Rain trills against the plastic tenting they’ve spread out overhead – so the real raindrops won’t fuck with the fake ones they’re going to be spraying down; Jared’s never going to understand the production side – a low soothing sound that he tries to latch onto. The air is sticky-wet, not too cool, thank God, because the terrycloth robe Jared’s wrapped in isn’t doing much besides providing a thin veneer of modesty, but there’s enough of a breeze to have his skin goosepimpled anyway. It’s a good enough excuse for why he’s shaking.
Truth is, it’s an adrenaline thing, happens every time on the first take of a fight scene or a kissing scene or a sex scene. The fact that this is all three certainly isn’t helping matters any, although Jared thinks it might be slightly better than it could have been, given the circumstances. Six episodes in, they’ve had enough fight scenes – and two very notable kissing scenes – for Jensen to at least be used to Jared’s habit of trembling like a leaf the first time through. It makes things just a little less awkward.
Across the way, Jensen gives him an encouraging nod, smirks all cocky Dean Winchester and says something that must be hilarious going by the way the makeup girl perfecting the mud splatters on his chin guffaws. That’s the only thing about method acting that really appeals to Jared – how much easier this all would be if he could stay huddled in Sam’s broody skin instead of his own. At least Sam wouldn’t be all bent out of shape about being dick to dick with another guy.
Not that that’s exactly what has Jared worked up really, he’s not homophobic or anything like that and people have definitely assumed a thing or two over the years from his lack of boundaries with his friends. It isn’t really somewhere he’d have ever gone if left to his own devices, but it’s not like it has changed his perception of himself to make out with a guy and he’s mature enough to recognize that doing things on set as a professional is vastly different from doing them in his personal life. Hell, the kissing hadn’t even been such a big deal. Sure, he would occasionally get nailed with a visceral, un-block-out-able thrill of Jensen’s – Dean’s – five o’clock shadow rubbing against his cheek, but for the most part it had been business as usual, nothing to write home about.
Not that he would write home about making out with a guy. That would be weird. And not really the point.
The point is, it isn’t the fact that Jensen’s a guy that’s really bugging Jared at the moment. It’s more that he’s pretty sure Eric Kripke secretly wants to be making gay porn.
Don’t get him wrong, he loves Sam and Dean and the way they’re written, loves the way he and Jensen have clicked right off the bat, so much chemistry they should have a lab devoted to them; adores the whole show so much that if they don’t get picked up for a second season he’s going to cry like a baby. Not that that seems like much of a possibility. HBO has been handing out teasers like candy on Halloween and it’s a goddamn urban fantasy show with a Judeo-Christian sub-plot starring two good looking brothers in a tumultuous incestuous relationship - the internet is on fucking fire over them. The pilot hasn’t even aired yet and Jared’s been stopped on the street three separate times by girls wanting Sam Winchester’s autograph. So far be it for Jared to complain, but there’s character driven sexuality, there’s fan service, and then there’s Jared and Jensen wrestling in the rain, tearing each other’s clothes off and humping in the mud.
It’s a little over the top is all Jared’s saying. He blames True Blood.
Also, between this and the pilot, he’s starting to think Kripke has some kind of mud fetish.
Finally finished with whatever tweaks he wanted on the light, Kim calls, “Places!” and Jared’s stomach decides to see what the world would be like if he was inside out.
One of the girls bustles over and helps him out of his robe, scratchy cloth slithering away long before Jared’s really prepared. He’s down to soaked sneakers, wet jeans and the boxers that wardrobe spent an hour picking out even though only the waistband of them is ever going to get any screen time. The cold clammy feel of denim clinging to him isn’t helping with the nervous nausea any.
A couple of feet to Jared’s left, Jensen finds his mark in front of the Impala’s open trunk. They’ve still got him in his shirt, but his filthy boots and jeans are hanging conspicuously out of the trunk. Apparently Dean is a boxer briefs kind of guy. Black ones. Jared’s going to stop staring at them now.
Jensen, the bastard, looks entirely in his element. Maybe he did porn at some point in his career and is just holding out on Jared. Jared makes a mental note to get him drunk and harass him about it sometime in the near future. Like tonight. Tonight would work.
They’re supposed to be ditching their dirty clothes because Dean is anal retentive about the car, arguing about the case which is really all subtextual angst about Cassie; whether Dean actually had sex with her like Sam thinks he did and whether Sam has any right to care one way or the other since he left Dean for Stanford and Jess. The whole stripping down thing in the middle of an sexually charged conversation seems a little thin to Sam, but he couldn’t write his way out of a paper bag, so whatever. And he has to admit, in terms of the Sam/Dean relationship, the script has been hitting on all cylinders.
Despite every available law of rationality, Kim wants to try and grab this in one take, insists that it will be more explosive on the first go around. Jared’s just hoping that the shaking won’t show up on camera.
Four fictionalized years of repressed sexual tension – crammed into five hour long eps essentially boiling down to ‘they can’t live without each other’ – and it all comes down to this. One scene to pack every ounce of love-hate Sam has for his brother, to bring home every sidelong glance and lingering touch, every time they’ve said they’d do anything for each other with their eyes, proved it with their bodies and Jared has to make it all come to fruition without a single word at his disposal. Jared, and Jensen.
“You’ve got this.”
He’s glaring into the trunk, waiting for his cue – aka, trying not to hyperventilate and screw up forty-five minutes of tech setup – when he hears it, a murmur too low for anyone else to have picked up on. Cutting his eyes to the side, he can just make out the edge of Jensen’s smile. Smirk. Dean smirks. Jensen’s the one who gives him the pep talks, promises him he really does have what it takes to make the most challenging role of his admittedly short career more than softcore with pretensions. Jensen’s the one who smiles at him and makes the world seem a little more manageable. Dean is the one Jared has to worry about right now.
“Rolling!” Water starts sprinkling down over them, only slightly warmer than the real stuff falling just outside their tiny, makeshift set. It nips at Jared’s shoulders, pebbles his skin, dials his nerves all the way up to the breaking point as if he wasn’t living on the edge of it already. “Action!”
Whipcrack quick, Jared shoves, needs to get Jensen when he’s not expecting it so that the surprise will read right.
It works too, Jensen stumbling off balance, almost going down in the slippery mess of churned earth underfoot earlier than the blocking calls for. He recovers from it, though, gets knee behind Jared’s to buckle him. In turn, Jared rolls, frigid mud smearing low on his back before the fake rain washes him clean again. He hooks an arm around Jensen’s hips, tumbling him down too, and then they’re pin wheeling, scrabbling for the upper hand where they can with Kim’s voice faint in their ears over the spatter of water on dirt.
One more flip and Jared knows this is it, sees the flash of confirmation in Jensen’s eyes when Dean flushes hot for his brother and it goes from one thing to another so fast there’s no room for a transition.
Sam and Dean kiss the way they fight, all or nothing, all over each other, every touch and look and sound deep as a well with meaning. It isn’t that hard to find the rhythm in it, fall into and fight against it at the same time as they both try to lead. From here on in it’s all instinct, the blocking sketched out but pretty much riding on what feels natural to them in the moment. As if having a guy almost his size, easily as strong as him, pinned half naked to the ground underneath his body is ever going to feel natural for Jared.
Except for how it does. Maybe that method acting shit is catching.
Jensen – Dean – moans, shoves his tongue in past the line of Jared’s teeth and gives no quarter. He’s got him by the hair, mud and water dripping everywhere, making him grip harder when he uses it like a leash to pull Jared’s head back and expose the line of his neck. Hard, sharp bites are laid down over the straining tendons there, and they better get this in one take or else makeup is going to be pissed. Then it’s Jensen’s tongue pressing against Jared’s Adam’s apple like he does sometimes with a ballpoint when he’s reading through his script, clicky-clicky-click, engaging and retracting the pen-tip over and over again.
Jared hasn’t got a fucking clue how long he’s been hard.
Fighting back is really the only reasonable solution because Jensen can’t give him hell about it later if both of them have hard-ons.
Wrenching out of Jensen’s –Dean’s; Dean Dean Dean, he’s Dean right now – grip, Jared dives for his ear, nips at the lobe and licks his way around the curve, laps at the little bit of water that’s gathered in the shell of it to make Jensen lose one of those choked noises he discovered during their first big make out scene. He honestly isn’t sure if it’s Jensen’s hot spot or just a character quirk he’s thrown in for Dean, but the way he tenses up suggests it just might be the former.
That probably shouldn’t make Jared have to hold back a grin.
At some point while Jared was otherwise occupied, Jensen remembered to be a damn professional and start tugging Jared’s pants down. Jared’s job is strange.
Pinpricks of lukewarm water make the air seem colder, the kiss of the light breeze over his exposed skin sending a shiver up Jared’s spine. He’s actually grateful to be the one on top though, the mud is absolutely colder than the air, even if it does mean the whole premium cable world is going to see his ass. First. Considering the ideas he’s heard the writers floating, he kind of doubts that either of them is going to make it past hiatus without every bit of skin they’ve got plastered all over an editing room screen.
Grinding down now – it’s an important part of the shot – means his rubbing against Jensen’s – Dean’s! sonofabitch – underwear, cotton gone rough with water. It chafes a little but underneath it Jensen’s warm, warm and so painfully obviously hard that once Jared realizes it he couldn’t stop himself from writhing against it if wardrobe had stuck Jensen in steel wool and spikes.
It’s not weird. It’s just Sam’s headspace. And friction. Perfectly natural reaction to physical stimuli. Happens all the time.
Jensen’s legs snag around the backs of Jared’s thighs so he can lift up enough to help Jared shimmy his briefs down enough to make it look good. He’s mumbling broken strains of something into Jared’s ear, not enough left of them to say what the words were supposed to be but that doesn’t stop it from sending a frisson to nest at the base of Jared’s balls, a steady thump of heat that spikes from red to white when their dicks graze naked against each other.
There’s no way the catch in Jensen’s chest at that moment is an act because Jared’s does the same thing all on its own. Fuck, it feels good. World-tilty kind of good. The nails digging into his back, slipping on wet skin might be for show, though; it’s hard to tell, things getting mixed up in his head from the way Jensen paws at him, tongue-fucks the taste of water out of Jared’s mouth.
His own hands are slick with mud, probably leaving streaks of it like physical sin on Jensen’s skin when he roughly shoves the t-shirt and amulet up to palm at his chest, the firm give of his abs, the hard little nub of a nipple than has his teeth clamping down just hard enough on Jared’s lip to taste iron.
Jared’s hips are pumping with less rhythm now, more sharp jabs of his aching dick into the hot, soaked space between their bodies. Distantly he’s aware of some kind of dull, injured noise, realizing only when he has to stop for breath that it’s coming out of his throat.
For a second then he almost breaks, ice cold dump of terror that he’s actually trying to get himself off on his costar-cum-friend shattering his concentration but Jensen slaps a hand to the back of his head to keep him grounded, guides him down for a taste of collarbone, lick at that tight nipple he’d been toying with a second ago. It’ll look good on camera and that’s what Jared’s worried about, not the sweet broken sound Jensen’s makes when he does it.
Not the way Jensen’s fingers clutch at his hair or how the startled, “Oh shit,” he whispers is rough like Dean’s voice but still different – all Jensen, just a layer of reserve sanded away.
Not the way he can feel Jensen’s whole body tense around him before the slick warmth between them goes thicker, hotter.
Jesus fucking Christ, Jensen’s coming; a sticky smooth jolt to the system as Jared feels Jensen’s cock jerk right there against his, getting him all wet and messy in a brand new way as it spurts over him, smearing between them when Jared cannot make himself stop humping the ever loving hell out of his co-star.
He’s glad they’re allowed to say ‘fuck’ on the network because it would be a real bitch to try and dub something else in for the groan he lets out against the meat of Jensen’s shoulder when that tingle in his balls becomes a mushroom cloud, wiping out every single other thought and feeling as he pumps his soul out of his dick onto Jensen’s skin.
Ok, so he’s not going to be winning any awards for on-set decorum. Right now he’s just hoping Jensen doesn’t punch him in the face.
Which doesn’t seem like it’s going to be a problem considering Jensen’s tugging on his hair again, pulling him up into a much slower, softer kiss than they’ve ever shared before.
Than Sam and Dean have ever shared before, he means. Because obviously, he and Jensen don’t share kisses. Because they work together and also aren’t gay at all.
And it totally doesn’t make Jared’s spent dick twitch.
Well this is a revelation he could have had a lot earlier in life.
“And that, boys and girls, is what we call a wrap!” Kim shouts, suddenly making Jared keenly aware of the couple dozen crew members who just saw him blow his wad all over Jensen on camera. Also his ass is pretty much still just hanging out there for all to see. At least they turned off the artificial rain.
Pulling apart is an adventure Jared could live without, made both better and worse by the blushing thing Jensen’s got going.
Luckily, most of the crew is busy packing things up so it’s really only the PAs bringing them robes who have much of a chance at seeing the aftermath up close. It’s too much to hope for that they were pressed close enough together that no one else saw either but aside from a small smattering of applause, nobody seems inclined to say anything about it. Maybe they’ll actually get out of this thing with a smidgen dignity intact.
Jensen opens his mouth like he’s going to say something but seems to lose it somewhere in the middle and lets his lips fall closed again. Jared’s trying really hard not to notice how pink and swollen they look. He’s failing miserably.
“Guys!” Kim’s voice breaks them out of their impromptu staring match. “Fantastic work! It looks great!” He gives them both a rough pat on the shoulder, grins and congratulations all around. Now Jensen’s not the only one blushing. “Go get into something dry and get some rest. Can’t have you catching colds for Monday!”
Not for the first time tonight, Jared’s lungs malfunction.
Monday. Monday they’re going to start work on Sam and Dean’s big make up scene for the next episode. Well fuck. At least this time they’ll be in a bed.
On autopilot, Jared answers something vague and polite like he’s not actually flailing to death in a beartrap of inappropriate enthusiasm over the idea of getting naked in bed with Jensen. This could make their working relationship incredibly awkward.
“Monday,” Jensen sighs, affect too fuzzy around the edges for Jared to guess what’s going on in the spiky blond head of his. Then he just can’t decide if it’s weird that in the few weeks they’ve known each other he’s gotten used to knowing what Jensen’s thinking.
“Yep.” He can’t tell whether he’s as successful as Jensen at not giving anything away, but realistically, he sort of doubts it. For an actor, Jared’s never been a very good liar.
“We should, uh,” Jensen scrubs a hand at the back of his neck. It’s a Dean gesture he’s managed to pick up as his own and Jared goes entirely too fluttery for a guy his size, let alone age, just at knowing that Jensen’s as off-kilter here as he is. “We should probably run it this weekend, work out some of the kinks. The lines, I mean, run the lines. Just so we know what we’re doing.” Jensen’s wet-lashed eyes get progressively wider as he continues to babble. “I mean-“
“Yeah, no. Yes. Yeah, we should. We should run it, the lines, run them.” And Jared’s clearly not doing much better in that department. The ground just never opens up and swallows you when you really want it to.
“Doing anything tonight?” he spits at last, clamping his jaw tight on any puns or entendres that might suddenly feel like making an appearance.
Jensen licks his lips, way more distracting than it ought to be, but then he’s answering with just a hint of a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. “Tonight’s good for me.”