright a smile as he can manage and comes over to shake hands. Jared’s 6’4 if he’s an inch, but he looks about six foot, the way he hunches over, and he’s almost painfully thin - Jensen can even feel it in his hands and has to moderate his grip so he doesn’t crush Jared’s fingers.
“Hey,” says Jared, and proffers the newspaper coupon. “I, uh, thought, uh, that it’d be a good time to, uh.” As well as being thin, he’s also almost painfully shy, it seems, a bright blush sweeping over his cheekbones, hair swinging forward as he ducks his head.
“Give fitness a try?” Jensen supplies, unable to take it a second longer.
Jared nods gratefully. “That. Exactly that. I tried running up the stairs last week, and I was puffing like crazy, so you know, a gym seemed like maybe a good idea, then a friend showed me your advert, and it kind of stemmed from there.” The rambling is kind of cute, Jensen catches himself thinking.
Jensen takes him into the office and perches on a chair as he wields a pen and a form. Now that he can see Jared’s face, he can see how good-looking he is, even if he isn’t really Jensen’s type, and he reminds himself to strictly keep to business. He fills in height - an accurately guessed 6’4 - and the almost painful weight of 150 lbs. He’s well versed at keeping expression off his face, though - a personal trainer who expresses dismay at their client is one who isn’t going to have clients for very long. It’s pretty standard practice to supplement BMI with body fat and waist measurement in his gym, so he checks with Jared first, then turns to the calipers and the tape measure. For someone so thin, Jared’s carrying a surprising amount of proportionate body fat, which Jensen makes a notation of on his paper before he fills out any allergies etc.
“And what are your goals?” he asks. One of his gym philosophies is trying to understand what everyone wants from their gym and attempting to give it to them.
“I’d like to go back to those stairs and kick their ass?” Jared offers with a little smile, that okay, Jared is not his type, and it’d be inappropriate as hell to hit on a potential client, but Jensen is forgetting both of those things right now.
He smiles in spite of himself. “I like it. Anything else? Some hills you’d like to pick a fight with?”
Jared shrugs. “I’m going to tell you the truth, man,” he says. “Now you may not believe it, but I’ve never been in a gym before,” and there’s a side smile there that Jensen wants to see again, a wry invitation for them both to laugh. “I own the bookstore down the road.”
“Oh, I know the one,” Jensen says, and he does, he walks past it most nights on the way home.
“I’ve never seen you,” Jared says as though somehow surprised by that, and Jensen doesn’t want to mention that mostly he reads e-books. “Anyway, I own the bookstore down the road, and I know nothing about any of this. I mean, hypothetically I know that cardio is a word, and weights are a thing, but mostly it seems to be people who want to lose weight, and that’s not my shade of problem. I have real problems keeping it on, the last thing I want to do is lose some more. So I don’t know anything about what can be done.”
“What changed?” Jensen asks. “Apart from the stair business.”
“I have this friend, Gen, and she told me that she thought it was a good idea.”
“Fitness instructor Gen?” Jensen inquires.
“That’s the one. She mentioned the coupon and said that full disclosure, she works here, but that just made her the right person to tell me if I really wanted to work on myself a bit.”
“Well, she’s right. We can definitely help, and I understand that you want to start from scratch. Tonight’s going to be the absolute basics, I’m going to test you and try pushing you a little to see what we’ve got to work with, and there’s zero obligation attendant on it. Now I’ll show you to the changing room, and you can meet me by the desk.”
He’s just in time to catch Lauren as she finally limps out of the changing rooms, and to press the squat sheets on her. She’s been wanting to make the jump to weights for some time, and this seems the best way to ease her in. When he’s done having a chat,and she’s headed on her way, Jared’s ready and shifting uneasily in an old t-shirt and sweatsuit bottoms, which only emphasize how tall and thin he is.
Jensen doesn’t usually do the inductions. He’s not only the owner, but also the head personal trainer, the only one with nutrition certification, and he also hangs out in the boxing gym that’s tagged partially on to the main gym. As a result the people he trains are usually the ones who want and need to be pushed. Getting someone else in on Superbowl night was always a losing proposition, though, and he’s pretty sure he’s not actually going to kill Jared.
When Jared’s sweating, five minutes in on the treadmill, he re-evaluates a bit, but Jared’s grimly keeping going, trying his best not to look at the ticking dial and just focusing on thin air in front of him. When Jensen finally lets him hop off at the ten minute mark, he looks like he’s melting, and Jensen hands him some paper towel. “If you decide to come here on a regular basis, there won’t be too much of that,” he says, both because it’s true and because he does want to make a sale after all. “I’d strongly recommend a weight-based regime, supplemented with appropriate caloric intake, to build muscle on your frame. Circuit training, with mixed weights, and some basic cardio would also be an option. I’d also suggest considering a yoga class with our resident teacher Misha, to help improve posture and flexibility.”
Jared’s giving him the eyes of fear he usually gets from his male clients when they hear that. Most other places toss in a joke about it being a great place to meet girls, but Misha’s already given Jensen a stern lecture on that particular line, so Jensen just fills in with “I swear it’s worth it.” He’s taken Jared over to the weight machines now, less because they’re of much actual use and more to see the ballpark of Jared’s current lifting ability, and also because it’ll give Jared a chance to catch his breath after the treadmill. He’s pretty sure that Jared’s never coming back, but he’s determined to give it his best shot anyway, and Jared’s definitely giving it his - he’s pink in the face from the shoulder press, and his arms are trembling.
Generally Jensen likes giving a sample of everything in the gym, including the wonderful world of the jumping box, taking a lap of the circuit, investigating the free weights, and going a round with the punching bag, but Jared’s needs are specific. He wants to build muscle, and now that Jensen’s got some idea of his cardio fitness, he skips the rest for now and leads the way to the free weights. He does the same thing here that he does with every other client, shows Jared the three basic lifts - squat, bench and deadlift.
He gives the same spiel that he always does as he demonstrates, stresses the importance of excellent form - better to do one lift perfectly than ten poorly. He stresses even more the risk of injury if he doesn’t pay attention to his form, and reminds Jared that however douchey it might feel to be constantly looking in the mirror, there’s actually a reason for it. Having gone through the motions of the squat lift, keeping the plates to a minimum, he lets Jared have a go. “Always inside the squat rack,” he cautions, and keeps a sharp eye on his client. Jared squats down awkwardly and Jensen lifts the bar away, demonstrates keeping good posture, when to breathe in, and how low down to go, drilling it in until he’s sure Jared understands. It doesn’t take Jared long to pick up, though Jensen can definitely see how yoga might help - Jared’s the sort of tall dude who’s got used to ducking his head and pretending to be shorter than he is.
As Jared turns to try to bench press for the first time, Jensen can’t help noticing that his ass is pretty decent, purely as a matter of general observation. He tries not to imagine what it’ll be like post-squatting, but however much he attempts to tell himself that it’s inappropriate and unprofessional, he still can’t quite help thinking it. Jared’s all canvas - right now he’s cute and gangly and so thin Jensen’s pretty sure that he could fit his fingers around his forearm with ease, but all of the potential is there. He’s perfectly proportioned; if he ever does anything with his body he’s going to be astounding. Jensen’s absolutely sure of that - the past few years have given him an eye for natural possibility, and Jared fits every one of the requirements. There’s no way to say that to a first-timer, though, without sounding like an absolute asshole. Nobody wants to hear that in six months and a chicken-farm’s worth of protein time, they might be on their way to looking spectacular, since the implication is that right now they don’t. With an actual client he’d say it because he believes in the truth, but he doesn’t want to scare Jared away.
The bonus part of Jared knowing nothing about any of this is that Jensen can start off with the bar sans plates, and not have to explain why he’s doing it. It’s a good choice. Jared’s legs aren’t badly off, but his upper body strength is pitiful. Jensen pushes him, just a little, but keeps close and ready to spot him, eyes peeled and alert for any sign of trembling or incapacity.
The deadlift isn’t much - he’s not giving Jared any numbers right now, but Jared’s form is easy and instinctual, and Jensen only has to correct him once, doesn’t put his hands anywhere near him, just murmurs out instructions and Jared follows them flawlessly, straightens the bits that need straightening, and Jensen is absolutely right that if Jared takes this up, there’s going to be some serious results. He can see the long, tense lines of Jared’s back, the exertion in his frame, the will that’s driving him on, and the intentness of his face, like in this moment, this is all that matters. It doesn’t matter that he isn’t lifting much, he’s lifting as much as he can handle, and Jensen files that away under things he never knew were attractive.
They’re well overdue on their session now, but Jensen doesn’t mind and Jared isn’t uttering a peep, so he takes Jared on a quick tour of the rest of it - punch bag and all.
It’s not just Jared’s arms that are trembling by the end, but everything about him. Jensen doesn’t usually push so hard, but the truth is that he got caught up enough with talking to Jared in between activities that he barely noticed just how much ground they were covering, Jared’s nods and shy one-word answers hiding the fact of just how puffed he was. Not to mention that every time he checked in with Jared that he was doing fine, Jared just squeaked that he was doing great.
They’re walking - in Jared’s case wobbling - back out to the changing rooms, and Jensen’s trying to find a way to reassure Jared that not every personal session will be like this, and failing to find words. He lets Jared head in, and goes back to the desk himself to root for an information pack amongst the debris. By the time Jared’s back, Jensen’s almost ready to give the pat little speech of hoping that Jared will come back, when he realizes that Jared is actually barely walking.
Jensen gets him to a chair and wants to start apologizing, only he finds himself totally tongue-tied. He takes refuge in practicalities. “Do you live near the bookshop?” he asks Jared, and Jared, who appears to have lost most of his breath, nods. Jensen could kick himself. “I’m giving you a ride home, unless you brought a car,” he says.
Jared shakes his head. “There’s no need for that,” he wheezes and oh God, Jensen thinks, is he asthmatic? He didn’t mention it on the form.
“There really is,” Jensen says. “Look, tonight is a slow night. Superbowl, you know. I’ll close up early, and drop you along the way. It’s really no problem.”
He can tell just how tired Jared is by how fast he relents. He doesn’t seem like the giving in sort of person, more the quietly stubborn, and Jensen’s guilt ticks up even higher. He grabs a few papers from his tiny office, makes sure all the lights are off and doors locked, and then drives the car right up to the door before helping Jared limp there slowly.
“This is so embarrassing,” Jared finally says as he clips on his seatbelt. “Seriously, dude.”
“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Jensen replies. “I should. I pushed you way too hard and too fast,” and he doesn’t add in all the reasons why he did - that he was too busy listening to Jared’s funny little comments, that maybe he wanted to prolong the session a little, maybe he just was pissy and a little bit lonely at being alone. It’s about a three minute drive to Jared’s place, which includes parking, and they sit in awkward silence for a moment.
“Thanks for the ride,” Jared says, as he got out. “And the personal training session, and I mean that, okay?” He’s still shy, but he’s looking straight at Jensen as he says it, radiating sincerity, and Jensen’s already beginning to regret that there’s no way in hell that Jared’s ever coming back inside a gym.
“Take a bath,” he says instead. “It’ll help with the muscle soreness,” and he bites his tongue on all the rest.
Jared hesitates for a moment, opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then shuts it, and limps up the tiny path. Jensen watches him until he’s inside - out of concern he tells himself - and then drives back home to an empty house and the replay of the game.
The next day, everyone is grumpy. Jensen’s grumpy because he’s still feeling like a dick after yesterday, nearly everyone else is grumpy because they drank too much, and Misha is, if not grumpy, then certainly throwing reproachful looks around over Jensen’s failure to get new yoga mats delivered faster. The only person on top of the world is Gen, who’s taking two classes that morning and didn’t drink the night before. She’s almost offensively cheerful in her neon pink tennis shoes and matching headband.
“Good look?” she asks.
“No,” Jensen says honestly, but she doesn’t take offence.
“It’s tradition! I feel like Jamie Lee Curtis.” Jensen has to crack a smile at that. She leans on the doorframe and peers in. “How did it go with Jared? I meant to ask you to go easy on him, he’s a sweetheart but he’s not exactly a big exerciser.”
Guilt twists in Jensen some more. “He was great,” he says, “I wasn’t.” He hesitates for a moment, then takes the plunge. “If you see him, then uh, can you say that..”
“Say it yourself,” Gen says, “he’s just coming in the door.”
Sure enough, Jared is right there, with the wad of paper Jensen gave him as an afterthought the night before, and an intensely shy look as he gives Gen a small wave. “I’m just here for a moment,” he says, and sits down with evident carefulness on the chair. “Should I feel so sore?”
“Yes,” Jensen says. “That’s DOMS for you - muscle soreness,” he adds belatedly. “It’ll get better if you work out the same muscles again today, believe it or not.”
“Luckily, that’s just what I intend to do,” Jared says with a grin. “I’d like to sign up for the yearly contract.” It’s the sensible choice - the year contract is much cheaper, but it also means he’s serious. He’s not a monther, trying out the ground. For whatever reason, last night hasn’t scared him off. Jensen’s conscious of a warm feeling in his gut that there really is no reason for. “And, uh, I’d like the basic personal training package, with you, if I can. The six weeks one with the nutrition plan.”
Jensen can barely keep the startled look off his face at that one. Maybe Jared was tough enough to come back after last night - but to want more of what Jensen dished out, well. Now that Jared is a client, it’d be inappropriate to stress last night - Jensen’s not such an idiot that he’d forget liability - but he still searches for a subtle way to say that he’ll take it easier.
Whatever is on of his face, though, Jared reads with ease. “I liked last night,” he says earnestly. “Well, that bit is a lie. I needed last night. I’ve been stuck in a rut, y’know. Last night showed me how far there is to go. I want to be pushed, Jensen, I mean it.” The last bit sounds a bit sexier than it really should, especially now that Jared isn’t looking shy, but closer to passionate. He’s still a little bit skeptical, he can admit to himself, but Jared’s beginning to win him over.
“Sounds good to me,” he says, instead of any “are you sure?” comments that come to mind. He scans the paperwork and makes a small change to the price. “Just applying the standard discount that comes from being recommended by a friend,” he explains and Jared smiles, dimples popping out. He hands over his card and stands up.
“I really have to run,” he says in apology. “I have to open the shop, I just wanted to come by first and get that sorted.” Jensen quickly scans the card, and tells Jared to come by later to pick up his membership card and to bring his kit. Jared vanishes out the door, still more dragging himself stiffly along than running, but at least he’s walking. Jensen will take it.
“Standard discount, hm?” Gen says. He didn’t realize she was lurking nearby still, before the early morning aerobics class begin. “Funny, I don’t remember a standard discount. Can I get it for a non-hot friend as well?”
Jensen’s still not in a great mood and he almost snaps at her that Jared isn’t hot and that whatever she’s implying, he wouldn’t fuck a client anyway. He just about stops himself, but the irritation is still palpable. “It’s called encouragement, Gen. Now go torture some clients.”
“Yes sir,” and she mock salutes him. “And I’m not teasing you, Jensen. Not much, anyway. Jared’s a great guy and I’m really glad he’s signed up.” She’s up and into their main workout room before he can say another word, a tiny ball of energy, surrounded by the people who’ve managed to drag themselves out of bed to follow Gen’s workout but who look seriously displeased at the thought. The grumpiness is clearly catching this morning.
They’re busier than usual for most of the day - clearly people feel guilty over the sheer amount of chicken wings they consumed the night before, and a couple of the classes have near full attendance, the cardio room has a scattering of gym bunnies, working on their speed and catching up on whatever TV they’ve promised themselves. They’re a neighbourhood gym, really, especially during the day - after five, it’s the commuter crowd, but before then, there’s a real mixture. A mixture that might change if Boxing Box has its way, and Jensen almost bangs his head on the mirror as he realizes he hasn’t decided yet what he’s going to do. If only he knew more local people, people he could ask about this. But he’s too proud to ask Gen, Danneel’s a recent transplant to the city herself, and it’s depressing how few people he knows here, despite talking to practically hundreds a day.
There’s no-one he can ask straight which type of boxing club Boxers Box is. Jensen has nothing against boxing - he boxes himself, he incorporates boxing training routines into ordinary routines, he’s more than qualified to train people to lower levels. And knowing all that, he’s aware that most boxers clubs are great - some of them work with young people and help change their lives, others are integral parts of the local community - and that letting them hire out the boxing gym for meets, club meetings, and training in the morning and at nights would be amazing word of mouth for the gym, and a much needed income source.
Then there’s the others. The few where boxing really is a training ground for thugs, with no attention to form or precision, and, more often than not, disruptive to the gym atmosphere. If people start feeling unsafe because of people Jensen’s let hire part of his premises, that’s on him. And sometimes there’s just no way to tell except through word of mouth. He’s seen grandfatherly types who’ll let bare-knuckle fighting go down if the price is right, and guys who look the stereotype who’ll go out of their way to encourage female fighters. Google isn’t much help, and he’s going to have to rely mainly on instinct.
The meeting is at seven, and he’s kept on his feet until then - personal training sessions, gym business, narrowly escaping having to fill in for Gen’s zumba class when she’s late back from lunch, poring over the new advertising leaflets the printer has sent back, and thumping his face against the desk when he realizes that they’ve misspelled price as prick. He’s not 100% sure if it’s an accident on the part of the printers; some people have strong feelings on gyms.
At ten minutes to seven, Jared turns up. Jensen snaps a picture, does him up a membership card, and with the five minutes left before the meeting, talks nutrition - hands Jared an eating plan that he won’t admit swallowed up pretty much all of his spare time during the day. Before he handed it to Jared, Jared was a little offhand - “No matter how much I eat,” he says, “I can’t put on weight. It’s my metabolism, I’m sure of it.”
“Unless you’re literally Superman, your metabolism is not stopping you from gaining weight,” Jensen says, at his driest. “You’re tall, you need calories, and I will take a bet that you’re not eating as much as you think you are. Have you ever tried putting on weight?”
“Yes!” Jared says. “I ate only donuts for a week, didn’t gain a pound.” Which isn’t the most wrongheaded answer Jensen’s ever heard from a client (that honor goes to a client who told him she couldn’t lose weight, which she knew, because she’d once tried eating only lettuce for a week, and that surprisingly it hadn’t been sustainable) but it’s pretty up there. He’s given up on being surprised over how many smart people there are who really believe physics doesn’t apply to them.
Jared’s face on his eating plan is a picture. “I can’t eat all this,” he says positively. Jensen doesn’t have time to argue the point, and he’s about to tell Jared to head on in and do a slow workout as their personal training session isn’t actually for another two days when Jared’s eyes widen.
“Hide me,” he says with a degree of urgency.
Jensen’s not quick to react, because that’s the stupidest damn thing he’s ever heard. Jared’s slinking into a corner as though the mop and bucket there are going to conceal him, and apparently he’s actually serious about this. The only person in the reception area is clearly Gerald Padalecki, the meet Jensen’s got set up to discuss Boxing Box with.
“Why?” he asks, not 100% sure that this is happening. He’s never ever had a client tell him to hide them, but Jared’s eyes are convincing enough that he’s already opening up the supply closet and letting Jared slip in. This really isn’t a good sign for Gerald Padalecki, if local nerdy bookshop owners are hiding in cupboards rather than taking the risk of bumping into him. Is he operating some sort of protection racket around here, threatening to break the spines of innocent books?
“He’s my dad,” Jared says before the door swings shut, and...that explains not a lot.
Jensen comes out to meet Gerald and get a firm grip on his hand - no danger of crushing the father, that is for sure. “Jensen Ackles,” he introduces himself, feeling the faintly disapproving look sweep up and down him. He gets that a lot in this business. “You’re here about Boxing Box?”
“I am,” Gerald says, and leads the way into the office, which Jensen happens to know his son is hiding in. This morning he’s clearly woken up in a farce. “I think I told you in the initial email that our old gym had to be closed down. Asbestos, if you can believe it,” and he gives a grunt as though it’s sheer nonsense. Jensen politely hmms along. “We’re looking for a new place, nothing fancy. We’ve got three trainers and myself, a strong core crew, we’re training for local fights, but we’ve got a couple of extremely promising young ones, and two regional champions. We can bring equipment if it’s needed, and we can thrash out hours and money if the initial outlook seems good.”
Jensen’s not as sure as he’d like to be. Gerald seems decent, a straightforward guy with a bit of attitude but willing to listen, holding nothing back. Probably if Jared hadn’t shot straight into that closet on the sight of him, Jensen would be forming a positive opinion, particularly after Gerald pushes a folder full of clippings over towards him, a yellowing survey of past achievements. After all, he’ll know exactly what Jensen’s thinking they might be, though there’s no real way for either of them to bring it up.
He leads him out to the room that’s currently got one ring, a few punching bags, a matted area, and one basic rack of weights as well as extra standard dumbbells. “Access to the main gym’s weights and classes will be contingent on membership,” he tells Gerald, “but I’m more than happy to work out a reasonable per-visit cost at a sizable discount, and we can always offer a joint membership of boxing and gym.”
There’s some places where access to the main weight room goes as standard, but whether Gerald’s operating anything shady or not - Jensen’s leaning towards not - he’s definitely the rough and ready type. This will show if he means business.
But Gerald’s smiling in satisfaction. “That’s the way I like it,” he says,as he moves around, poking things and prying into dark corners. “Decent size, got doors to the outside.” He’s clearly moving through a checklist.
“And of course,” Jensen adds. “It’s still part of the gym. It’s the boxing part, and I’m anxious to have somewhere for genuine fighters to train, but there will be occasional classes for beginners in here at notified times, though I doubt there’ll be conflict in timing, and naturally I retain final discretion.”
He’s setting his cards out on the table. The gym is still Jensen’s. Gerald can advertise as he likes and bring in who he likes on his own terms, but the name stays the same. Gerald’s renting the location, not a new gym. He’s decided that’s his line - take it or leave it.
Gerald doesn’t say anything much for a moment. Then, “Agreed,” he says and sticks out a hand. “I’ll meet with my trainers and get back to you on the details.”
Before he leaves, Jensen introduces him to Misha, who as well as the yoga also runs their only MMA class, and leaves them chatting before he nips back to his office. He expects Jared to have sneaked out and vanished, but he’s still there, sitting on an upturned bucket, knees around his ears, simultaneously the most pitiful and hilarious thing Jensen’s ever seen. “Is he gone?” he asks in a stage whisper.
Jensen shakes his head. “Not yet,” he says, and Gerald sticks his head in the door, looking puzzled at the sight of Jensen talking to a cupboard, but too polite to say that he thinks Jensen’s mad. Jensen can feel his stupid skin heating up, but he carries it off, walks Gerald to the door while chatting shop, still wondering if there’s any easy way to bring Jared up.
When Jensen opens the door a second time, he has to give Jared a hand up. “Ironic, isn’t it?” Jared says with a laugh. “Been out of the closet for years, and my dad drives me back in.”
“Any reason?” Jensen asks, not entirely sure if Jared’s being literal. If Jared’s dad is a homophobe, working out with Jensen and at Jensen’s gym is not going to be an option for obvious reasons.
Jared waves that off. “Oh, he knows about that. He doesn’t have a problem with my sexuality. He has a problem with me being the least athletic person to ever grace the Padalecki name. He’s been bugging me for years to join a gym, get fit, get ripped.”
“Then why didn’t you let him see you?” Jensen says. “He’d be proud that you’re taking his advice, right?”
“He might think he’d won,” Jared says in all earnestness. “That I was doing it because he suggested it. The worst thing is, he wouldn’t gloat. He’d say things like ‘I’m proud of you, son, for taking your fitness into your hands’ and then he would never ever let me forget a workout. He’d probably come and supervise, and buy me tins of protein powder and forcibly inject me with steroids, and then start making noises about how even at my height I could fight heavyweight.”
“Well, you could technically,” Jensen injects. “Prime Foreman was 6’4.”
“And Al Cole and John Tate,” Jared finishes. “Trust me, I know. I don’t want to.” Although he’s joking, there’s still a tenseness about his shoulders that tells Jensen that this really is a sore spot with him, so he drops the boxing angle.
“Well I won’t tell your dad about your secret mission,” he says. “And in all seriousness, there’s going to be a timetable for their meets. If you really want to avoid him, it’ll be easy.”
Jared gives him a smile. “I would appreciate that,” he says. “Honestly.”
“Though if you can get the protein powder off him through false pretences, I would,” Jensen says. “That shit’s expensive, and you’re going to need it, unless you really really like chicken.”
Jared looks at the meal plan Jensen gave him as Jensen searches through a drawer. “I’m never going to be able to eat all this,” he says quietly enough that it doesn’t demand an answer.
“Do you read?” Jensen asks.
Jared laughs. “Bookstore owner here,” he says and ducks his head. “I probably read too much for my own good.”
“Well, this is your homework,” Jensen replies and tosses him his own copy of Strong Lifts. Jared doesn’t catch it - he really wasn’t joking about not being athletic.
“Is this like the arcane lore that you’re handing down to me?” Jared asks, holding the book like it’s a first edition Hemingway. He’s teasing Jensen slightly, Jensen can tell, but he plays along.
“It’s like gold dust. Keep it in a vault.” He shoos Jared out to the gym, and goes back to his desk. If the Boxing Box deal is going ahead, it’s going to mean a surge in income, a surge in members, and an uptick in paperwork.
He warns Jared off working out every day, tells him that rest days are important and that he’s not going to do himself good if he pushes too far, too fast, but somehow Jared seems to be around all the time. He’s there for their one-on-one session every week, but he’s also there three times a week for working out by himself, and he has a habit of popping by and claiming he’s left something, and stopping to chat to Jensen for a quick five minutes. Jensen grows used enough to it that he starts missing it when Jared skips a day, though he keeps it intently professional. He’s here to help Jared, to develop him, not to ogle his body. He’s strictly concerned with Jared’s deadlift form, and not at all with the curve of Jared’s ass, or the tight flex of his thigh, and he’s pretty certain that Jared looks at him only as a trainer, only as the devil that rams a pitchfork into his ass once a week, and drops comments about his lifts three times as often. There’s literally no moment of the day when he wants to brush Jared’s absurd hair back from his face for him, as he sweats his way through a squat set that would have been impossible just a month ago.
It doesn’t help that Gen tells him that Jared has a crush on him the size of Texas. He laughs her out of town, because Jared is smart, funny and rapidly becoming not just pretty, but scorchingly hot, but he’s never looked at Jensen twice. Not in the way that Gen means. Jared just smiles, and ducks his head, and follows every word Jensen says to the letter, keeps himself to the grind with hardly any urging at all, lugging around a protein shake that he swears by and offering to share half the time.
The first six weeks go by in no time at all, and Jared insists on renewing the contract, claims that the only way he’s motivated enough to get to the gym regularly is the paralysing fear of having to explain to Jensen why he hasn’t. Jensen can believe that, Gen uses him as the boogey man all the time. It does put paid, he thinks, to any hint that Jared might be interested in him. It’s never been explicitly stated, but the ethos of the gym regarding personal trainer/client relationships is pretty clear - when Danneel had wanted to date a client, he had had to sign off from her sessions first.
It’s just the way things are - Jensen prefers the clean simplicity of it, since he’s seen just how muddled personal relationships can get when working out and making out get mixed. If Jared wants to stick with him, it means that it’s not a crush - he’s really committed to this new lifestyle. There’s a thin thread of disappointment in there somewhere that Jensen feels is ridiculous. He tries telling himself that he doesn’t want to date Jared, but the protestation is beginning to ring a little hollow to his ears. He’s never been attracted solely to muscles, on men or women, but he’s always been attracted to the dedication it takes to build them.
Maybe if it was someone else, he’d cancel the sessions himself and suggest a date, but he feels like it’d throw a spoke in Jared’s progress, which is far and away almost the fastest transformation he’s ever seen. Jared’s probably never going to get truly bulky unless he works for it, and considers steroids (not a path he’ll take in Jensen’s gym) - he’s tall enough that it’s difficult to achieve, and even with a rigorous diet and close attention to macros he has difficulties in getting enough intake, but he’s building muscle as fast as he can, and he was thin enough to start with that the change is really noticeable even after only three months. Beginner’s gains it might be, but they’re impressive and even make Jensen a little jealous. He’s not going to throw Jared under the bus and make him find a new gym just because he’s starting to have mild daydreams about the sharp cut of Jared’s hips.
The first time he gets a glimpse of the idea that maybe Jared isn’t just a willing self-sacrifice to the gym gods is when Jensen has to head away for a week. He’s a little bit of a control freak - he’s ready and willing to admit that. He leaves detailed and extensive instructions on how to handle literally everything in the gym, and shuffles each of his personal clients who really can’t wait a week to a different trainer complete with their full set of notes. When he gets back, everything is fine and dandy, except Danneel tells him that Jared cancelled his appointment.
If there’s one thing Jensen can’t stand, it’s people who skip out on a regular appointment, and he’s kind of disappointed in Jared, who sure enough slopes in sheepishly that night and comes to the office to have a chat. For someone who is pretty damn shy, he never seems to have much of a problem with talking to Jensen, and they chew the fat a little bit, as Jensen scans the renewal times on the computer.
“Why didn’t you go to Danneel?” he asks abruptly, halfway through Jared’s meandering story about a cat climbing his bookshelves. He winces a little internally at his tone, he doesn’t want to sound like Jared’s dad. Gerald is a good guy, he runs a tight ship, and Jensen genuinely likes him, but he also gets how growing up with him as a dad must have pushed Jared into a tight teenage rebellion corner of feeling that he was never going to be good enough because he wasn’t an athlete.
Jared doesn’t bristle, though, he just leans forward a little bit, trademark move of ducking his head down so Jensen can’t see his eyes. “I don’t know,” he says. “She’s great and she does great, but I wanted it to be you. It’s stupid, but I don’t mind you bossing me around and telling me to do things, but I get enough of it elsewhere most of the time and I resent it.”
It’s probably the most honest thing Jared’s ever said, and most of the time he’s a pathologically honest dude, incapable of even telling small lies to ease interaction. Jensen ignores the little flicker of warmth in his belly at the thought that Jared doesn’t mind Jensen doing it. “You could just have said that,” he points out.
“Yeah, like it didn’t sound stupid enough in my head,” Jared says with a snort. “Just, take the compliment, okay. I missed you.” He’s up and out after that, like he’s said just a little too much, leaving Jensen to loll back in his chair and think about it. It’s kind of sad that it makes him happy, but Jared isn’t the only one in the gym with issues.
Jensen’s run this place for seven months now, and he still hasn’t furnished his apartment properly. The gym’s in perfect order, but he hasn’t even entirely unpacked his crockery, or put a single picture up. The only reason there’s a made up bed in the spare room is in case family comes by. He goes for occasional drinks, he does the odd 5K, he’s dated people on and off, and not one of them has made a single scratch in his life. If he sleeps over, he does it at someone else’s, because the thought of taking them back to an unmade bed, a fridge full of shakes, and an empty living room is just too embarrassing. He’s funnelled all of himself into making this, his big effort, a success, and it hasn’t left room for anything else. There’s not even a single book on his shelves, because he’s put them all on an e-reader, as though he has too much clutter in his life instead of too little.
Jared’s about the closest thing to a friend that he has. He’s friendly with his other clients, but it’s much more impersonal, and he knows Gen, Danneel, Misha, Chris and the rest would be friends if he’d let them, but that imperceptible gulf of ‘boss’ surrounds him, makes him stiff and awkward, and not much fun at all. In a new city, with nobody he knows from college, no family nearby, he’s ended up as alone as anyone can fairly be. He keeps up the pretence when he phones friends and family - he’s young, single, owns a gym, and he can fairly say he’s not hard on the eyes, really he should be living it up, if he could just get over the invisible hurdle of getting started. Easier to stay late every night and cram every minute full with making the business work.
Only when he wanders out of the office and spies on the yoga class for a second - Jared’s at the back, looking painfully contorted and practically broken in half - he kind of wants to deride himself for being such a fucking coward. Jared’s shaken up everything, worked like a dog to change something about himself that he didn’t like, spared no effort, even dared Misha’s yoga class, and Jensen can’t even unpack a few stupid boxes.
For once he’s clear of paperwork. Danneel’s kept the place running spotlessly in his absence, which actually makes his gloom a little worse - he’s not even essential here - and there’s no evening appointments, so he breaks with form - he usually works out in the early morning, or after the gym is closed - and goes to lift some weights.
It definitely helps. He can’t have an early-life crisis while he’s focusing on his form, and when he’s deep into the swing of it, he thinks of nothing at all, mind blissfully blank of everything except the burn of his muscles and the sweat on his neck. He gets a guy who’s sitting out a set to spot him for some of them, pushing himself about as hard as he can go without harm. He’s pretty sure he did the right thing by Jared getting him into this, but then he adds plates and wipes even that thought away, washed clean for a moment or two at least.
When he wipes down the bench and cedes it to the next dude, Jared’s there, in his ridiculous yoga-going gear - the same old sweatpants and t-shirt proclaiming him to be a devotee of Old Navy - handing him a bottle of water, like he’s Jensen’s personal trainer and not the other way round. “Feel better?” he asks, and Jensen doesn’t ask how Jared knew he was feeling bad, just glugs back the water and wipes the sweat off his face with his towel.
Jared’s trotting into the changing rooms in front of him, and Jensen’s overcome by a sudden reluctance to follow him. He doesn’t need to see Jared in the shower, not when he’s feeling like this, miserable and lonely and out of control, and maybe kind of prone to do something stupid. Doesn’t want to see Jared naked, even though that’s what most of him does want. He thinks of Jared’s stupid yoga face - jaw clenched like he’s scaling the last bit of Everest - and maybe does something that might be good for him instead. “Hey Jared,” he says, “I wondered if I could get a hand sometime? I’ve got a shit ton of boxes to unpack, and it always goes easier if you’ve got company. I can promise beer for sure and maybe pizza.”
There’s already a smile on Jared’s face, big and sweet. “Pizza?” he says. “I don’t think that fits my macros, Jensen. Make it chicken and you’ve got a deal.” There’s a little bit of gentle mockery, but it’s half for Jensen, half for himself. “How’s tonight for you?” It’s like he knows that given any delay, Jensen is going to dash back home, unpack by himself and cancel, but Jensen finds that he doesn’t mind.
Part 2
Fandom: Supernatural RPF
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17
Length: 16,300 words
Content notes: graphic sex, gratuitous gym descriptions, extreme schmoop. Do not read if you'd like whole teeth by the end
Notes: written for this excellent prompt at spn_masquerade, now finished and tidied up, with deep thanks to miss_morland for her beta help - any mistakes that remain are entirely my own.
Summary: Jensen runs a small, local gym, Jared's the local bookshop owner who's never contemplated getting fit before.
It's been a slow day. A slow enough day that Danneel at the front desk is gently snoozing on a pile of application forms, and even the most dedicated personal trainers have fled in favor of a bowl of nachos and several beers. "Superbowl," Jensen says to Danneel, and she shifts with a grunt. "It's always quiet during Superbowl."
The last thing anyone wants while watching other people endorse peak athleticism is to be getting a workout in themselves. Usually the evening is their peak time, after work commuters getting a quick session in before they head off, but tonight it's pretty much dead. Jensen didn't expect anything else, but he's got the TV on in his office and one appointment, and he doesn't yet know enough people in town to organize anything himself. He suspects he's fallen between several stools with the people he does know, since everyone had assumed he was already going somewhere else.
"Come on," he says and pokes her awake. "Off you go."
"No can do," she replies. "Not leaving you here in sole charge of the premises. Who knows what you might do? Forget to rerack the weights, sabotage the juice bar, shred the paper towels, the list is endless."
"Juice bar is a bit of a misnomer," Jensen says with a dry look. "It's a fridge full of water." The clientele they seem to have attracted isn't the type to drink the chia seed filled 800 calorie smoothies that the last place he worked in offered.
"Point stands. I bet you'll sabotage old Mrs Perlman's favorite machine."
"If by sabotage you mean reset the weights, then yes, I am going to sabotage her. Again, for the fifty-fifth day running. It's become a personal war." Jensen shakes his head. There's a neat ledger full of complaints from Mrs Perlman over the fact that the machine magically resets itself overnight from her preferred 10lb lift. "Regardless, off you go. I'm sure you've got somewhere better to be tonight than headbutting a desk. I'm going to close up early after this last appointment and I can easily handle the huge stream of customers likely to flood in before then."
She doesn't need telling three times. "If you're sure," she says, shrugging on her IronMan hoodie and casting an anxious eye over him. "If you're done early, why don't you come over and join us? It's just going to be me, Gen, Tom, a few of the guys."
"I'm good," he says without hesitation, and mentally kicks himself for it. "I've got to get a semi-decent workout in myself, you know."
She doesn't take offence, just smiles and picks up her bag. "See you tomorrow," she says. "Don't forget Chris will be on desk duty, and I'm trotting Mrs Singh through induction. It’s Boxers Box day as well.”
“I know,” he says, and he doesn’t mean to make it sound as doom-laden as it probably does. Boxers Box is a problem he’s going to leave until tomorrow, on the principle that thinking about a problem that can’t be fixed isn’t going to make it any smaller.
There’s exactly one person in the cardio area, a woman sweating it out on the elliptical, head down and focused on the ground rather than the TV overhead, and even she’s beginning to get puffed, legs going slower and slower even as he watches. He heads back out to the empty little reception area and prints her out the squat information she’d asked for last time they’d chatted, and then idles about waiting for his final appointment of the evening.
He doesn’t expect much. They ran an offer in a local paper recently offering free induction days to get a sample of what a gym and personal training could do for gym-shy people, and while the uptake has been decent, the follow-through has been disappointing. They started with a good base of people from the previous owners, but they need to expand, and business is dismayingly slow. There are a few enthusiasts, a few more weight loss seekers, and a scattering of people with no fixed idea of what they want, but not enough of any one type to give a direction.
When Jared (Jensen noted the name down from the call) walks into the door, he doesn’t muster much hope in Jensen’s soul as to a new sign up either. But beggars can’t be choosers, and Jensen puts on as bright a smile as he can manage and comes over to shake hands. Jared’s 6’4 if he’s an inch, but he looks about six foot, the way he hunches over, and he’s almost painfully thin - Jensen can even feel it in his hands and has to moderate his grip so he doesn’t crush Jared’s fingers.
“Hey,” says Jared, and proffers the newspaper coupon. “I, uh, thought, uh, that it’d be a good time to, uh.” As well as being thin, he’s also almost painfully shy, it seems, a bright blush sweeping over his cheekbones, hair swinging forward as he ducks his head.
“Give fitness a try?” Jensen supplies, unable to take it a second longer.
Jared nods gratefully. “That. Exactly that. I tried running up the stairs last week, and I was puffing like crazy, so you know, a gym seemed like maybe a good idea, then a friend showed me your advert, and it kind of stemmed from there.” The rambling is kind of cute, Jensen catches himself thinking.
Jensen takes him into the office and perches on a chair as he wields a pen and a form. Now that he can see Jared’s face, he can see how good-looking he is, even if he isn’t really Jensen’s type, and he reminds himself to strictly keep to business. He fills in height - an accurately guessed 6’4 - and the almost painful weight of 150 lbs. He’s well versed at keeping expression off his face, though - a personal trainer who expresses dismay at their client is one who isn’t going to have clients for very long. It’s pretty standard practice to supplement BMI with body fat and waist measurement in his gym, so he checks with Jared first, then turns to the calipers and the tape measure. For someone so thin, Jared’s carrying a surprising amount of proportionate body fat, which Jensen makes a notation of on his paper before he fills out any allergies etc.
“And what are your goals?” he asks. One of his gym philosophies is trying to understand what everyone wants from their gym and attempting to give it to them.
“I’d like to go back to those stairs and kick their ass?” Jared offers with a little smile, that okay, Jared is not his type, and it’d be inappropriate as hell to hit on a potential client, but Jensen is forgetting both of those things right now.
He smiles in spite of himself. “I like it. Anything else? Some hills you’d like to pick a fight with?”
Jared shrugs. “I’m going to tell you the truth, man,” he says. “Now you may not believe it, but I’ve never been in a gym before,” and there’s a side smile there that Jensen wants to see again, a wry invitation for them both to laugh. “I own the bookstore down the road.”
“Oh, I know the one,” Jensen says, and he does, he walks past it most nights on the way home.
“I’ve never seen you,” Jared says as though somehow surprised by that, and Jensen doesn’t want to mention that mostly he reads e-books. “Anyway, I own the bookstore down the road, and I know nothing about any of this. I mean, hypothetically I know that cardio is a word, and weights are a thing, but mostly it seems to be people who want to lose weight, and that’s not my shade of problem. I have real problems keeping it on, the last thing I want to do is lose some more. So I don’t know anything about what can be done.”
“What changed?” Jensen asks. “Apart from the stair business.”
“I have this friend, Gen, and she told me that she thought it was a good idea.”
“Fitness instructor Gen?” Jensen inquires.
“That’s the one. She mentioned the coupon and said that full disclosure, she works here, but that just made her the right person to tell me if I really wanted to work on myself a bit.”
“Well, she’s right. We can definitely help, and I understand that you want to start from scratch. Tonight’s going to be the absolute basics, I’m going to test you and try pushing you a little to see what we’ve got to work with, and there’s zero obligation attendant on it. Now I’ll show you to the changing room, and you can meet me by the desk.”
He’s just in time to catch Lauren as she finally limps out of the changing rooms, and to press the squat sheets on her. She’s been wanting to make the jump to weights for some time, and this seems the best way to ease her in. When he’s done having a chat,and she’s headed on her way, Jared’s ready and shifting uneasily in an old t-shirt and sweatsuit bottoms, which only emphasize how tall and thin he is.
Jensen doesn’t usually do the inductions. He’s not only the owner, but also the head personal trainer, the only one with nutrition certification, and he also hangs out in the boxing gym that’s tagged partially on to the main gym. As a result the people he trains are usually the ones who want and need to be pushed. Getting someone else in on Superbowl night was always a losing proposition, though, and he’s pretty sure he’s not actually going to kill Jared.
When Jared’s sweating, five minutes in on the treadmill, he re-evaluates a bit, but Jared’s grimly keeping going, trying his best not to look at the ticking dial and just focusing on thin air in front of him. When Jensen finally lets him hop off at the ten minute mark, he looks like he’s melting, and Jensen hands him some paper towel. “If you decide to come here on a regular basis, there won’t be too much of that,” he says, both because it’s true and because he does want to make a sale after all. “I’d strongly recommend a weight-based regime, supplemented with appropriate caloric intake, to build muscle on your frame. Circuit training, with mixed weights, and some basic cardio would also be an option. I’d also suggest considering a yoga class with our resident teacher Misha, to help improve posture and flexibility.”
Jared’s giving him the eyes of fear he usually gets from his male clients when they hear that. Most other places toss in a joke about it being a great place to meet girls, but Misha’s already given Jensen a stern lecture on that particular line, so Jensen just fills in with “I swear it’s worth it.” He’s taken Jared over to the weight machines now, less because they’re of much actual use and more to see the ballpark of Jared’s current lifting ability, and also because it’ll give Jared a chance to catch his breath after the treadmill. He’s pretty sure that Jared’s never coming back, but he’s determined to give it his best shot anyway, and Jared’s definitely giving it his - he’s pink in the face from the shoulder press, and his arms are trembling.
Generally Jensen likes giving a sample of everything in the gym, including the wonderful world of the jumping box, taking a lap of the circuit, investigating the free weights, and going a round with the punching bag, but Jared’s needs are specific. He wants to build muscle, and now that Jensen’s got some idea of his cardio fitness, he skips the rest for now and leads the way to the free weights. He does the same thing here that he does with every other client, shows Jared the three basic lifts - squat, bench and deadlift.
He gives the same spiel that he always does as he demonstrates, stresses the importance of excellent form - better to do one lift perfectly than ten poorly. He stresses even more the risk of injury if he doesn’t pay attention to his form, and reminds Jared that however douchey it might feel to be constantly looking in the mirror, there’s actually a reason for it. Having gone through the motions of the squat lift, keeping the plates to a minimum, he lets Jared have a go. “Always inside the squat rack,” he cautions, and keeps a sharp eye on his client. Jared squats down awkwardly and Jensen lifts the bar away, demonstrates keeping good posture, when to breathe in, and how low down to go, drilling it in until he’s sure Jared understands. It doesn’t take Jared long to pick up, though Jensen can definitely see how yoga might help - Jared’s the sort of tall dude who’s got used to ducking his head and pretending to be shorter than he is.
As Jared turns to try to bench press for the first time, Jensen can’t help noticing that his ass is pretty decent, purely as a matter of general observation. He tries not to imagine what it’ll be like post-squatting, but however much he attempts to tell himself that it’s inappropriate and unprofessional, he still can’t quite help thinking it. Jared’s all canvas - right now he’s cute and gangly and so thin Jensen’s pretty sure that he could fit his fingers around his forearm with ease, but all of the potential is there. He’s perfectly proportioned; if he ever does anything with his body he’s going to be astounding. Jensen’s absolutely sure of that - the past few years have given him an eye for natural possibility, and Jared fits every one of the requirements. There’s no way to say that to a first-timer, though, without sounding like an absolute asshole. Nobody wants to hear that in six months and a chicken-farm’s worth of protein time, they might be on their way to looking spectacular, since the implication is that right now they don’t. With an actual client he’d say it because he believes in the truth, but he doesn’t want to scare Jared away.
The bonus part of Jared knowing nothing about any of this is that Jensen can start off with the bar sans plates, and not have to explain why he’s doing it. It’s a good choice. Jared’s legs aren’t badly off, but his upper body strength is pitiful. Jensen pushes him, just a little, but keeps close and ready to spot him, eyes peeled and alert for any sign of trembling or incapacity.
The deadlift isn’t much - he’s not giving Jared any numbers right now, but Jared’s form is easy and instinctual, and Jensen only has to correct him once, doesn’t put his hands anywhere near him, just murmurs out instructions and Jared follows them flawlessly, straightens the bits that need straightening, and Jensen is absolutely right that if Jared takes this up, there’s going to be some serious results. He can see the long, tense lines of Jared’s back, the exertion in his frame, the will that’s driving him on, and the intentness of his face, like in this moment, this is all that matters. It doesn’t matter that he isn’t lifting much, he’s lifting as much as he can handle, and Jensen files that away under things he never knew were attractive.
They’re well overdue on their session now, but Jensen doesn’t mind and Jared isn’t uttering a peep, so he takes Jared on a quick tour of the rest of it - punch bag and all.
It’s not just Jared’s arms that are trembling by the end, but everything about him. Jensen doesn’t usually push so hard, but the truth is that he got caught up enough with talking to Jared in between activities that he barely noticed just how much ground they were covering, Jared’s nods and shy one-word answers hiding the fact of just how puffed he was. Not to mention that every time he checked in with Jared that he was doing fine, Jared just squeaked that he was doing great.
They’re walking - in Jared’s case wobbling - back out to the changing rooms, and Jensen’s trying to find a way to reassure Jared that not every personal session will be like this, and failing to find words. He lets Jared head in, and goes back to the desk himself to root for an information pack amongst the debris. By the time Jared’s back, Jensen’s almost ready to give the pat little speech of hoping that Jared will come back, when he realizes that Jared is actually barely walking.
Jensen gets him to a chair and wants to start apologizing, only he finds himself totally tongue-tied. He takes refuge in practicalities. “Do you live near the bookshop?” he asks Jared, and Jared, who appears to have lost most of his breath, nods. Jensen could kick himself. “I’m giving you a ride home, unless you brought a car,” he says.
Jared shakes his head. “There’s no need for that,” he wheezes and oh God, Jensen thinks, is he asthmatic? He didn’t mention it on the form.
“There really is,” Jensen says. “Look, tonight is a slow night. Superbowl, you know. I’ll close up early, and drop you along the way. It’s really no problem.”
He can tell just how tired Jared is by how fast he relents. He doesn’t seem like the giving in sort of person, more the quietly stubborn, and Jensen’s guilt ticks up even higher. He grabs a few papers from his tiny office, makes sure all the lights are off and doors locked, and then drives the car right up to the door before helping Jared limp there slowly.
“This is so embarrassing,” Jared finally says as he clips on his seatbelt. “Seriously, dude.”
“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Jensen replies. “I should. I pushed you way too hard and too fast,” and he doesn’t add in all the reasons why he did - that he was too busy listening to Jared’s funny little comments, that maybe he wanted to prolong the session a little, maybe he just was pissy and a little bit lonely at being alone. It’s about a three minute drive to Jared’s place, which includes parking, and they sit in awkward silence for a moment.
“Thanks for the ride,” Jared says, as he got out. “And the personal training session, and I mean that, okay?” He’s still shy, but he’s looking straight at Jensen as he says it, radiating sincerity, and Jensen’s already beginning to regret that there’s no way in hell that Jared’s ever coming back inside a gym.
“Take a bath,” he says instead. “It’ll help with the muscle soreness,” and he bites his tongue on all the rest.
Jared hesitates for a moment, opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then shuts it, and limps up the tiny path. Jensen watches him until he’s inside - out of concern he tells himself - and then drives back home to an empty house and the replay of the game.
The next day, everyone is grumpy. Jensen’s grumpy because he’s still feeling like a dick after yesterday, nearly everyone else is grumpy because they drank too much, and Misha is, if not grumpy, then certainly throwing reproachful looks around over Jensen’s failure to get new yoga mats delivered faster. The only person on top of the world is Gen, who’s taking two classes that morning and didn’t drink the night before. She’s almost offensively cheerful in her neon pink tennis shoes and matching headband.
“Good look?” she asks.
“No,” Jensen says honestly, but she doesn’t take offence.
“It’s tradition! I feel like Jamie Lee Curtis.” Jensen has to crack a smile at that. She leans on the doorframe and peers in. “How did it go with Jared? I meant to ask you to go easy on him, he’s a sweetheart but he’s not exactly a big exerciser.”
Guilt twists in Jensen some more. “He was great,” he says, “I wasn’t.” He hesitates for a moment, then takes the plunge. “If you see him, then uh, can you say that..”
“Say it yourself,” Gen says, “he’s just coming in the door.”
Sure enough, Jared is right there, with the wad of paper Jensen gave him as an afterthought the night before, and an intensely shy look as he gives Gen a small wave. “I’m just here for a moment,” he says, and sits down with evident carefulness on the chair. “Should I feel so sore?”
“Yes,” Jensen says. “That’s DOMS for you - muscle soreness,” he adds belatedly. “It’ll get better if you work out the same muscles again today, believe it or not.”
“Luckily, that’s just what I intend to do,” Jared says with a grin. “I’d like to sign up for the yearly contract.” It’s the sensible choice - the year contract is much cheaper, but it also means he’s serious. He’s not a monther, trying out the ground. For whatever reason, last night hasn’t scared him off. Jensen’s conscious of a warm feeling in his gut that there really is no reason for. “And, uh, I’d like the basic personal training package, with you, if I can. The six weeks one with the nutrition plan.”
Jensen can barely keep the startled look off his face at that one. Maybe Jared was tough enough to come back after last night - but to want more of what Jensen dished out, well. Now that Jared is a client, it’d be inappropriate to stress last night - Jensen’s not such an idiot that he’d forget liability - but he still searches for a subtle way to say that he’ll take it easier.
Whatever is on of his face, though, Jared reads with ease. “I liked last night,” he says earnestly. “Well, that bit is a lie. I needed last night. I’ve been stuck in a rut, y’know. Last night showed me how far there is to go. I want to be pushed, Jensen, I mean it.” The last bit sounds a bit sexier than it really should, especially now that Jared isn’t looking shy, but closer to passionate. He’s still a little bit skeptical, he can admit to himself, but Jared’s beginning to win him over.
“Sounds good to me,” he says, instead of any “are you sure?” comments that come to mind. He scans the paperwork and makes a small change to the price. “Just applying the standard discount that comes from being recommended by a friend,” he explains and Jared smiles, dimples popping out. He hands over his card and stands up.
“I really have to run,” he says in apology. “I have to open the shop, I just wanted to come by first and get that sorted.” Jensen quickly scans the card, and tells Jared to come by later to pick up his membership card and to bring his kit. Jared vanishes out the door, still more dragging himself stiffly along than running, but at least he’s walking. Jensen will take it.
“Standard discount, hm?” Gen says. He didn’t realize she was lurking nearby still, before the early morning aerobics class begin. “Funny, I don’t remember a standard discount. Can I get it for a non-hot friend as well?”
Jensen’s still not in a great mood and he almost snaps at her that Jared isn’t hot and that whatever she’s implying, he wouldn’t fuck a client anyway. He just about stops himself, but the irritation is still palpable. “It’s called encouragement, Gen. Now go torture some clients.”
“Yes sir,” and she mock salutes him. “And I’m not teasing you, Jensen. Not much, anyway. Jared’s a great guy and I’m really glad he’s signed up.” She’s up and into their main workout room before he can say another word, a tiny ball of energy, surrounded by the people who’ve managed to drag themselves out of bed to follow Gen’s workout but who look seriously displeased at the thought. The grumpiness is clearly catching this morning.
They’re busier than usual for most of the day - clearly people feel guilty over the sheer amount of chicken wings they consumed the night before, and a couple of the classes have near full attendance, the cardio room has a scattering of gym bunnies, working on their speed and catching up on whatever TV they’ve promised themselves. They’re a neighbourhood gym, really, especially during the day - after five, it’s the commuter crowd, but before then, there’s a real mixture. A mixture that might change if Boxing Box has its way, and Jensen almost bangs his head on the mirror as he realizes he hasn’t decided yet what he’s going to do. If only he knew more local people, people he could ask about this. But he’s too proud to ask Gen, Danneel’s a recent transplant to the city herself, and it’s depressing how few people he knows here, despite talking to practically hundreds a day.
There’s no-one he can ask straight which type of boxing club Boxers Box is. Jensen has nothing against boxing - he boxes himself, he incorporates boxing training routines into ordinary routines, he’s more than qualified to train people to lower levels. And knowing all that, he’s aware that most boxers clubs are great - some of them work with young people and help change their lives, others are integral parts of the local community - and that letting them hire out the boxing gym for meets, club meetings, and training in the morning and at nights would be amazing word of mouth for the gym, and a much needed income source.
Then there’s the others. The few where boxing really is a training ground for thugs, with no attention to form or precision, and, more often than not, disruptive to the gym atmosphere. If people start feeling unsafe because of people Jensen’s let hire part of his premises, that’s on him. And sometimes there’s just no way to tell except through word of mouth. He’s seen grandfatherly types who’ll let bare-knuckle fighting go down if the price is right, and guys who look the stereotype who’ll go out of their way to encourage female fighters. Google isn’t much help, and he’s going to have to rely mainly on instinct.
The meeting is at seven, and he’s kept on his feet until then - personal training sessions, gym business, narrowly escaping having to fill in for Gen’s zumba class when she’s late back from lunch, poring over the new advertising leaflets the printer has sent back, and thumping his face against the desk when he realizes that they’ve misspelled price as prick. He’s not 100% sure if it’s an accident on the part of the printers; some people have strong feelings on gyms.
At ten minutes to seven, Jared turns up. Jensen snaps a picture, does him up a membership card, and with the five minutes left before the meeting, talks nutrition - hands Jared an eating plan that he won’t admit swallowed up pretty much all of his spare time during the day. Before he handed it to Jared, Jared was a little offhand - “No matter how much I eat,” he says, “I can’t put on weight. It’s my metabolism, I’m sure of it.”
“Unless you’re literally Superman, your metabolism is not stopping you from gaining weight,” Jensen says, at his driest. “You’re tall, you need calories, and I will take a bet that you’re not eating as much as you think you are. Have you ever tried putting on weight?”
“Yes!” Jared says. “I ate only donuts for a week, didn’t gain a pound.” Which isn’t the most wrongheaded answer Jensen’s ever heard from a client (that honor goes to a client who told him she couldn’t lose weight, which she knew, because she’d once tried eating only lettuce for a week, and that surprisingly it hadn’t been sustainable) but it’s pretty up there. He’s given up on being surprised over how many smart people there are who really believe physics doesn’t apply to them.
Jared’s face on his eating plan is a picture. “I can’t eat all this,” he says positively. Jensen doesn’t have time to argue the point, and he’s about to tell Jared to head on in and do a slow workout as their personal training session isn’t actually for another two days when Jared’s eyes widen.
“Hide me,” he says with a degree of urgency.
Jensen’s not quick to react, because that’s the stupidest damn thing he’s ever heard. Jared’s slinking into a corner as though the mop and bucket there are going to conceal him, and apparently he’s actually serious about this. The only person in the reception area is clearly Gerald Padalecki, the meet Jensen’s got set up to discuss Boxing Box with.
“Why?” he asks, not 100% sure that this is happening. He’s never ever had a client tell him to hide them, but Jared’s eyes are convincing enough that he’s already opening up the supply closet and letting Jared slip in. This really isn’t a good sign for Gerald Padalecki, if local nerdy bookshop owners are hiding in cupboards rather than taking the risk of bumping into him. Is he operating some sort of protection racket around here, threatening to break the spines of innocent books?
“He’s my dad,” Jared says before the door swings shut, and...that explains not a lot.
Jensen comes out to meet Gerald and get a firm grip on his hand - no danger of crushing the father, that is for sure. “Jensen Ackles,” he introduces himself, feeling the faintly disapproving look sweep up and down him. He gets that a lot in this business. “You’re here about Boxing Box?”
“I am,” Gerald says, and leads the way into the office, which Jensen happens to know his son is hiding in. This morning he’s clearly woken up in a farce. “I think I told you in the initial email that our old gym had to be closed down. Asbestos, if you can believe it,” and he gives a grunt as though it’s sheer nonsense. Jensen politely hmms along. “We’re looking for a new place, nothing fancy. We’ve got three trainers and myself, a strong core crew, we’re training for local fights, but we’ve got a couple of extremely promising young ones, and two regional champions. We can bring equipment if it’s needed, and we can thrash out hours and money if the initial outlook seems good.”
Jensen’s not as sure as he’d like to be. Gerald seems decent, a straightforward guy with a bit of attitude but willing to listen, holding nothing back. Probably if Jared hadn’t shot straight into that closet on the sight of him, Jensen would be forming a positive opinion, particularly after Gerald pushes a folder full of clippings over towards him, a yellowing survey of past achievements. After all, he’ll know exactly what Jensen’s thinking they might be, though there’s no real way for either of them to bring it up.
He leads him out to the room that’s currently got one ring, a few punching bags, a matted area, and one basic rack of weights as well as extra standard dumbbells. “Access to the main gym’s weights and classes will be contingent on membership,” he tells Gerald, “but I’m more than happy to work out a reasonable per-visit cost at a sizable discount, and we can always offer a joint membership of boxing and gym.”
There’s some places where access to the main weight room goes as standard, but whether Gerald’s operating anything shady or not - Jensen’s leaning towards not - he’s definitely the rough and ready type. This will show if he means business.
But Gerald’s smiling in satisfaction. “That’s the way I like it,” he says,as he moves around, poking things and prying into dark corners. “Decent size, got doors to the outside.” He’s clearly moving through a checklist.
“And of course,” Jensen adds. “It’s still part of the gym. It’s the boxing part, and I’m anxious to have somewhere for genuine fighters to train, but there will be occasional classes for beginners in here at notified times, though I doubt there’ll be conflict in timing, and naturally I retain final discretion.”
He’s setting his cards out on the table. The gym is still Jensen’s. Gerald can advertise as he likes and bring in who he likes on his own terms, but the name stays the same. Gerald’s renting the location, not a new gym. He’s decided that’s his line - take it or leave it.
Gerald doesn’t say anything much for a moment. Then, “Agreed,” he says and sticks out a hand. “I’ll meet with my trainers and get back to you on the details.”
Before he leaves, Jensen introduces him to Misha, who as well as the yoga also runs their only MMA class, and leaves them chatting before he nips back to his office. He expects Jared to have sneaked out and vanished, but he’s still there, sitting on an upturned bucket, knees around his ears, simultaneously the most pitiful and hilarious thing Jensen’s ever seen. “Is he gone?” he asks in a stage whisper.
Jensen shakes his head. “Not yet,” he says, and Gerald sticks his head in the door, looking puzzled at the sight of Jensen talking to a cupboard, but too polite to say that he thinks Jensen’s mad. Jensen can feel his stupid skin heating up, but he carries it off, walks Gerald to the door while chatting shop, still wondering if there’s any easy way to bring Jared up.
When Jensen opens the door a second time, he has to give Jared a hand up. “Ironic, isn’t it?” Jared says with a laugh. “Been out of the closet for years, and my dad drives me back in.”
“Any reason?” Jensen asks, not entirely sure if Jared’s being literal. If Jared’s dad is a homophobe, working out with Jensen and at Jensen’s gym is not going to be an option for obvious reasons.
Jared waves that off. “Oh, he knows about that. He doesn’t have a problem with my sexuality. He has a problem with me being the least athletic person to ever grace the Padalecki name. He’s been bugging me for years to join a gym, get fit, get ripped.”
“Then why didn’t you let him see you?” Jensen says. “He’d be proud that you’re taking his advice, right?”
“He might think he’d won,” Jared says in all earnestness. “That I was doing it because he suggested it. The worst thing is, he wouldn’t gloat. He’d say things like ‘I’m proud of you, son, for taking your fitness into your hands’ and then he would never ever let me forget a workout. He’d probably come and supervise, and buy me tins of protein powder and forcibly inject me with steroids, and then start making noises about how even at my height I could fight heavyweight.”
“Well, you could technically,” Jensen injects. “Prime Foreman was 6’4.”
“And Al Cole and John Tate,” Jared finishes. “Trust me, I know. I don’t want to.” Although he’s joking, there’s still a tenseness about his shoulders that tells Jensen that this really is a sore spot with him, so he drops the boxing angle.
“Well I won’t tell your dad about your secret mission,” he says. “And in all seriousness, there’s going to be a timetable for their meets. If you really want to avoid him, it’ll be easy.”
Jared gives him a smile. “I would appreciate that,” he says. “Honestly.”
“Though if you can get the protein powder off him through false pretences, I would,” Jensen says. “That shit’s expensive, and you’re going to need it, unless you really really like chicken.”
Jared looks at the meal plan Jensen gave him as Jensen searches through a drawer. “I’m never going to be able to eat all this,” he says quietly enough that it doesn’t demand an answer.
“Do you read?” Jensen asks.
Jared laughs. “Bookstore owner here,” he says and ducks his head. “I probably read too much for my own good.”
“Well, this is your homework,” Jensen replies and tosses him his own copy of Strong Lifts. Jared doesn’t catch it - he really wasn’t joking about not being athletic.
“Is this like the arcane lore that you’re handing down to me?” Jared asks, holding the book like it’s a first edition Hemingway. He’s teasing Jensen slightly, Jensen can tell, but he plays along.
“It’s like gold dust. Keep it in a vault.” He shoos Jared out to the gym, and goes back to his desk. If the Boxing Box deal is going ahead, it’s going to mean a surge in income, a surge in members, and an uptick in paperwork.
He warns Jared off working out every day, tells him that rest days are important and that he’s not going to do himself good if he pushes too far, too fast, but somehow Jared seems to be around all the time. He’s there for their one-on-one session every week, but he’s also there three times a week for working out by himself, and he has a habit of popping by and claiming he’s left something, and stopping to chat to Jensen for a quick five minutes. Jensen grows used enough to it that he starts missing it when Jared skips a day, though he keeps it intently professional. He’s here to help Jared, to develop him, not to ogle his body. He’s strictly concerned with Jared’s deadlift form, and not at all with the curve of Jared’s ass, or the tight flex of his thigh, and he’s pretty certain that Jared looks at him only as a trainer, only as the devil that rams a pitchfork into his ass once a week, and drops comments about his lifts three times as often. There’s literally no moment of the day when he wants to brush Jared’s absurd hair back from his face for him, as he sweats his way through a squat set that would have been impossible just a month ago.
It doesn’t help that Gen tells him that Jared has a crush on him the size of Texas. He laughs her out of town, because Jared is smart, funny and rapidly becoming not just pretty, but scorchingly hot, but he’s never looked at Jensen twice. Not in the way that Gen means. Jared just smiles, and ducks his head, and follows every word Jensen says to the letter, keeps himself to the grind with hardly any urging at all, lugging around a protein shake that he swears by and offering to share half the time.
The first six weeks go by in no time at all, and Jared insists on renewing the contract, claims that the only way he’s motivated enough to get to the gym regularly is the paralysing fear of having to explain to Jensen why he hasn’t. Jensen can believe that, Gen uses him as the boogey man all the time. It does put paid, he thinks, to any hint that Jared might be interested in him. It’s never been explicitly stated, but the ethos of the gym regarding personal trainer/client relationships is pretty clear - when Danneel had wanted to date a client, he had had to sign off from her sessions first.
It’s just the way things are - Jensen prefers the clean simplicity of it, since he’s seen just how muddled personal relationships can get when working out and making out get mixed. If Jared wants to stick with him, it means that it’s not a crush - he’s really committed to this new lifestyle. There’s a thin thread of disappointment in there somewhere that Jensen feels is ridiculous. He tries telling himself that he doesn’t want to date Jared, but the protestation is beginning to ring a little hollow to his ears. He’s never been attracted solely to muscles, on men or women, but he’s always been attracted to the dedication it takes to build them.
Maybe if it was someone else, he’d cancel the sessions himself and suggest a date, but he feels like it’d throw a spoke in Jared’s progress, which is far and away almost the fastest transformation he’s ever seen. Jared’s probably never going to get truly bulky unless he works for it, and considers steroids (not a path he’ll take in Jensen’s gym) - he’s tall enough that it’s difficult to achieve, and even with a rigorous diet and close attention to macros he has difficulties in getting enough intake, but he’s building muscle as fast as he can, and he was thin enough to start with that the change is really noticeable even after only three months. Beginner’s gains it might be, but they’re impressive and even make Jensen a little jealous. He’s not going to throw Jared under the bus and make him find a new gym just because he’s starting to have mild daydreams about the sharp cut of Jared’s hips.
The first time he gets a glimpse of the idea that maybe Jared isn’t just a willing self-sacrifice to the gym gods is when Jensen has to head away for a week. He’s a little bit of a control freak - he’s ready and willing to admit that. He leaves detailed and extensive instructions on how to handle literally everything in the gym, and shuffles each of his personal clients who really can’t wait a week to a different trainer complete with their full set of notes. When he gets back, everything is fine and dandy, except Danneel tells him that Jared cancelled his appointment.
If there’s one thing Jensen can’t stand, it’s people who skip out on a regular appointment, and he’s kind of disappointed in Jared, who sure enough slopes in sheepishly that night and comes to the office to have a chat. For someone who is pretty damn shy, he never seems to have much of a problem with talking to Jensen, and they chew the fat a little bit, as Jensen scans the renewal times on the computer.
“Why didn’t you go to Danneel?” he asks abruptly, halfway through Jared’s meandering story about a cat climbing his bookshelves. He winces a little internally at his tone, he doesn’t want to sound like Jared’s dad. Gerald is a good guy, he runs a tight ship, and Jensen genuinely likes him, but he also gets how growing up with him as a dad must have pushed Jared into a tight teenage rebellion corner of feeling that he was never going to be good enough because he wasn’t an athlete.
Jared doesn’t bristle, though, he just leans forward a little bit, trademark move of ducking his head down so Jensen can’t see his eyes. “I don’t know,” he says. “She’s great and she does great, but I wanted it to be you. It’s stupid, but I don’t mind you bossing me around and telling me to do things, but I get enough of it elsewhere most of the time and I resent it.”
It’s probably the most honest thing Jared’s ever said, and most of the time he’s a pathologically honest dude, incapable of even telling small lies to ease interaction. Jensen ignores the little flicker of warmth in his belly at the thought that Jared doesn’t mind Jensen doing it. “You could just have said that,” he points out.
“Yeah, like it didn’t sound stupid enough in my head,” Jared says with a snort. “Just, take the compliment, okay. I missed you.” He’s up and out after that, like he’s said just a little too much, leaving Jensen to loll back in his chair and think about it. It’s kind of sad that it makes him happy, but Jared isn’t the only one in the gym with issues.
Jensen’s run this place for seven months now, and he still hasn’t furnished his apartment properly. The gym’s in perfect order, but he hasn’t even entirely unpacked his crockery, or put a single picture up. The only reason there’s a made up bed in the spare room is in case family comes by. He goes for occasional drinks, he does the odd 5K, he’s dated people on and off, and not one of them has made a single scratch in his life. If he sleeps over, he does it at someone else’s, because the thought of taking them back to an unmade bed, a fridge full of shakes, and an empty living room is just too embarrassing. He’s funnelled all of himself into making this, his big effort, a success, and it hasn’t left room for anything else. There’s not even a single book on his shelves, because he’s put them all on an e-reader, as though he has too much clutter in his life instead of too little.
Jared’s about the closest thing to a friend that he has. He’s friendly with his other clients, but it’s much more impersonal, and he knows Gen, Danneel, Misha, Chris and the rest would be friends if he’d let them, but that imperceptible gulf of ‘boss’ surrounds him, makes him stiff and awkward, and not much fun at all. In a new city, with nobody he knows from college, no family nearby, he’s ended up as alone as anyone can fairly be. He keeps up the pretence when he phones friends and family - he’s young, single, owns a gym, and he can fairly say he’s not hard on the eyes, really he should be living it up, if he could just get over the invisible hurdle of getting started. Easier to stay late every night and cram every minute full with making the business work.
Only when he wanders out of the office and spies on the yoga class for a second - Jared’s at the back, looking painfully contorted and practically broken in half - he kind of wants to deride himself for being such a fucking coward. Jared’s shaken up everything, worked like a dog to change something about himself that he didn’t like, spared no effort, even dared Misha’s yoga class, and Jensen can’t even unpack a few stupid boxes.
For once he’s clear of paperwork. Danneel’s kept the place running spotlessly in his absence, which actually makes his gloom a little worse - he’s not even essential here - and there’s no evening appointments, so he breaks with form - he usually works out in the early morning, or after the gym is closed - and goes to lift some weights.
It definitely helps. He can’t have an early-life crisis while he’s focusing on his form, and when he’s deep into the swing of it, he thinks of nothing at all, mind blissfully blank of everything except the burn of his muscles and the sweat on his neck. He gets a guy who’s sitting out a set to spot him for some of them, pushing himself about as hard as he can go without harm. He’s pretty sure he did the right thing by Jared getting him into this, but then he adds plates and wipes even that thought away, washed clean for a moment or two at least.
When he wipes down the bench and cedes it to the next dude, Jared’s there, in his ridiculous yoga-going gear - the same old sweatpants and t-shirt proclaiming him to be a devotee of Old Navy - handing him a bottle of water, like he’s Jensen’s personal trainer and not the other way round. “Feel better?” he asks, and Jensen doesn’t ask how Jared knew he was feeling bad, just glugs back the water and wipes the sweat off his face with his towel.
Jared’s trotting into the changing rooms in front of him, and Jensen’s overcome by a sudden reluctance to follow him. He doesn’t need to see Jared in the shower, not when he’s feeling like this, miserable and lonely and out of control, and maybe kind of prone to do something stupid. Doesn’t want to see Jared naked, even though that’s what most of him does want. He thinks of Jared’s stupid yoga face - jaw clenched like he’s scaling the last bit of Everest - and maybe does something that might be good for him instead. “Hey Jared,” he says, “I wondered if I could get a hand sometime? I’ve got a shit ton of boxes to unpack, and it always goes easier if you’ve got company. I can promise beer for sure and maybe pizza.”
There’s already a smile on Jared’s face, big and sweet. “Pizza?” he says. “I don’t think that fits my macros, Jensen. Make it chicken and you’ve got a deal.” There’s a little bit of gentle mockery, but it’s half for Jensen, half for himself. “How’s tonight for you?” It’s like he knows that given any delay, Jensen is going to dash back home, unpack by himself and cancel, but Jensen finds that he doesn’t mind.
Part 2