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The Flight of the Phoenix

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Jeff insists on the feathers. They add to the wild boy image Nick Phoenix sports, he says.

Jensen, though, is the one who has to wear them; two black feathers woven into all of his wigs. He has three; one is draped into a man bun, one is loosely braided, and the last one is just long, flowing hair – but each wig includes his signature feature, the feathers. They're part of his stage outfit, which consists also of tight fitting leather pants and different vests, usually made of leather or linen.

He's seriously pissed about the wardrobe malfunction earlier on stage, when suddenly, during the last song, the buttons popped, causing the vest to spring open. Nick Phoenix may be a bad boy, but Jensen isn't; he doesn't like to expose his body more than he already does, and especially when it's unexpected.

It was the last straw breaking the camel's back, since the day started with Jeff's dog pooping on the stage, and deteriorated even further.

Jensen stares into the mirror. Repeatedly, he's amazed at the transformation of Jensen, the boy next door, into Nick Phoenix, world-acclaimed rockstar. All it needs is some make-up, Kohl, and the damn wigs. Now he's back to being Jensen and looking forward to a few weeks off after this last concert of his tour.

“Are you coming?” Chris asks, leaning against the doorjamb of Jensen's dressing room.

Dropping the towel he used to clean his face, Jensen turns to face his band's guitar player. “Nah,” he says. “I need to dance off some energy.”

“Dance off?” Chris parrots smirking. “That's what they call it nowadays?”

Jensen almost blushes, because he knows very well what Chris is insinuating. “Asshole,” he says and throws a box of tissues that harmlessly bounces off the wall near the door. He never intended to actually hit his friend, but Chris is backing out anyway, cackling loudly on his way to the other members of the band.


It's after midnight when he arrives at the club. He's alone since he doesn't see the need for Clif's services; he's kind of in disguise, which is a weird thought because Nick Phoenix is the character Jensen dons like an old coat. No one ever recognizes him when he's just Jensen; all he gets is the occasional You look kinda familiar or You look like this singer, what's his name .

He needs to stop thinking, just for a couple of hours. The concert tour was exhausting, but now he has six weeks off before he's going to start working on the next album.

There's a decent sized crowd in the club; big enough to lose himself between them, and small enough to not feel overcrowded.

For a few minutes, Jensen watches the dancers, nursing a beer. There are a few men that could spark his interest, but that's not what he's here for in the first place. His legs are itching to move, though, so he enters the dancefloor as soon as his beer is gone.

He knows how to dance, how to move gracefully, doesn't need to think about it. With his eyes closed, he moves to the music. It's washing over him, wrapping him up in beats and rhythms, and his muscles shift on their own.

He can feel the warmth of a body against his back before there actually is some slight pressure against it. Hot breath is ghosting over his neck, making him shiver.

The guy must be taller than Jensen.

Then there's a deep voice scraping over his skin.

“You mind me intruding into your dance space?”

Jensen shakes his head. He still doesn't know who's coming close, but waits to see what will happen. Big hands encompass Jensen's slim waist, and someone keeps up with Jensen's movements.

He would have expected someone grinding against him, even some touching or feeling up from his co-dancer. There's almost no contact though, except for those hands on his t-shirt and the occasional bump of hips against Jensen's.

It's nice.

Then they start playing Midnight Satin .

Jensen freezes.

“I thought you'd like some good rock?” The voice behind him sounds amused.

Oh, the t-shirt . Jensen's wearing a Nick Phoenix tour t-shirt because Clif soaked Jensen's favorite AC/DC t-shirt in beer and took it for his wife to wash. Well, it was a shit day.

“I'm... a roadie,” Jensen says. “It's like your boss calling on your day off and ruining your night.”

The guy chuckles, then says, “There's a table. You wanna sit and talk a bit?”

Of course he wants. Jensen wants to look at the guy who's taller than him and keeps his hands still. He wants to know if the night could end up with more than just dancing.

He weaves through the crowd, and just as he sits down, a beer bottle is put in front of him on the table. When he looks up, he can see the waiter walking up to the next table.

“How did you do that?” Jensen asks, stunned.

The guy grins. It makes dimples appear in his cheeks. He's so good looking that it takes Jensen's breath away – brown floppy hair framing a handsome face, dark eyes sparkling with mirth, and those damn cute dimples! Also, he's tall, and Jensen's embarrassing himself by wondering how proportionate he may be.

“The perks of working in the club you also attend occasionally,” the guy says, pulling Jensen out of his thoughts. He reaches with a long arm over the table. “I'm Jared.”

Jensen shakes his big hand, aware that it's almost engulfing his own.



My life's in your hands/ Your fingers are a gilded cage

I'm a humming bird on my way/ Swayed by the winds

But I feel safe now


“So, Jensen,” Jared says. “You're a Phoenix roadie, but don't like the music?”

“Ah, well, they just finished a world tour, and I have my first real night off in months, so as much as I enjoy my job, I just wasn't prepared for it.”

Jensen takes a swig of cold beer, watching Jared's eyes change color in the light. “And you're a waiter here?” he asks.

“Yeah, but only on the weekends. Actually, I'm a greeting card designer.”

“Greeting cards?”

“And children's books.” He looks like he's blushing. “Illustrator for... children's...” Yep, definitely blushing . “...books.”

“That's great!” Jensen exclaims. “Do I know your work?”

“I doubt it,” Jared replies, also taking a swig of beer, making his Adam's apple bob. “Unless you have a toddler aged three and up.”

Jensen laughs. “No. No, I don't.”

Both men smile at each other for a long moment. Then Jensen points to his shirt and asks, “So, you're a fan of Phoenix?”

“Well, not really,” Jared says. “I'm more a fan of, uhm, classical... music.”

“Classical music?” Jensen parrots, raising an eyebrow. Jared's blushing again .

“Yeah, well... Beethoven, Mozart, Vivaldi. And Orff, I like... Orff.”

Jared's face is tinged with pink. Cute .

“But I like Phoenix,” Jared asserts quickly. He clears his throat and smiles. “And Nick Phoenix's great.”

A slow smile's spreading on Jensen's face.

“You just mustered all your courage to approach me, didn't you?”

“Well, yeah.” Jared gesticulates in Jensen's direction. “But, I mean, look at you. I'd have been a fool if I... uhm.”

Jensen laughs. “You're awful at flirting.”

“I am,” Jared agrees, looking miserable.

“So,” Jensen says, leaning forward and covering Jared's big hands with his. “Why don't we just stop flirting and chat a bit?”

Jared's grinning so hard, his dimples dig deep grooves in his cheeks. “I'd like that.”


Your smile/ The sun in my sky

Show me your smile

The light in my night


They both have a good time, talking about everything and anything.

Jared says he's tone-deaf. Which wouldn't be a big thing if his mother wasn't a teacher at Juilliard and his father a violinist with the New York Philharmonic. He says he enjoys music, but his calling is drawing cute little cartoons.

Jensen makes him draw one on a napkin, and it is cute.

“That's cute,” Jensen says, and Jared's blushing right to the tips of his ears. Jensen wonders where else this pink tinge may be on Jared's bronze skin.

Jensen tells some hilarious stories that happened to Nick Phoenix on his tours. Jared laughs, and Jensen thinks they really are hilarious when you're not the one they're happening to.

Sometimes, song lyrics pop up in his mind, usually connected to Jared's long fingers or floppy hair or multicolored eyes. Maybe he'll start sooner than he thought with his next album.

They sit and talk until the waiter puts two bottles on the table.

“Last call, guys,” he says.

“Thanks, Joe,” Jared replies. “See you Friday.”

They drink their beers, settle the bill, and think about leaving. They look at each other, both smiling sheepishly and fidgeting a bit, and Jensen's just about to open his mouth, but Jared's quicker.

“Uhm... my place?” he asks, blushing most adorably once more. “I mean... you wanna...”

“Yes,” Jensen answers. “Yes, I do.”


Jared's place is only a couple of blocks away, on the third floor of a big apartment building. It looks big enough for one person, with an open-plan living room/kitchen and two doors leading to the bathroom and the bedroom. It's cozy .

“It's cozy,” Jensen says. That's all he can manage because as soon as the apartment door falls closed, Jared's hands are cupping his face, and Jared's lips are tugging at his, and Jared's body’s rubbing against his.

Jensen returns as good as he can.

Jared's not a bad kisser, unexperienced but eager, and Jensen lets him have control. The thought of bending this giant and being bent by him over any possible surface turns him on so much, he might come from it alone.

Jared turns them, walks them over to the sofa while still attacking Jensen's mouth and trying to shed his clothes. Jensen's calves hit its edge, he takes Jared with him, and they fall onto the soft surface.

The TV starts blaring when they hit the remote. Jared grabs it, turning the annoying noise off, and Jensen says, “Bedroom.”

“God, yes,” Jared groans.

Just seconds later they are standing next to the bed, both gloriously naked.

Jensen can't believe his luck. Jared is well muscled, smooth-skinned and absolutely proportional! His bronze chest is flushed rosy and his cosmic eyes are dark with arousal.


Stars in your eyes/ Supernovas bursting bright

Comets riding your smile/ Cosmic baby

You're my cosmic baby



Not quite the right moment for cheesy lyrics. Maybe it's gonna be a Jared-themed album , Jensen thinks, but there's no way he can control himself anymore.

He drops to his knees and goes down on this beautiful dick right in front of him. It's too big to fit all of it comfortably in his mouth, but he tries anyway, sucking and licking and moaning. Above him, Jared's moaning too, tugging with strong fingers at strands of Jensen's hair.

“Oh my god. Jen... Jens- I'm gonna...”

Jensen lets Jared's heavy dick pop out of his mouth and, looking up at Jared's face that's even more flushed now, grins.

Jared's gaze roams over Jensen's body, and Jensen can pinpoint the exact moment Jared sees it, since his eyes go wide.

Jensen's tattoo is a big wing on the right side of his body. It's just a few long strokes of black ink and some stylized feathers, so even though the tat spreads over a big expanse of his body, it actually consists of little ink.

Jared tilts his head to his own side, and Jensen looks: there's a tattoo on Jared's left.

It's a huge devil's wing, equally as stylized, yet simple as Jensen's.

“This is Fate,” Jared says, pulling Jensen up to a stand and attacking his lips again.

Jensen needs to have more friction, rubbing his own hard dick against Jared's is not enough, but when he reaches out, his hand is batted away.

“Let me,” Jared says hoarsely. “Mine's bigger.”

And his long fingers curl around both of their dicks, stroking and squeezing just the right way. And Jesus , his hand is bigger .

Jensen has to hold tight on Jared's shoulders as his knees are buckling.

There's too much input for his nerves; his skin is tingling, his dick feels hard as nails under those nimble fingers, and every time he breathes in, he can taste Jared on his tongue.

“Jared,” is all the warning he manages to utter before coming way too soon.

With a couple of jerks of his hips into his hand, Jared comes too, moaning, all over their bellies.

Boneless, they tumble down onto the mattress, breathing heavily and grinning like loons.

A t-shirt appears out of thin air, wiping them down, then Jared discards it onto the floor. He turns onto his side, propping his head on his arm and looking at Jensen.

Jensen just turns his head, he feels too mellow and happy to move. Snippets of lyrics are already bouncing in his head, using his brain as a bouncy castle.

Jared's smile is... soft and amazed. He runs a finger over Jensen's collar bone, then down his chest until it reaches the tattoo on Jensen's side, making him flinch.

“Ticklish?” Jared asks. When Jensen nods his head, Jared’s smile turns into the dirtiest grin Jensen has ever seen.

“I-” Jensen starts, but has to clear his throat. The young man in front of him is throwing him completely with his incredible body, which seems to house shyness just as much as debauchery. “I'm thirsty.”

It's not only his body's need for hydration, but also his mind's need to compose itself for a moment, that makes him say this.

“There's bottled water in the fridge, help yourself,” Jared says with another sweep of his finger over Jensen's abs.

“Okay. Be right back.” Jensen can't resist planting a little kiss on Jared's nose when getting up.

“For round two?” Jared asks with a glint in the eyes.

Jensen's breath hitches. “Absolutely.”


Through the window behind the kitchen sink, there's a star visible above the city's skyline.

Jensen's hands are still a little wet from washing them in the sink. His arms propped on the edge, he looks at the celestial body. His mind is full of song snippets, refrains and melodies, that should be enough for half an album.

This is the first time he’s responded this way to anybody. What did Jared call it?

Fate .

Jensen doesn't believe in Fate, but it would make a great song title.

He turns to the fridge, opening the door and taking a bottle of water out. There's enough food for a decent breakfast .

Drinking on his way back to the bedroom, the water is nice and cool against his throat. And then the TV catches his eye.

It's muted. Jared didn't turn it off earlier, so now some gossip show is spewing some ridiculous theories and news, blown out of proportion.

Except now, they're true.

In a daze, Jensen replaces the water bottle in his hand with the remote, and turns the sound on.

That's him on the screen, some footage from the concert earlier that evening. It's a few minutes of the wardrobe malfunction, filmed with a phone camera, grainy and blurred, but unmistakably and visibly, it's there – his tattoo.

... not yet. Maybe fingers of a hand, but we can't be sure with the bad source quality. There's no doubt, though, that Nick Phoenix is tattooed...”

Jensen runs a hand over his jaw. Fuck. Holy Fuck .

“You up for round two?” Jared's voice makes him shut off the TV quickly.

He needs to do damage control. Or deal with the crazy later and have some more possibly mind-boggling sex with Jared.

Maybe Nick should have a long vacation until the buzz dies down, so Jensen can have more time with the incredible guy he wants to get to know better.

Turning, Jensen walks towards Jared.

“Absolutely,” he purrs, sashaying proudly towards Jared and making him chuckle. He presses against him, both of their bodies hot against each other's, licking his tongue into Jared's mouth.

Jared wraps his arms around Jensen, moaning into the kiss and drawing him into the room and towards the bed.


Hot lips/ I want to kiss

Hot lips/ I want to drink

Hot lips/ I want to see smile for the rest of my days


Silently, the bedroom door closes.

If there was someone else in the apartment, through the door they could hear some giggles when Jared tickles Jensen, and some moans when Jensen retaliates by sucking him down.

For a few minutes, there's nothing to hear, nothing to see in the living room. Then a yell erupts from the bedroom.

“OH MY GOD, I'm screwing Nick Phoenix!”