Sam W: Why’d you let me fall asleep?
Dean W: ‘cause I'm an awesome brother. So what did you dream about?
Sam W: (deadpans) Lollipops and candy canes.
-- Bloody Mary (Season One)
The alarm clock buzzes, waking Jensen with a start. He hates this part.
It’s bad when he’s been dreaming, worse when he knows what he’s been dreaming about. And even more so if it’s one of those dreams again – one with the unruly chestnut hair falling into sparkling hazel eyes, crater-sized dimples at the ends of those forever smiling, pink lips.
Dreams full of need and longing and that bittersweet ache he’s been brushing aside as nothing ever since the audition – nothing more than physical stirrings of a guy who hasn’t been laid a certain way in a very long time.
Bisexuality sucks. Sometimes.
He hits snooze, closes his eyes. Five more minutes, is all he asks, on top of the four hours of sleep he gets most nights. If he didn’t love this job so damn much he’d never do this. There’s gotta be something in the Geneva Convention about this – sleep deprivation as a form of torture.
He curses Welling and Rosie for dragging him out drinking last night, again, cutting his already short quota of sleep even shorter. Twenty-seven and he’s already too old for the social shit. All he wants to do is go under and stay there, forever, where he gets to touch that hair and kiss those lips without issues of fucking consent getting in the way.
He’s just about ready to drift off when a warm, naked arm crawls up his back and around his waist. Jensen starts again, groans inwards when the arm squeezes his stomach with all the feminine strength it has access to.
“Wake up, sweetheart,” Danneel whispers in her husk of a voice. “Cliff’s going to be here any minute.”
He suppresses the kneejerk reaction to elbow her away, bites back the first thing that jumps up to his tongue. You’d think after two years of this ‘beneficial’ arrangement, she’d know how much he hates being touched when he sleeps.
Technically he isn’t even comfortable sharing a bed (his bed) with anyone else. But hey, he’s a gentleman, reluctantly so. And where else is she supposed to sleep? Having come all the way from LA to respond to his booty call, the smallest courtesy he could do her is give her a place to stay the night.
Look on the bright side, he tells himself, now that she’s cuddled you (shudder) to full alertness you might as well get up and ready for work.
He groans, loudly this time, and pushes himself out of bed. Danneel’s arm flops right back to the mattress. She doesn’t even open her eyes. Jensen sulks.
Merits of unemployment.
In the bathroom, he cracks a window and digs out his hidden pack of cigarettes and a Zippo lighter. He glares at himself in the mirror through a cloud of smoke. Promises himself he’ll quit, again, tomorrow for sure.
Time to go face the world.
He shrouds his bad mood with a plastic smile and three liters of coffee – strong black, no cream or sugar. He needs this job, he needs the money. He needs the prospect of seeing that chestnut hair fall into hazel eyes every day.
What else is worth waking up at this ungodly hour for?
Dean W: How you feeling, Sammy? ... I guess mixing whiskey and Jager wasn't such a gangbuster idea, was it? ... I'll bet you don't remember a thing from last night, do you?
Sam W: (groans) I can still taste the tequila.
-- Playthings (Season Two)
It’s all Welling’s fault.
He and his awesome wife Jaime, and their crazy as balls house parties. They don’t go out much, lead fiercely private lives. And even if they do step out in public, Tommy goes to great lengths to disguise how unbelievably hot and head-turning he is.
But once in a blue moon they do this – throw a phenomenally, mind-blowingly sick bash that fucks everyone up who shows for the rest of the year.
What’s worse than waking up in the morning after four hours of sleep? Waking up in the morning after a night of no sleep – which means you basically passed out from all the drinking and debauchery and smoking whatever illicit substances you got handed during the night.
Jensen groans. In his head it’s loud and painful like the sound of a dying raccoon who’s just been hit by a soccer mom on highway 99. He can’t even open his eyes. How much did he drink exactly? He lost count after twenty-six.
He tries to move but his body protests so much as a lift of a finger. He is cramped and dehydrated, and there is this slight pressure of light on his closed eyelids he doesn’t like. It means it’s dawn, or right before, or right after. Whatever.
Two years of Supernatural has conditioned him to hate that soft fucking light.
His head pounds and there’s something heavy weighing him down – fuck not again, Danneel!
She knows how much he hates waking up to the sensation of another body pressed up against him or pushing him down, holding him immobile. He starts to frown and grunt when his booze-muddled brain kicks back into gear.
Can’t be Danneel.
Can’t be because, he remembers standing out on the porch with her, leaning drunkenly into her, whispering something in her ear. He doesn’t exactly recall the words but he can still see her pulling back, looking up at him like her heart was breaking right before his eyes, shattering to pieces around them.
He remembers thinking the woman had balls when she pulled it together, even managed to drag a smile out from someplace he didn’t know existed.
The kiss goodbye had sobered him up right away, which would explain why he’d hit the bar again with a vengeance. The bottle of bourbon he’d grabbed and poured down his throat is still clutched in his left hand. It’s empty now.
Struggling, fighting his way through the cobwebs of sleep and intoxication, he opens his eyes to tiny little slits. First thing he sees is the ceiling and chandelier – the living room then. Fuck his head – head that he’s resting on top of the couch – no wonder his neck aches so much. As does the rest of his body, all six feet and one inch of him sprawled halfway between the couch and the floor.
Thank God it’s the weekend and they’re not working.
Jensen finally manages to move his neck (victory!) and looks around. It’s a graveyard of TV celebrities all around him, except they’re not dead, they just look it. Passed out like a bunch of stoned and thoroughly fucked out groupies the morning after a raunchy post-concert rave in honor of their rock star gods.
The cast and crew of Smallville, and Supernatural, and One Tree Hill, and the ridiculously hot girls from that one-season wonder, what was it called? Relatives, maybe? No wonder it got canceled.
They all just lie there, sleeping, snoring, and Jensen is the only one back to his wits. That sucks. He feels like a frikkin’ nerd… the one who didn’t inhale.
“Come on,” he groans again, and then remembering the weight still pinning his thighs down, he lowers his head further down to his lap.
The hair’s lighter now, a different shade of brown for a new season. And it’s longer. The face is more angular, less boyish, but still so fucking angelic. The head rests trustingly on Jensen’s lap, face tilted slightly towards his crotch, within teasing distance. Jensen’s breath hitches in his throat.
The pink lips are fallen open, warm little puffs of air rushing in and out that Jensen can feel on his slightly exposed midriff where his t-shirt is riding up. The rest of the frame, long and endless as it is, takes up the length of the couch, glides elegantly up and down with every deep breath. One knee lies bent all the way up as far as it can go, brushing firmly against Jensen’s hip. The arms are crossed against his own stomach – like maybe he got cold sometime during the night.
How the hell did this happen?
Wide awake now, hangover completely forgotten, he panics. Of all people, why did Jared choose Jensen to pass out on? Where the hell’s Sandy?
Then something crazy happens – he relaxes.
Truth is he doesn’t mind at all. Watches his dear friend and co-star sleep ever so peacefully – just as beautiful in his stillness as he is awake and animated and overdosing on saccharine.
It takes another twenty minutes before Jared stirs, turns and rubs his cheek into Jensen’s thigh before realizing what he’s doing. His eyes glance up and go comically wide when they meet Jensen’s.
Jared looks scared, nervous, but not weirded out. And he’s still too tired and sleepy (and comfortable maybe) to move just yet.
Jensen swallows, hard. “Okay?”
“Mm-hmm,” he manages, licking his parched lips. “Wh-why didn’t you, uh, just, you know…?” He doesn’t finish the thought.
It sucks – the idea of breaking this precious and rare contact with the object of his dreams. But Jensen has no choice because he values their friendship more. Because he can’t lose what’s real.
Jensen smirks, eyes gleaming with mischief, “I didn’t wanna miss the look on your face when I do this.”
And before Jared can squint and ask do what?, Jensen plants his free hand on Jared’s shoulder and gives it a great big shove.
Jared barely has time to hike his eyebrows and open his mouth around a surprised yelp before he’s falling. He topples off the couch and hits the carpeted floor with a loud thump, inviting a bunch of grunts and groans from the people dozing around him.
“Ugh, I hate you,” he whimpers, closing his eyes and curling up around himself because yeah, he’s just as messed up as Jensen and everyone else.
Jensen chuckles, even though his head hurts with the sound of his own laughter echoing inside it.
“What time is it?”
Jensen looks at his watch. “Five to six.”
“Shit, I gotta go,” Jared rasps, starting to get himself up off the floor and looking for his jacket and phone and keys and… one missing shoe.
Jensen gulps again and just nods, realizing then he was sitting on something sharp and rectangular, and vibrating.
“Here’s your phone,” he hands the offending item over to Jared, especially since it’s flashing Sandy’s name on it over and over again.
“Yeah, babe… no I’m still at Tom’s… no I’m… yeah I know, I’m sorry babe… on my way…”
Jared walks out without saying goodbye.
Jensen stretches out on the couch and closes his eyes. Tries to forget the sleepy warmth of Jared’s skin, the way his hair rested in delicate half-ringlets at the base of his neck… how Jensen’s index finger fit perfectly within the curled up digits of Jared’s fists in his sleep.
He wonders if his forbidden exploration was what woke Jared up. He wonders if he will remember it.
Jensen smiles, almost wishes he would.
Dean W: Dude, you were out, and makin' some serious happy noises. Who were you dreaming about?
Sam W: What? No one. Nothing.
Dean W: Come on, you can tell me. Angelina Jolie?
Sam W: No.
Dean W: Brad Pitt?
Sam W: No!
-- Dream a Little Dream of Me (Season Three)
Jensen rests his crossed arms on the bar, lowers his chin to rest on top of them. He stares forlornly at the bottle of chilled local beer just opened and placed in front of him. Rosie sits beside him, resting one elbow on the bar and pouring his second shot of bourbon down his throat.
They’re at the Alibi Room, waiting for Welling to show, wondering if he will at all. Rosie isn’t one of his favorite people at the moment.
“You look beat, man. Are you getting any sleep at all?”
Jensen huffs, looking more morose and wrung out than ever, “Stop asking me that.”
The show has a grueling schedule and it’s starting to show. All attempts to introduce more leads have failed miserably – case in point, the two new females this season. Jensen shakes his head. He doesn’t care about putting on a plastic smile for the rest of the world anymore. If he’s grumpy he’s grumpy, end of. Guess he’s starting to realize his own worth – it’s not like they can fire him anymore, right?
“Is the job really worth it?”
He turns towards his buddy, almost smiles. “Some things about it are.”
Rosie looks at him and smirks, like he can see inside Jensen’s head. Jensen keeps his game face on, adamant to not give anything away.
“Well, at least you’re about to get a good, long break.”
“Hello, what rock have you been living under? The writer’s strike? Contrary to popular belief, it is not slowing down.”
Oh, right. Of course he’s heard about that. Jensen takes another swig of his beer, frowning because he isn’t as happy with the prospect of a longer hiatus as he should be, and he knows exactly why that is. That damn hair is getting longer and auburn-er every season… it’s also getting harder and harder to resist touching it.
“What about you?” he throws it back to Rosie, changing the subject. “You sure about this?”
“What will you do?”
Rosie shrugs. “Move on. Grow my hair back, maybe.”
Jensen snorts, “I wouldn’t get my hopes up, slaphead.”
“Says the guy sprouting grays at the ripe old age of thirty.”
“Hey! Not nice,” Jensen pouts, one hand automatically flying to his sideburns and Michael laughs.
Tom walks in then and takes a seat on the other side of Rosie without greeting either of them. He is obviously still sulking.
Michael sighs deeply, “Dude…”
“Don’t talk to me,” Tom snaps back, ordering a beer for himself.
Rosie shakes his head and puts an arm around the big burly shoulder. Tom doesn’t shirk him off. Jensen smiles, watching the wordless reconciliation between his two friends with quiet affection, and raises his bottle of beer.
“To seven good years?”
His friends finally look at each other then join in, clinking their bottles and glasses and celebrating Michael Rosenbaum’s last appearance as a regular on Smallville.
Sometime later, Rosie asks him where Jared is. That irksome knowing look is back in his eyes.
Jensen clears his throat. “With the girlfriend, I guess.”
Welling grins, “You see how that little slip of a girl yanks him around like on a leash or something? Don’t get me wrong – it’s a hoot to watch, but how the hell does she do it?”
“Hey,” Jensen objects tiredly, feeling obliged to defend his other best friend’s honor in his absence. “He proposed last week, they’re engaged.”
“Get out, really?” Rosie exclaims, and he and Tom exchange pointed looks.
Jensen catches it. “What the hell’s going on?”
Michael clears his throat. “Tommy and I have a little pool going, see how long it lasts. I got my money on three more months. This guy here, ever the optimist, is giving it six.”
“You guys are despicable.”
Tom continues like he wasn’t interrupted at all. “Jaime is giving it one more month, tops.”
“What the– ?” Jensen shakes his head and sighs.
“Fine. Where do I sign up?”
Two months later, there is a frenzied knock on Jensen’s apartment door. His roommate is out of town. Jensen looks at his watch – it’s two in the morning and he is pissed as all hell. He decides to ignore it. That’s when his phone starts to ring too.
Jensen is still frowning when he opens the door. But all his annoyance and sleep melts away at the sight that awaits him outside.
Jared is a wreck.
His eyes are red and swollen like he’s been crying. His lovely silken hair is greasy and wet from the rain outside – and he’s wearing the same old clothes – Sam’s clothes – that he wore on set all day today and didn’t bother to change out of in his hurry to get back to his beautiful but kind of psychotic fiancée. He’d had a backup driver drop him off early, not sharing a ride with Jensen like he did usually.
“It’s over,” he whispers, his eyes tearing up again.
To hell with propriety, Jensen thinks, and pulls his friend into a firm hug. Jared keeps his hands in his pockets and doesn’t even move from his spot. But there’s no need to take it personally, Jensen figures, and pulls him inside. Takes him over to the couch and makes him sit, perching on the edge of the coffee table himself, facing Jared.
Mentally he takes stock of whether he has enough alcohol, coffee and candy in the apartment or not.
Jared doesn’t reply for the longest time. “You notice how… she’s been freaking out a lot recently?”
In other words, getting more possessive and controlling and downright scarier than usual? Yeah, Jensen noticed.
“She… she thinks there’s someone else.”
“Why does she think that?”
“You haven’t been moaning Emmanuelle Vaugier’s name in your sleep again, have you?”
Jared manages to chuckle softly, but keeps his gaze lowered to his feet, not meeting Jensen’s eyes. It worries him.
“Is there?” he prods gently, after a while, “… someone else?”
Jared looks up then, and for the longest moment there is heart-wrenching silence. Except for the rain drops that play a toneless soundtrack on the window panes surrounding them.
“Can I borrow your couch for the night?”
“Dude, I’m not taking your bed.”
Jensen smirks, of course. Somehow Jared always knows what he’s going to say next.
“Maybe we can share it,” he wiggles his eyebrows.
Jared pretends to gasp. “You’d take advantage of me in my vulnerable state?”
Jensen laughs and goes with the newfound lightheartedness, relieved to see some semblance of a smile on his friend’s face again.
“I got a foldable futon inside. It’s bigger than this couch and infinitely more comfortable. Come on. You can take whatever you like.”
“Admit it, Jen.” Jared smirks back. “You just want me where you can keep an eye on me.”
Jensen makes a face. Then stands up and starts walking away from the irritatingly intuitive Sasquatch back to his bedroom.
“Get moving. We only got two more hours of sleep left.”
That’s right – work doesn’t stop, work doesn’t go away, even on days when you hate it so damn much.
Soon enough, Jared is out of his wet clothes and into a dry pair of sweats that Jensen provides. His hair is toweled dry and slicked back and he’s settled onto the futon on his stomach, one hand folded into a fist and resting by his quietly quivering lips.
Jensen takes a couple of deep breaths to steady his thundering heart. He brings over a white mink blanket, kneels beside Jared and drapes it over the long form as gruffly as he can. Jared smiles at him with gratitude.
“Sadie and Harley okay?”
“Mm-hmm,” Jared pulls the blanket up and twists his long fingers around its edges. “Left them at the dog-sitter’s.”
“When is she leaving?”
“Flight’s tomorrow morning.”
Jensen can’t resist it anymore. He slowly raises a hand and when Jared doesn’t flinch, brushes a couple of wet strands away from his forehead. Their eyes meet. The hazel glitters with unshed tears and it makes Jensen want to kiss him so hard it hurts.
Jared gets this strange look in his eyes again, one Jensen for the life of him can’t decipher. Then tentatively he nods. “I will be.”
Jensen believes him.
All said and done, there was a time this girl made Jared incredibly happy. But all those beautiful memories are now ruined by the bitterness of the past few weeks. It should bug him to see Jared going through this.
Instead, Jensen walks out of the bedroom on the pretense of needing a drink of water. He closes the door behind him before pumping both his fists into dry air over and over again, barely holding back the ecstatic squeals riding the tip of his tongue.
And it’s not because he’s just won three hundred dollars.
Sam W: Look, if it's all the same, I'd really rather not talk about it.
Dean W: Wait a minute. What? You don't want to talk? You?
Sam W: There's nothing more to say. I can't keep explaining myself to you. I can't make you understand.
Dean W: Why don't you try?
-- Metamorphosis (Season Four)
“Jen? Jen, hey, Jensen!!”
He wakes up with a jerk. “What? What? What?”
Jared’s hovering face grins down at him. “We’re here.”
Jensen looks around himself. He’s still stretched out in the backseat of their van, now parked outside their usual haunt, the Shark Club in downtown Vancouver. He closes his eyes and quietly groans. He’s in no mood to socialize (when is he ever) but it’s the customary season kickoff party, which it wouldn’t be without the first lead.
Just like there wouldn’t be a fourth season without Dean Winchester.
“Except Dean doesn’t have to work sixteen-hour days for twelve days straight,” Jensen pouts.
Jared just laughs again. How the Sasquatch thrives on just five hours of sleep every day, is a mystery he’ll never solve.
“I don’t like waking up. And I don’t like you for waking me up.”
“Quit PMSing, you temperamental bastard,” Jared gripes back, pulling on his own jacket and getting ready to step out.
Jensen ignores the insult. “Besides, we’ve already shot two episodes. What’s the point of this party now?”
“Dude, what’s the point of any party, really?”
Jensen frowns. “Alcohol?”
“Bingo,” Jared smirks and starts to physically drag Jensen out of the van because they’ll never get out of it otherwise. “Come on, gotta welcome the newbie!”
“I don’t like the newbie either,” Jensen grumbles again, rubbing one eye as he steps out into the chilly Vancouver night. Mee-sha whatever.
They’ve barely plonked themselves at the bar when the new guy walks over and tries to strike up a conversation. He thinks he’s so clever. Jared tries to glare Jensen into niceness but it doesn’t work. Eventually the new guy gets the message and walks away, mingles with the writers to impress them with his ready wit so they’d extend his arc or whatever.
“Seriously?” Jared hikes up an eyebrow, a disapproving smirk twisting his beer-wet lips.
“Don’t you start, man,” Jensen responds and that’s the end of it. Everyone else notices the dark cloud hovering over him and gives him a wide berth. Everyone except Jared, he doesn’t leave his side all night.
Two Red Bulls and two beers later, he starts to feel more like himself and a shot of tequila kicks him right back into full lucidity. Enough that he starts to actually pay attention to the words coming out of his very talkative friend’s mouth.
“And she couldn’t be like more than four feet eight, maybe nine, but damn the lungs on that woman, and she wouldn’t stop shrieking even after I sign her six thousand pictures and teddy bears and lunch boxes and I’m getting this crick in my neck from looking down and with all the polite nodding and she…”
“Do you miss her?”
“What? Haven’t you been listening, I wanted to kill myself!”
“Not her,” Jensen waves off the freaky fan-girl story, enough of that. “Sandy. Do you miss her?”
Can’t stop Jared rambling about pointless things but ask him something personal and wham – he clams up. Jensen actually takes it as compliment. When complete strangers try it, Jared just kicks it up a notch and goes from pointless to full-on bullshit. But not with Jensen, he’d rather be quiet than try to bullshit Jensen.
He takes a swig of his Heineken and waits.
“You know I don’t,” Jared says, at last.
“So, you ready to move on? Free and clear?”
A soft blush creeps up Jared’s cheeks, “Free and clear.”
Jensen nods curtly. Jared will never know how relieved he is to hear it. He watches as Jared glances around them nervously.
“We’ll be careful, of course,” he offers, figuring it’s what Jared is thinking.
Jared blinks, almost in surprise. “O-of course.”
“And you’re absolutely sure, this is what you want?”
Jared crosses his arms and squints. “I’m sure, how about you?”
“You know what I’ve wanted for years, Jay.”
Decades pass before one of them drops their gaze and looks away, maybe it’s Jensen, maybe not. Doesn’t matter. It’s time to call it a night.
They stumble into Jensen’s apartment lip-locked, not willing to wait. They don’t even stop to switch on the lights or lock the door. Hands claw and palm and squeeze everywhere they can reach. Clothes are peeled off and strewn all the way through the foyer to the living room until they finally reach the bedroom.
Jensen pulls away for barely a second to kick this door closed and grab supplies from a dresser nearby. They fall into bed kissing and clinging and stoking that little spark of electricity that’s been slowly building and blooming into full-blown fiery lust for the last couple of years.
Jensen rolls Jared onto his back and pulls away, only for Jared to whine and try to capture his lips again. But the older man has other ideas.
He shimmies his way down his best friend’s lean, sinewy body until he reaches his groin. He wastes no time before peeling off the boxers leaving Jared exposed and shuddering in Jensen’s hands.
“Shh, it’s okay, lie back and enjoy this,” and without waiting for a response, Jensen closes his mouth around Jared’s cock.
Jared flings his head back and moans. It’s his first time with a guy, and no, jacking off to gay porn videos isn’t enough to prepare anyone for something this… this real. So Jensen is careful, and slow and tender, despite his own raging urgency to take Jared fast and rough and right fucking now.
He’s waited four years for this. He’s not about to blow it by being reckless or selfish.
After they’re done, after they’re soaked in each other’s sweat and tired to the marrows inside their weary bones, Jared flops to his side and buries his face in Jensen’s chest. The older man can feel Jared’s heart pounding perfectly in sync with his own.
Jensen smiles, and believes him. Jared speaks volumes with his eyes, his breaths, the tips of his long fingers ghosting over Jensen’s skin.
He starts to put an arm around his lover but hesitates. Wonders what Jared’s stand on post-coital cuddling is. Himself, it never did come easy to him. At least it hadn’t in the past, not with Danneel or anyone before her. But this… this feels different.
Jensen brings that arm around Jared, feeling the younger man stiffen ever so slightly, before relaxing a couple of seconds later. He closes his eyes, still smiling, looking forward to waking up (no, really) to the rest of their lives together.
The alarm buzzes at five AM, and Jensen groans way before he’s up. He rolls onto his back and extends a hand towards the bedside table to switch the damn thing off. Then he opens his eyes.
It takes him a good two minutes to remember.
He smiles and turns over to his other side, fully expecting the Sasquatch to be stretched out next to him, limbs askew, floppy hair shrouding half of his angelic face, lips fallen open like they do when Jared sleeps.
The bed is empty.
He sits up with a jolt, pulling the covers aside to stand up. He pulls on his boxers and looks around, hunting the entirety of his apartment hoping to find Jared somewhere, anywhere. All the lights are off, the front door is locked, none of Jared’s things are here and his side of the bed is long cold.
It’s like he was never here at all.
Jensen can’t explain it – this need to find Jared wherever he is, and throttle the bejeezus out of him.
An hour later, Cliff pulls up with the SUV outside his building and Jensen storms out. Jared is inside, holding his and Jensen’s usual coffee in both hands.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty!” Jared grins, cheerful and fresh as ever, annoying as hell.
Jensen glares at him and gets in, snatches his triple espresso and gulps it down at sonic speed. If they were supposed to act like nothing happened last night, well, he sure didn’t get the memo. Jared starts to ramble away about the pages they’re shooting today (the ones Jensen hasn’t bothered to read yet). And Jensen is starting to wonder if he might have even dreamt it all.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Can we stop for a Krispy Kreme, Cliff?”
“You got it, Jay,” their bodyguard slash chauffeur says before making a U-turn. Jared thanks him and turns to Jensen, grinning like an idiot. Jensen wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already Hershey-d himself into an early morning sugar buzz.
“Did you want something, Ackles?” Cliff asks through the rearview mirror.
“No, thanks,” Jensen grunts. What he needs is a nicotine hit, nothing else will do. He thinks of maybe stepping out to share a smoke with the big guy when they stop.
That’s when he feels it – that tiny sensation of warmth on the back of his ice-cold knuckles. Jared’s been sneaking a hand closer and closer to Jensen’s on the car seat, until he’s caressing it gingerly with just his little finger. Jensen starts, blinks, turns towards Jared on his left. He finds the younger man’s cheeks coloring softly, even as his gaze stays fixed out the window, keeping up an incessant chatter with Cliff in the front seat.
Jensen relaxes. The coarse coils of tension strangling his spine break away, and the craving for a cigarette dissipates with them.
This is just Jared being careful, Jensen figures. He can understand that. He can get with that.
So he thinks.
The next time they have sex, it’s on a Friday night.
They’re not on call for the next morning, which means no Cliff banging down his door to wake him up in the middle of the goddamn night. What? Jensen’s a Dallas boy – it ain’t morning till the sun comes out, so there.
He intends to take his time tonight. He intends to wear Jared out so much he won’t even think of getting out of bed before noon. He turns his beautiful friend over on his stomach, stuffs a couple of pillows under his belly. He spreads those endless legs and makes space for himself to crouch in between.
“J-Jen wait, I… uh…”
“You want me to stop?” Jensen pauses. He remembers his first time too, how he wasn’t sure he wanted what he was so sure he wanted.
Jared whimpers helplessly and pulls himself up on his elbows, cranes his neck to look behind him but quickly turns away. “I-I don’t know… shit, God, please…”
Jensen smiles, caresses the chiseled back in long strokes, all the way down to the tight little ass. “Do you remember that time we hung out at Tommy’s, two years ago? Remember that stupid truth-or-dare Danneel made us play?”
Jared promptly buries his head in his pillow and groans. Of course he does. They were so drunk, and stoned out of their minds on Rosie’s supremely high quality stash all the way from the Himalayas, under the influence of which, Jared had happily revealed his super-secret kink to one and all.
“I thought you were passed out by then!” Jared whines.
Jensen chuckles, “Baby, when you talk, I always listen, no matter what.”
“Says the guy who forgets my coffee order every morn– ahh!!”
Jensen licks his lover’s opening purposefully, promptly shutting him up. He goes to town with his tongue, loving and sucking and worshipping the violently throbbing orifice. Several torturous minutes later, Jared comes with a loud, guttural moan that echoes through the apartment.
He collapses, a complete boneless deadweight, barely conscious when the older man rolls him over to his right side and spoons up around him. Jensen kisses the back of that pale white neck, tightening his grip around the slender waist.
“Mm-hmm,” is all Jared says. But Jensen knows he’s smiling, even though he’s holding himself really, really stiffly.
It’ll pass, Jensen assures himself. He’ll get used to it.
Three hours later, Jensen wakes up with a keen sense of dread enveloping his senses. The bed is vacant and long cold, again.
He hates this part.
He hates this more than he hates that arrogant angel, Misha with an ‘i’ Collins. Hell, he hates this more than he’s ever hated anyone or anything his whole damn life.
Jensen adamantly stays in bed till nine in the morning. Not that he sleeps a wink. But it’s the weekend, a free weekend. And he’s hell-bent on spending it the way he wants to. With or without Jared in it.
Aargh. Who’s he kidding? Jensen throws the covers to the floor and hits the head. He brushes his teeth and stands under the hot shower for a good forty minutes sorting through his jumbled thoughts.
They never talk about this… whatever this is. They never discuss what they expect from each other, from this relationship, if in fact he could even call it a relationship. Maybe that’s just it – maybe Jared just wants it to be a physical thing, like friends with benefits.
Like what Jensen wanted from Danneel. And Danneel could never really get with, no matter how hard she tried.
He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the shower stall, feeling an intense urge to call and check on her, maybe even… like, apologize. He wants to sink to the floor with a bottle of bourbon and never get back up, except it’d be stupid and pathetic and a waste of precious water, and bourbon.
Just as stupid and pathetic as bringing it up when Jared obviously isn’t bothered by any of it.
They’re meeting the gang for brunch at the Golf Club. The Wellings will be there, Steve and Chris are in town too, playing gigs around Vancouver promoting their new album. They’re both bringing someone or the other along. And Jensen is, of course, bringing Jared, even if he doesn’t really want to see that punk right about now.
It’s a nice bright Saturday morning, no reason to complain. Jensen digs out his black Aviator shades to hide behind and drives up to the club. Jared meets him there, grinning widely and animated as always. Like all’s right with this fucked upside down world.
“So, how’s the new guy working out?” Tom asks, twisting open a bottle of Perrier for his wife.
“I like him,” Jared interrupts, before Jensen can even begin to gag. “He doesn’t,” Jared grins, as if it isn’t already obvious.
“Heard he did an internship at the White House,” Chris drawls slipping back into his Texan accent, clearly impressed.
Jensen scowls, “With the Clinton administration.”
“I see, you don’t like him ‘cause he’s a Democrat,” Steve teases.
“Nooo,” Jensen takes the bait. “I don’t like him ‘cause he’s sarcastic and weird, and sarcastic… and he so overdoes the deadpanning, man. You can’t deadpan everything.”
Jared laughs. “So he’s got a wicked sense of humor, nothing wrong with that. Plus he’s smart as hell.”
Jensen wants to rolls his eyes. Of course, the two are thick as thieves on set with their pranks and bantering and what not. Every episode they shoot with the angel, Jared spends more and more time with Collins and less and less with Jensen.
And they wonder why he hates the new guy so much.
He puts his shades back on and zones out of the conversation, like he usually does. His friends are used to him doing that by now, and let him be. Minutes, or maybe hours later, who knows, he looks up and finds himself alone at the table.
Well, except for Jared, of course. That kid never leaves his side.
“Where’d everybody go?”
Jared slumps and stretches in his cushioned patio chair. “To the bar, for more drinks. But mostly, I suspect, they just wanted to get away from you.”
“Because you’re like a black hole? Sucking all the energy out of the room?”
“How astronomical of me,” Jensen mumbles unhappily.
Seconds tick away in silence. Jared cocks his head to one side, bites his lip. “Okay?”
“Mm-hmm,” he shoots right back, mimicking Jared with as much bite as he can muster.
Jared laughs heartily then looks away, shifting in his seat. Jensen notices he’s been doing that a lot. He smirks.
“Still sore? Want me to find you a little donut pillow?”
He studies Jared through the dark of his sunglasses. Wonders if he’s about to be socked in the face, if his pale young friend will soon turn a scarlet red, glance around surreptitiously to make sure no one heard, maybe even stalk off angrily.
Instead Jared smiles and, sweet holy mother, licks his lips wet. He shifts again with deliberation and it makes Jensen uncomfortable, especially in the front of his pants.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be good and ready by tonight,” he whispers, his eyes not wavering a bit.
Jensen swallows the rest of his beer down, before he allows himself to give in to his impending smile. Talking is for chumps. Talking can wait.
Way Jared is looking at him… hey, maybe Jensen doesn’t need the talk after all.
Okay, so maybe he’s having a bit more fun with this angel arc than he expected. Dean Winchester with an actual honest to goodness angel of the Lord for a wingman – what could be cooler?
They’re shooting together in Bobby’s junkyard for a scene that will not make it in the final cut, but Jensen doesn’t know that yet. He’s bugged enough as it is that it’s a six AM call, and Jared isn’t needed for another three hours.
Jensen sips his triple espresso as he goes over his lines with Collins. The third time he yawns in the middle of their dry run, Collins lets out a short wry huff.
“Alright, that’s enough for now,” he says. “Better not kill the spontaneity with too much rehearsing!”
He sits beside Jensen on a narrow bench prop and it wobbles, making Jensen nervous. “Sorry, man. How about a do-over?”
“It’s fine. But I suggest you go easy on the caffeine for this shot. You’re at your serial brooder best this time of day – be good for the scene, you know.”
Collins shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a dying art form, really. I especially love it when that infamous moodiness hits you out of the blue? Wish I could do that – send all those annoyingly devout little PAs scampering into the forest with but a single glare.”
Jensen rubs the center of his forehead tiredly. “Look, man, I don’t know if you’re being sarcastic or serious or – both? But honestly, I don’t do it on purpose.”
Collins looks like he’s deliberating whether to say anything; then apparently decides to go for it. “If you don’t mind me asking, I get why you were in a bad mood for the first three seasons. But why now?”
“Obviously you have him now, so what’s still eating Gilbert’s grapes?”
How in Sam fuckin’ hill…??
“I-I don’t know what you’re…”
“It’s kinda obvious, the way you two look at each other. The way you turn your likely genetic Black Irish gaze at me every time I talk to your boy,” he whispers, thankfully being discreet, drinking his nonfat chai latte from some obscure café who knows where.
Jensen bites his lip, watching his co-actor’s profile from the corner of his eyes nervously. This could be bad… very, very bad. No one, not even his friends know yet. “A-are you –?”
Collins rolls his eyes. “Yes, Ackles, I plan to write about all the steamy little invented details of your clandestine gay love affair in my memoirs soon after my twelve-episode contract is up. Throw in some of my more risqué poetry in there and I’d have a successful commercial venture on my hands, don’t you think?”
They look each other in the eye for all of three seconds, before Jensen snorts and shakes his head. “You’re nuts, man.”
“How very observant of you. So what’s the dealio? Why the long face?”
“What makes you think I’m gonna tell you?”
“Right, sorry, I forgot the scores of confidants you got lined up who know about your budding romance with the babyfaced moose. Like all your lady fans on the internet.”
Jensen sighs in frustration, looks down into his coffee. “H-He… doesn’t stay the night, like… ever.”
“And you hate waking up alone.”
“I-I wasn’t like that, before. But… I don’t know. I’m being an ass-hat, I guess.”
Collins nods sagely, watching the crew set up their equipment around them. “Jared’s the kind of guy who goes all out with whatever he does, doesn’t he?”
“Exactly! That’s why this is winding me up so much. He doesn’t seem to want to do that with this… whatever we have here.”
“Maybe because it didn’t work out so well for him the last time? He just got out of a really bad relationship, didn’t he? I’d say it’s understandable he’s being cautious.”
That actually kind of makes sense. Doesn’t mean Jensen has to like it. He sighs again and gulps the rest of his coffee down.
Collins decides now would be a good time to switch back to his normal (aka weirdo) mode. “Anyway, let’s talk about something that matters a bit more in the grander scheme of things – Me.”
“You guys should both be eternally grateful to me. I’m working my ass off trying to entrench myself in between Sam and Dean; help take some of the intense wincesty heat off of the two of you. But what do I get in return? Grumpy-assed Jensen! All the time!”
“Oh boy,” Jensen scoffs. “Thank you, Coll– Misha. Entrench away. Just… don’t be including my boy in any of your threesome fantasies with your wife, alright?”
“Alas, I can make no promises on Vicky’s behalf, but you have my solemn word.”
“I shall use you instead.”
“Fine, but I get to be on top.”
Misha throws his head back. Jensen smiles, feeling oddly accomplished to have made deadpan-Collins laugh.
So maybe Misha’s right. Maybe Jared just needs some time. Or… maybe Jared’s not a morning person either, Jensen surmises. The second one he can live with, ‘cause he doesn’t know what to do with the first, except maybe wait.
He gets up and leaves before morning breaks, before Jensen wakes, every single time – even on weekends. Does he feel guilty or ashamed? Nah, that twinkle in his eyes and those lips gasping his name (Jen! Jen – Ah, Jensen!) say otherwise.
Does he feel disappointed or unsatisfied? Come on. This is Jensen Ackles we’re talking about – sex god, blowjob aficionado, hot as hell if the fan-girls on the internet are to be believed, and all-round good guy. What’s not to like?
Besides, Jared never walks away when they hook up during the day, in a trailer, or a bathroom, or on Tommy’s pool table in the basement when everyone else is getting shit-faced upstairs.
He’s stretched out on the big leather couch in Jensen’s trailer one day, waiting for Jensen to strip off the lederhosen costume and be his regular boring self again. That’s right, lederhosen. The crazies in camp Kripke never stop coming.
“You sure we can’t bring it home with us? Just for the night?” Jared poses coyly, puppy eyes in sexual overdrive.
Jensen starts, not because the suggestion surprises him (Jared is crazy like that too), but because he just said ‘home’. He called his apartment, Jensen’s apartment, home.
It pisses him off.
How can he think of Jensen’s apartment as home if he never wants to crash there?
He thinks back to how he used to whine about Danneel, how she was always wanting to cuddle and sleep in whenever she flew in from LA. He hated her then. He hates himself for turning her down now.
But this is different. Jensen, with Jared, is different. He wants Jared by his side, in his bed, day and night. He wants to spoon and comfort him, stroke his auburn hair, hold his hand and have those elegant fingers curl up around his. He wants to watch over Jared while he sleeps, keep him safe, right by his side.
But damn it, he is a guy. He’d sooner go back to Danneel than bring himself to admit all those things to anyone, let alone Jared, least of all Jared.
Jensen looks at the costume and scratches his head. “How about we take it for another spin now?”
“You ready to go again?”
Jensen grins as he lowers himself onto Jared, pushing him back into the couch. “Baby, I’m always ready.”
Three days later, Jensen loses his apartment. His roommate gets fired from the show he had a recurring role on, curses it all to hell and returns home to his momma in Tallahassee.
“Right, I’m homeless,” Jensen flicks his phone off and rubs his eyes. They’re on their way to a late-night shift in the outskirts of the city.
“Move in with me,” Jared replies immediately, shrugging like it’s the most obvious damn thing in the world.
He doesn’t even look up from his PS2.
Jensen swivels around on his feet as he stands in the middle of the living room, perusing the gigantic house. Harley follows him around wagging his tail, happy to see him as always, while Sadie stays glued to Jared’s side.
“So riddle me this, Sasquatch,” he calls out to Jared who is busy putting out fresh water for Sadie and Harley. “Why have we never done it in here before?”
Jensen wiggles his eyebrows, “You and me – and so many more horizontal surfaces… how come I never got invited over to your place until now?”
Jared blushes, “That’s because your place is always the closest from work.”
“Huh.” That makes sense.
His ex-apartment is in downtown Vancouver; pretty central to most places they’d go to shoot. Jared’s house on the other hand, is in what you’d call the suburbs and takes forty minutes in traffic to get to.
Who the hell can wait forty minutes to fuck Jared? Not Jensen.
“Come on, let me show you your room.”
“Ooh, so formal,” Jensen quips. “Be even better if you say it wearing a French maid outfit.”
“You’re one to talk, little Bavarian boy,” Jared scoffs back and strides over to the guestroom on the first floor.
Jensen follows with his hands in his pockets, sneaking in a casual glance up the stairs – that’s where he knows Jared’s room is – that hallowed sleeping chamber of his that Jensen has never even fucking seen.
The hackles start to rise again, that urgent need to have Jared, cling to Jared, possess Jared in the only way he’s allowed to.
“Here we are,” Jared puts his hands on his hips. “What do you think?
Jensen looks around for a second, spots the bed – it’s big enough, wide enough, and Jared is standing right next to it.
He shrugs, “Let’s start here.”
Before Jared can squint and ask start what here? he is shoved backwards until he lands on the bed, bouncing back up once, only to be pushed back down again by Jensen’s weight on top of him.
He laughs, and barely gets a word in edgewise before Jensen devours his mouth. “Wait, wait… close the door.”
Jared winces, “Um…”
“Spit it out, I’m dying here!”
“I can’t do it in front of my babies, Jensen! What kind of parent do you think I am?”
Jensen scrunches his eyes and nose and – what the hell is he talking ab– … oh, the dogs. He huffs and gets up to close the door, leaving Sadie harrumphing knowingly behind it.
Speed is of the essence this time. They don’t even bother to strip off all of their clothes, just Jared’s pants ‘cause, yeah, spreading those mile-long legs would be a challenge with denim constraining the way. It’s hard and fast, and rough and urgent, and loud and frantic. It’s everything they need in that very moment.
Afterwards, they collapse onto the bed next to each other, panting like they just ran the New York marathon hand-in-hand, together.
“Oh, well,” Jared rasps heavily, “The sheets needed changing anyway…”
The pull of a well-earned night’s sleep is strong. But Jensen resists it with everything that he’s got. He wants to keep his eyes open this time. He’s not going to give Jared a chance to sneak out on him again.
Hell, this is Jared’s own home. Where would he go?
But it happens again. Minutes after his breathing settles, and Jensen’s eyes drift shut, Jared starts to push himself up and off the bed.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Jensen pounces, pulling Jared until he’s flat on his back again. He sits up and straddles the boy, holding his wrists down by the sides of his head.
“J-Jen! What the hell?”
“That’s exactly what I wanna know, Jay, what the hell?”
Jared frowns, too startled and confused to even begin to struggle. Maybe he thinks it’s a game, maybe it’s just Jensen wanting to go another round again.
“Do I snore?”
“Okay, good!” Jensen’s genuinely relieved to hear that. “Do I stink?”
Jared snorts, “No more than usual. What is this, Jen?”
“Do I hog the covers? Take up too much space? ‘cause I always thought I was a very calm and, like, a tidy sleeper you know – I hardly ever leave my side of the bed!”
Jared starts to struggle a little then, but Jensen doesn’t let go. “Yeah, no, I mean… sure whatever you say, Jen. What is this about?”
Jensen presses down harder, making Jared wince. “I just wanna know what I do wrong, that’s all. What – do you not like being touched or held when you sleep? ‘cause I totally get that, I used to be like that too. If you just tell me, I’ll understand.”
Jared bites his lip, eyes suddenly glazing over with something akin to anger. Jensen lets go of Jared’s wrists and cups the angelic face in both his hands instead, pushes the silken hair away from the forehead still glistening with sweat.
“This is your place, your bedroom. Well, kinda mine now, if you still let me stay here after all of this, but technically it’s still your bed.”
“Why do you need to leave it?” he whispers, voice tinged with growing desperation.
Maybe Jared tries to get a word in, maybe he doesn’t, it’s not like Jensen is listening.
“And please don’t say it’s because you’re not a morning person because see, I’ve been thinking about that and, guess what – that’s an excuse, alright? It’s what you say to get out of one-night stands. But this – whatever this is between us, is way more than that. Isn’t it?”
This time Jared definitely opens his mouth to speak, but Jensen is already starting to panic.
“Wait, don’t answer that. Let’s just start small. How about… y-you try being a morning person first for a change – you never know… might even actually like it if you stayed? Just a thought. Why are you so quiet? Say something.”
Jared chuckles, looking straight into Jensen’s anxious eyes, “I will, if you let me get a word in.”
The boy’s confusion seems to have given way to some sort of understanding and amusement, even. Jensen lets go of him then, settles back on his haunches.
Jared eases his head down on the pillow tiredly. “You’re the one who doesn’t like sharing a bed, man.”
“What?” Jensen folds his arms defensively, “Says who?”
“That night at Tommy’s, you gave away a lot of your secrets too.”
Oh, um, fuck.
“You hate cuddling, you hate being touched while you sleep, you hate sharing a pillow, a bed, you hate waking up… fuck it’s like sleeping with sleep-Hitler or something! Like you have sleeping OCD! I get so nervous I might piss you off that I can’t ever relax enough to fall asleep next to you.”
Jensen huffs, clearly annoyed, “Why the fuck did you think I tried holding you the first couple of nights?”
Jared looks unsure, “You were just being nice?”
Jensen wants to laugh… in relief, in frustration, in happiness. He lowers his face closer to Jared’s, grabbing him by the sides of his head around the ears again, nearly shaking him.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby, but see all that was before I met you, before us! Before I knew how it could and should be between two people in… in… like, a relationship.”
Jared bites his lip even as a big wide grin threatens to break through.
“Sure I still hate waking up, that one will probably never change…”
Jared laughs and tries to sit up. Jensen shifts and lets him. “Okay, I have to admit, that’s not the only reason though.”
Crap. “What else?”
“Th-the other reason why I get up and leave is because… Sadie and Harley are both early risers, especially Harley, and…”
Jensen palms his face, “Oh boy.”
“And during the week, mornings are the only time I get to spend with them ‘cause I usually don’t get to see them until late at night, or… or sometimes even until the next day if I’m with you and…”
Jared’s tongue is in freight train mode, “I just like to, you know, feed them myself and go for an early morning run with them and I figured since you aren’t a morning person I shouldn’t disturb you and let you sleep in for as long as you need to, and everyone is built differently, right? I totally get that and respect that and…”
“Shut up, Jay.”
Jared purses his lips immediately.
God they’re both such idiots. Jensen throws his hands up in the air. “Why didn’t you just say something before?”
Jared squints, eyes twinkling with mirth again. “Why didn’t you just ask if it was bothering you so much?”
“You should have said something.”
“You should have asked!”
Jensen is ready to laugh it off when another thought occurs to him. He pushes Jared right back down to the bed. Jared goes where he’s led without protest, still very much enjoying Jensen’s rare moment of embarrassment.
“Okay, Jay. I may not be an early morning person, but…” and he uses quoty fingers to say this, “I am a morning person. I wanna be very clear about that, and I wanna make sure you understand. You understand, right? What I mean, Jay?”
Jared bites his lip, shaking with soft laughter, and nods, “I do.”
He pulls Jensen down and kisses him, deeply and passionately, like never ever before. There is no tension coiled up in his frame, no vibe of uncertainty swimming under the surface. Just… Jared, relaxed and free, and all his.
They kiss for the longest time, until they are forced to pull apart to catch their breaths. That’s when Jared tries to get up again.
“Hey, ho! What did we just talk about?” Jensen frowns, “What, do the dogs need feeding again?”
Jared snorts, “No Jensen, you do. It’s only seven in the evening, silly.”
“What do you want for dinner? I can order a killer takeout.”
Dean W: See you're... you're new Sam, right, Lance Armstrong.
Sam W: Biking.
Dean W: And I'm still me, okay? All right, so, you might see things different now, call it a runner's high or some crap, but that doesn't mean that something's going on with me, okay?
Sam W: Yeah, okay.
Dean W: No, don't say, "yeah, okay," like, "yeah, okay."
Sam W: Yeah, okay.
-- Shut up Dr. Phil (Season Seven)
Jensen wakes one bright Saturday morning, rolls over, and finds the bed empty. His first instinct, even now is to frown, before he remembers and smirks.
Seven years ago, the first thing he’d have craved after waking up would be a cigarette. Now he craves something (someone) else. And it’s strong enough to get him promptly out of bed, no groaning and grunting in accompaniment.
He pulls on his t-shirt with boxers and ambles into the bathroom yawning. Ten minutes later, he climbs down the stairs. Sadie trots over and meets him at the last stair. He scratches her head and she follows him into the kitchen where his favorite sight awaits him.
Jared, in just his sweatpants, fresh out of a shower after his workout, is multi-tasking. He’s just put out food for Harley and Sadie and shelving the bags of grub away, while also whisking eggs for a breakfast omelet just the way Jensen likes it. Lunch is always out or on location and cooking dinner is Jensen’s thing. Jared’s just in charge of breakfast.
That’s about all he can do anyway, besides ordering takeout.
“Morning, sleepyhead!” he calls out with a wide, incredible grin, as always.
“Tone it the hell down, Seacrest,” Jensen grunts back with an annoyed huff, as always, and goes to pour himself a mug of strong, freshly brewed coffee.
Jared laughs, “So I figured out the perfect going away celebration for Misha. Wanna hear?”
“He’s taking a break, Jay, not moving to Mongolia forever.”
“Stop,” Jared glares at him, “I know you’re going to miss him the most and I also know you hate big emotional goodbyes, so this is the perfect thing, I promise. All you gotta do is show up, no excuses.”
Jensen doesn’t bother to reply, or even try to deny how much he’s grown to love Misha over the years. Instead he keeps busy watching his lover from behind. The thin layer of his sweats clings to all the right curves and corners of Jared’s luscious ass, leaving very little to the imagination. The sinewy muscles in his back move sexily to the beat of the whisk in his capable hands.
The hair is his favorite shade of auburn yet, and it’s longer and wavier, hiding a gorgeous slender neck that’s begging to be touched right the hell now.
Jensen obliges it.
Jared doesn’t jump anymore. He simply relaxes into the arms that hug him from behind, leaning back against Jensen trustingly even as he continues to blabber on about Misha’s going away thingie, to which Jensen is barely listening.
He has a lot of experience with goodbyes, more than he wanted, really. First Michael, then Tom and Jaime six months ago… yeah, his strategy for goodbyes is really simple – he just doesn’t think about it until the very last minute.
“God, you’re hot,” Jensen whispers, kissing the back of his neck and rubbing Jared’s tummy purposely.
Jared laughs as two very adept fingertips tickle his navel, even as he tilts his head to let Jensen’s mouth get to the rest of his throat. “So do you wanna golf or quad-bike?”
Jensen dips his hands inside his lover’s sweatpants and fondles him, “I just wanna you right now.”
Jared smirks and pulls away deftly to go back to his omelet, “You know the rules, Jensen.”
“Jeez,” Jensen sighs and stalks off to the backdoor. He pushes it open and whistles loud and sharp – his very own signal that always gets Sadie and Harley’s attention.
“Come on guys, daddies need some alone time in the kitchen today. Go on now.”
Sadie just grunts again, very much used to their antics by now and trots away majestically. Harley feigns innocence (ignorance, whatever – he’s crafty that way), wags his tail like he’s expecting Jensen to come out with him and play.
Jensen rolls his eyes and shoves at him gently to get him out of the door, “Later, big guy. Come on, I’m dying here!”
Jared chuckles and pours some milk into his bowl of whisked eggs. The very next moment he’s gasping when Jensen re-attaches his teeth to the crook of Jared’s neck. He takes the bowl and whisk out of Jared’s hands and pushes it as far out of their reach as possible.
“So what do you think?” Jared carries on with the one-sided conversation, only mildly protesting being bent over the kitchen counter, Jensen’s hands sliding his pants down to his ankles.
“Uh-huh, whatever you say, darling,”
“So that’s a yes, then? No pretending you forgot we had this conversation tomorrow?”
“Uh, sure. Yes to what, exactly?” Jensen blurts as he pulls out a tube of lube from its usual spot, the top shelf, and readies himself.
Jared whines, “Jensen! Whistler? Tomorrow morning? Golfing? Quad-biking? Lunch at that Mediterranean place Vicky loves in the village? Whatever happened to when Jared talks, Jensen always listens, no matter what?!?”
Jensen groans, partly with the ongoing pleasure of sinking into Jared and partly with the pained realization that Jared is going to make him wake up early tomorrow to go this stupid ski resort two hours away from Vancouver.
“Oh come on, baby, what’s wrong with hitting up a couple of bars in the evening? You know how much he loves beer pong.” he does his sultry Dean-voice, pulling out and thrusting back into Jared as the other man braces himself against the sharp tendrils of pleasure gripping his insides.
One hand comes around to grip Jared’s erection in an attempt to distract him… well, to get him to focus on the sex for one, and to help him remember the merits of sleeping in and fucking like bunnies all day instead of hiking in the mountains or whatever other strenuous activity he’s currently trying to talk Jensen into.
“Ah, Jen… you – ah! – always do this… ah!! AAH!! F-fuck… okay, ah, let’s talk af-ahhh! Afterwards…”
“Thank you!” Damn the mouth on the kid.
Jensen puts his other hand in the small of his lover’s back and presses him into the counter, not letting him push back into some of his shallower thrusts. He can be a tease that way. Jared moans and mewls and curses to high heaven, all his attention finally focused solely on the cock inside his ass.
Atta boy, Jensen smirks. Now if he could just get Jared to change his mind and plan something simpler and shorter… like drinks.
He thinks he’ll succeed when, after several minutes of fervent pounding, Jared rolls his head back and closes his eyes. His mouth falls open around a shamelessly wanton moan as he comes all over Jensen’s hand. Jensen finds his own release inside his lover with a loud grunt of his own, and they ride through their intertwined climaxes together.
They stay that way forever, still conjoined and leaning over the kitchen counter, in no mood to separate just yet. They are panting, Jared is speechless for once, and Jensen is hell-bent on kissing whatever he can reach on Jared’s neck and face.
“Mm-hmm,” Jared mumbles, before he starts pitching again. “So… gotta start early to beat the traffic.”
Jensen groans, pulling out but as gently and carefully as always, “Seriously, Jay, what the hell’s wrong with the Shark Club? Come on, you know I ain’t a morning person…”
“That’s a cop-out. How long since you needed an alarm clock to get out of bed on time?”
“That’s because you keep nagging at me until I do!”
Jared laughs and turns around, pulls Jensen closer to himself by his t-shirt. “Don’t worry, I’ll wake you up on time tomorrow too.”
“I really, really wish you didn’t…”
Jared steps out of the sweatpants pooled around his bare feet, kicks them aside, and presses his naked self against Jensen… chest to ankle. Long arms slither under Jensen’s armpits until fingers bury themselves in the back of his short, dark-blond hair.
“Are you sure about that?” Jared whispers, doing his own version of a sultry Sam-voice as he leans in to capture Jensen’s mouth. Hazel eyes twinkling with mirth and the knowledge that they've already won; they always win.
Jensen sighs helplessly into the kiss even as he shakes his head.
“What time do you wanna leave?”
*** THE END***
A/N: Writing after a long time in this fandom *bites lip*. Do let me know what you think?