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Jeff is lounging.

In a minute, he might get up and turn the TV on, or go in the kitchen and get a drink, or at least take off his shoes. But he’s been working since before the sun rose this morning, and for now it’s just good to sit, makeup scrubbed off his face and mind drifting, slowly letting go of the stress of hurried shooting. Snippets of lines float through his head, and he pushes them away, not interested, not wanting to think about the damn movie for a few hours at least. And anyway, he knows them inside out. He’s always been good at that part of the job -- could probably still recite lines from years ago, if he had a reason to. He dreams in old scripts, sometimes, blends of drama and romance and horror that make no sense at all except in the context of his stitched-together life.

He’s half-dozing now, well on his way to just sleeping on the couch -- shoes be damned -- when he hears the knock. He’s not expecting visitors, and it’s much too late for deliveries. Jeff cranes his neck to see over the back of the couch and stares at the front door as if he’ll be able to see through it if he looks hard enough. After a moment, the knock sounds again, weaker this time, and followed almost immediately by a soft thump. Jeff pushes himself to his feet and hurries to the entryway.

He can’t see anything from the window, so Jeff pulls open the door. Someone leaning against the other side practically falls into him, stumbling into the house with the loss of the door’s support, and Jeff recognizes belatedly that he knows the intruder -- Jensen. Jensen, who’s holding his cell phone and looking like he just came off the plane, clothes wrinkled and eyes glazed over. He blinks quickly a few times, and Jeff realizes with a stomach-dropping start that he’s trying not to cry.

Before either of them can say anything, Jeff’s own cell starts ringing in the other room. It stops mid-ring when Jensen turns his off.

“I didn’t know if you were home,” Jensen explains. His voice sounds rough and thick, almost raspy, like he’s been sick with a cough.

“Almost wasn’t,” Jeff replies, already reaching to grab Jensen’s swaying shoulders before he actually falls over. “Shit, Jen, come on, get in here. What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know,” Jensen says miserably. The Texas drawl is really coming through and Jeff wonders how exhausted Jensen is. And why. “I just needed... I wanted to see you. I needed...”

“What do you need?” Jeff asks, already determined to give him whatever it is. If Jensen’s having trouble asking, it must be important. He leads Jensen in, kicking the door shut behind him, and sits him down on the couch. “You want some water?”

Jensen shakes his head and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I just... Maybe, yeah. A drink.”

Jeff starts toward the kitchen and as soon as he’s out of sight, he hears Jensen’s voice.

“Danneel left me.”

Jeff stops in his tracks as the news sinks in and diverts his course to the liquor cabinet instead of the refrigerator. He gathers a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers and makes his way quickly back to the couch. Jensen doesn’t move, doesn’t even look over at him while he pours the drinks, and Jeff has to clear his throat to get him to look up and take the glass he’s offering. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jensen this out of it, even back when they were pulling sixteen-hour days together back in Vancouver. Not that Jeff can blame him.

Jensen is just staring at his drink, and after a minute, Jeff takes his own glass and reaches out to clink it against Jensen’s in a silent toast. “Won’t do you any good in the glass, kid,” he says, and knocks back the shot, feeling it burn all the way down. Jensen hesitates another second, biting his lip so hard Jeff’s almost expecting him to draw blood. Then he shakes himself and drinks, and something in Jeff relaxes just a little bit. Heartbroken, he can deal with. Just plain broken...not so much.

“You and her been having problems?” he asks carefully.

“No! I mean... Maybe, but--” Jensen pauses to finish the rest of his drink and he looks a little more determined, a little more alive when he speaks again. “Nothin’ so big that I thought it mattered. Always thought we’d just... work it out, after. After the season, after her movie, after the show... I don’t know. When we had time.”

“You never have time,” Jeff replies. He may not have had Jensen’s experience exactly, but close enough to know. “There’s always something to distract you, trust me. Especially if it’s a conversation you don’t wanna have.”

“Like this one?” Jensen asks, cutting, and Jeff snorts.

“You came to me. Don’t get to complain about it now.” Jeff reaches for the whiskey, tops off Jensen’s glass and then his own. “Why’d you come to me, anyway? Kind of a long flight, isn’t it?”

“I came down here for her, to see her, to, I don’t know, to be home, and then...”

The wheels start turning in Jeff’s brain. It’s Friday, and even if Jensen had an early day on set, it still takes hours to get from Vancouver to LA. “When’d you get here?” he asks, already dreading the answer.

“Few hours ago,” Jensen mutters. “Dani wanted me here, so I went home, and...”

“Jesus,” Jeff breathes. “She didn’t kick you out, did she?”

“No, I left. I couldn’t be there. I couldn’t sleep there; I needed--” Jensen cuts himself off again, exactly like he did earlier, and Jeff wonders what the end of that sentence could be. He wants to know, he’s burning to know, but it’s not something he can safely ask. Not right now.

Jensen’s apologizing now, muttering something vague about how late it is and how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other and he can go, really, thanks for the drink. Jeff cuts him off with a one-handed grip on his shoulder, steady and firm.

“Hey. Hey, Jen, look at me.” Jeff waits for Jensen to meet his eyes before continuing. “Don’t worry about it. You can crash as long as you want -- not like I don’t have the space. And anyway, you’re right, it has been a long time. Too long. It’s good to see you.”

Despite everything, Jensen almost smiles at that. The alcohol must be kicking in. “You know how time flies up there,” he says, and Jeff does. When he thinks back to his stint on the show, it feels like almost nothing, a blip in time over almost before it began. Doesn’t explain why he thinks of it so often, though.

Jensen pours himself a refill this time, more than a double, and when he opens his eyes after drinking it, his smile is a little bit more real. He raises his eyebrows at Jeff, and his voice takes on the light, teasing tone that always reminds Jeff of Dean. “Going grey, old man,” Jensen says, gesturing at Jeff’s beard. “I thought you Hollywood types had stylists to take care of those things.”

Jeff can’t help laughing. “Wouldn’t you know, the girls love it,” he teases back. “Makes them think you’re important, if you can live in the most superficial city on earth and walk around with grey hair.”

“No...particular girl, then?” Jensen asks, a little too quickly.

Jeff looks around the room. “Does it look like it?” he asks, and Jensen just shrugs. “No. Not for a while. Been busy, I guess.”

Jensen’s expression falters a little and Jeff wonders if that hit too close to home. He nudges Jensen’s arm and smiles, asks, “So, hey, how’s the show going? Miss you boys up there.”

“Yeah, we miss you too. And the fans, man, they’re still not over you.”

“I’d come back in a heartbeat,” Jeff says softly. “You know I would.”

Jensen’s only response is a weak grin, and he lets his head drop forward. His glass dangles from his fingers; Jeff almost wants to grab it from him to save his carpet.

“You doin’ okay, kid?”

“I wish you would come back,” Jensen whispers. “I wish everything was different. Nothin’s happening right, not like I thought it should.”

And that does hit too close to home, would have even if Jeff wasn’t exhausted and flirting with the beginnings of drunk and staring at the mess of an old friend in front of him. He heaves a sigh and pushes himself to his feet.

“Okay, Jen, come on. That woman’s got your head all fucked up. Best thing you can do is sleep it off while you’re still drunk enough to do it. Things’ll look better in the morning.”

Jensen stares up at him from the couch, eyes unfocused, and Jeff wonders when he ate last. Judging by how quickly the whiskey’s setting in, it’s been a while.

“How’s it gonna be better tomorrow, Jeff? Tomorrow I won’t be drunk. I’ll still be here, in the same damn city as my wife. She’ll still be gone. It’s better right now. Right now I’m here, with you. Wasted. But this can’t last forever.”

“Jensen, come on,” Jeff says, taking hold of Jensen’s arm to heave him to his feet. Jensen fights him in an uncoordinated way that speaks to how exhausted he must be. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. It’s the end of the week and god knows how much sleep you’ve gotten since last Sunday. Maybe it won’t be better tomorrow, but at least you’ll feel well enough to face it, right? Come on.”

It takes longer than it should to walk Jensen to the guest room, but they lose their tumblers and Jensen loses his shoes along the way. He finally sits on the bed and doesn’t let go of Jeff’s shoulder, doesn’t let him pull away.

“I couldn’t go home, Jeff. I couldn’t stay home.”

“I know.”

No. Jeff. I needed...”

Jeff holds his breath. “Tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll--”

“I needed you. I wanted you. I needed to be with someone, I needed to hear someone fucking breathing and I wanted it to be you. I just kept thinkin’ about the show and you and how it was, and... I needed you tonight.”

They never see each other. They hardly talk. Jensen was starting to become more a memory than anything, and Jeff was letting it happen, letting him disappear with his work and his pretty wife and his life. And right now, none of that matters a damn bit, because Jensen is looking up at him with those impossibly wide eyes and telling him things he’d never imagined he’d hear, and the memory is suddenly the most real, most present thing in the world.

This is a bad fucking idea.

He doesn’t care.

He cups Jensen’s cheek and closes his eyes to the warmth he can feel against his palm. He hears Jensen say please, hears the hitch in his voice, and he’s powerless. He’s drawn in like a magnet, his lips slotting against Jensen’s like they’re puzzle pieces fitting together. Jensen sinks backwards on the bed and Jeff follows him, resting a knee against the mattress and catching himself with an elbow near Jensen’s head.

For a span of seconds, it’s perfect, and Jeff never wants to stop -- barriers broken, lines crossed, and no point in going back now. And then he feels Jensen change under him, his body going relaxed and still, and Jeff pulls back to find his eyes closed, his mouth slack and open, and his breathing even. Jeff shakes his head and laughs sardonically at himself, because what else can he do?

“How many’d you have before you got here, kid?” he mutters to no one. Then he sighs, and glances down at Jensen’s lips, and lets himself steal one more tiny kiss before easing back to his feet.

“Won’t even remember this in the morning, how much you wanna bet?” But of course, Jensen is out cold, and Jeff is pretty sure he knows the answer anyway. He tugs Jensen into a more comfortable position on the bed, with some difficulty -- boy must be taking after Jared, because he’s not the skinny thing Jeff remembers from years ago, all filled out. Then he pulls the sheet over Jensen and goes right out of the room without pausing another moment. Too much temptation, and too easy to rationalize it all to himself.

I needed to hear someone fucking breathing and I wanted it to be you...

He lays in bed awake for a long time, telling himself he’s just worried. As it turns out, he’s not that good an actor. He rolls out of bed at some ungodly hour in the morning and pads down the hallway in bare feet and his pajama pants, and he stands outside the door to the guest room for a moment, listening to his own too-loud breaths in the silence. He can’t hear Jensen from here, and that’s all the excuse he needs to open the door and peek in, just to check on him.

Jensen’s still sleeping, but he’s restless now, and the sheet is twisted around his knees. One hand clenches around the pillow. Jeff steps the rest of the way into the room and slides to his knees beside the bed. He’s too old for this, way too old to sit on the floor and watch his friend sleep, he can’t deny the urge. He murmurs wordlessly, shushing Jensen under his breath, and eventually Jensen falls into a deeper sleep. The tenseness around his eyes and mouth eases, his hand relaxes.

Satisfied, Jeff pushes himself up and prays his joints don’t creak. He presses a kiss to Jensen’s forehead and whispers, “Come find me tomorrow.”

He doesn’t even try to sleep again. He goes back out into the living room instead, watching HBO on low volume and tearing through his emergency stash of cigarettes, one after another. Tomorrow his voice will be even rougher than usual, and it’s a sheer stroke of luck he doesn’t have to work. He very carefully keeps himself from glancing toward the guest room, because looking leads to doing, and Jensen makes him fucking stupid. He’s been stupid enough for one day.

Halfway through Back to the Future III, he starts to doze, and he barely manages to put his last smoke out before passing out entirely. Asleep on the couch after all -- his back will punish him for this tomorrow, but apparently tonight it was just meant to be.


Jeff’s been up for a few hours before Jensen makes an appearance. Jeff tries not to look like he’d just been waiting for Jensen to wake up, but the fact that he’s still on the front page of the newspaper probably makes it obvious that he hasn’t been focused. At least, it would make it obvious if Jensen even looked. As it is, Jensen’s attention doesn’t seem to be anywhere but Jeff’s coffeemaker.

“Rough night?” Jeff asks. “Mugs are up and to the left.”

Jensen finds one and pours himself some coffee without even glancing back at Jeff. His shoulders are tense and Jeff isn’t sure whether he’s hiding or just hungover. Or both. Jeff wants to get up and put his hands on those shoulders, rub until they relax, until that look is off Jensen’s face. If anything, he looks worse than last night. He doesn’t answer Jeff, gulping his coffee so fast it has to hurt, and Jeff doesn’t press him. The silence grows long and heavy, and Jeff worries more by the second. Jensen might not be as extroverted as his co-star, but he’s never been particularly quiet either. Finally, Jeff can’t take it any more.

“So,” he says, voice cracking through the quiet kitchen. Jensen stirs, turning his head slightly, but he still doesn’t meet Jeff’s eyes. Jeff sighs. “What now?”

Jensen shrugs. “Back to work. What else?”

“You have a flight?”

“Early Monday. We...I wanted as much time as...fuck. Fuck,” Jensen says, slamming his mug down so hard on the counter it’s amazing it doesn’t shatter.


“And now I get to go back and tell them, and listen to them tell me they’re sorry, and ask me if there’s anything they can do. If I’m okay. Jesus, and Jared... I want to be happy for him, y’know? Even before this. It worked for him. And I just...”

Jensen,” Jeff says, and this time it’s not kind, or cajoling. It’s an order.

At that, finally, Jensen turns and meets Jeff’s eyes, his own wide and surprised.

“Shut up.”

Jensen freezes for a second, then barks out a disbelieving laugh. “What the hell, Jeff?”

Jeff leaves the paper behind and comes closer, right up in Jensen’s space. Jensen’s not small, but Jeff’s bigger, and it’s the best way he has to make the boy pay attention.

“Stop thinking about it. It’s too close. All you’re gonna do is make yourself miserable.”


More miserable, then.”

Jensen shakes his head, eyes incredulous. “And how the fuck am I supposed to do that?”

“Sleep. Drink. Fuck.” Jeff leans an inch closer. “Do the things people do when they’re too raw to touch. You have all weekend. Take it. You can worry about getting your shit together on Monday.”

“Maybe I should go back,” Jensen murmurs. “Maybe I could--”

Jensen, shut up,” Jeff says firmly. “She called you down here to tell you in person. You can’t fix something like this by having a conversation about it the morning after. I know it hurts, but seriously, man, you gotta--”

“I thought talking was good. I thought that was what everyone says to do, to talk shit out. Talk about my fucking feelings until they go away. I’m ready to talk, Jeff! I’ll talk myself hoarse.”

“That’s all you’ll be doing, is talking yourself hoarse. Jen, you gotta accept this.”

This time Jensen throws the mug, and it does shatter. There’s a puddle of coffee and ceramic shards on the floor and Jensen scrubs both hands through his hair, eyes clenched tight.

“I’m not... I’m not this person, Jeff. I thought I was so much better. I thought this shit didn’t happen outside of movies.”

“Well it does, and it sucks,” Jeff says quietly, reaching up to rub Jensen’s arm until he brings his hands down. Jensen finally opens his eyes and looks down at the mess.

“Sorry I broke your mug.”

Jeff hesitates for a long, stretched second, knowing exactly what he wants to say and still not sure if he should say it. But his hand is still on Jensen’s arm, right on the border between the soft cotton sleeve of his t-shirt and warm, freckled skin, and maybe Jensen doesn’t, but Jeff remembers how he tilted his head up for a kiss last night, how he opened his lips and arched himself up like he was dying for it. And it still doesn’t feel right...but maybe it’s right enough.

“Why did you come here, Jensen?” Jeff asks, deadly serious.

Jensen cuts his eyes away. “I just needed somewhere to go, and you...”

“Bullshit. You know a dozen people in this area code alone. Why me?”

“God,” Jensen breathes, like a curse. His head falls, and his eyes flicker back and forth between the floor and Jeff’s hand on his arm. “Fine. You want the truth?” He steels himself and looks defiantly into Jeff’s eyes. “Because when I realized what was happening -- that it wasn’t just a fight, that it was over -- you were the first thing that came into my head. How fucked up is that?”

Closer. Just another inch closer, until Jeff can almost feel Jensen’s breath warm on his face when he talks. He repeats himself, because the answer is coming, but he doesn’t quite have it yet. “Why me, Jensen?”

Jensen closes his eyes and swallows. “Because...because you were my only regret, okay? When we got married. I wanted it, I did...but I always regretted not getting the chance. A chance. With you.”

And maybe it’s insensitive, maybe Jensen’s right and it is completely fucked up...but Jeff can’t help smiling. He lets his fingers drift down Jensen’s arm and takes his hand instead, bringing it up between them and rubbing his thumb slowly over the knuckles. Eventually, his fingers find what they’re looking for -- skin-warmed metal on Jensen’s third finger. His wedding ring.

“What...” Jensen says, alarmed, but Jeff cuts him off.

“Hear me out. I have a proposal.” Jeff winces a little at his own clumsy choice of words, but Jensen doesn’t seem to notice, and he presses on. No going back now. “I want to take this off. Not permanently, just...for now. For the weekend. Take it off and let me hold on to it for you. Give it to me for two days, and on Monday you can have it back, to put on again. Or not. Your choice.”

He feels somehow like he’s not talking just about the ring any more, and he wonders if Jensen understands what he’s offering. He can’t explain it any better than this.

“Like a... like a what-if, right?” Jensen asks quietly. “Like, what if I never got married.”

“If that’s how you want to think of it.”

Jensen takes a deep breath, and it shakes a little on the exhale but Jeff isn’t worried. Not now that Jensen’s eyes are locked on his, not now that Jensen looks hungry. Finally, Jensen nods.

“Take it.”

The ring comes off Jensen’s finger easily; there’s no groove on his hand, no tan line. He takes it off five days a week and has for years. But it’s different this time, and Jeff slips it into his pocket and pats it just to make sure. He’s pleased to see that Jensen doesn’t look wary or unsure. Maybe just overwhelmed.

Jeff reaches forward to slide a hand around the back of Jensen’s neck, in a caress or grip or something in between, and Jensen’s eyes flutter closed. “Now. Gonna let me take care of you, boy?” Jeff asks, voice low and quiet, like telling a secret.

He hardly recognizes Jensen’s voice when he replies -- but the need is the same, a need that’s always been there, right under the surface, just waiting to be acknowledged.


Jeff pulls Jensen in and kisses him, and it’s better than last night; Jensen responds differently, tilts his head and opens up for Jeff’s tongue deliberately, makes a noise low and deep in his throat as he slides his hand up and around Jeff’s back. Jeff leans away for a quick gasp of air and studies Jensen’s face, the sharpness of his eyes as they blink open.

“What are we gonna do?”

“That’s not the question,” Jeff replies. He waits, but Jensen doesn’t answer for several long seconds.

“Then what is?”

“It’s ‘What do you need?’”

Jensen’s lips twitch into a half-smile. “Just you.”

Jeff returns Jensen’s smile with interest and absently strokes Jensen’s neck with his thumb. “Then tell me this instead: what will you let me do?”

Jensen squints a little as he thinks it over, and Jeff is glad he’s taking the question seriously. He knows what he wants, but they only have two days, and that might be all they ever have. He needs this to be enough for both of them. Enough to satisfy Jensen’s curiosity and enough to simply satisfy Jeff.

“I want... I wanna taste you,” Jensen says, cutting his eyes to the side. His cheeks don’t flush but he’s showing his embarrassment clearly enough for Jeff to tighten his hold, squeezing the back of Jensen’s neck as encouragement. Jensen meets his gaze again, looking determined. “And I want you to fuck me.”

“You sure?” Jeff asks, trying desperately to keep his voice neutral.

“I’ve thought about it,” Jensen replies firmly. “Since I met you, I’ve been thinking about it. I want that, if nothing else.”

Jeff gives a quiet groan and leans in to kiss Jensen again, unable to keep himself from tasting Jensen’s mouth now that he can. Jensen’s breathless when Jeff finally pulls away, and he doesn’t open his eyes or close his lips, the picture of sin leaning there against Jeff’s kitchen counter. Jeff makes himself take a step back, though it’s hard to let go of Jensen and he leaves his hand there on his neck until the last possible moment.

When they’re fully separated, Jeff takes a deep breath and asks, “How’re you feeling this morning?”

Jensen raises an eyebrow, and Jeff can see that he’s hard, wanting already, but that’s not what he means and he thinks Jensen knows it. After a moment, Jensen replies, “Hungover. How ‘bout you?”

“You want some breakfast?”

“Didn’t we just clarify what it was I wanted?” Jensen says in a low voice. “I wasn’t teasing, Jeff.” Jensen leans his elbows on the counter, his hips jutting forward. It’s a pose, but there’s a reason it works.

“You don’t waste time, do you?” Jeff murmurs as he lets himself be drawn back into Jensen’s orbit. Jensen shakes his head, lips quirked into a smile. Jeff returns it helplessly and presses himself right up against the long line of Jensen’s body, nosing at the crook of Jensen’s neck and resisting the urge to lick. Jensen smells like sweat and whiskey and coffee, like nerves and thrumming heat burning just under the skin, and Jeff’s hips move of their own volition, thrusting against Jensen through layers of clothes and wringing a moan from Jensen’s throat.

“Gonna be the death of me, boy,” Jeff mutters, gruff and hungry.

“Bed,” Jensen replies. “Please. Don’t wanna wait any more.”

“Go to my room,” Jeff tells him. “Get undressed. I need to get something; I’ll meet you there.” He lets Jensen go with another kiss and can’t resist giving his ass a slap. Jensen doesn’t even flinch. He does look over his shoulder and grin, though. Jeff groans. “Get out of my sight before I fuck you over the counter.”

“Like that’s any motivation to move,” Jensen says, but he disappears down the hall anyway.

Jeff takes a few deep breaths to calm himself down before heading in the same direction. He pauses at the linen closet, though, and finds a beach towel, worn soft and thin in some places, a bottle of scented massage oil, and hand lotion to match. He makes his way toward the bedroom slowly, almost nervous about what he’ll find there. He hasn’t felt nerves like this about sex in a long time. Then again, he could never have predicted Jensen showing up at his door, suddenly present and willing and available. It feels like a dream, like at any moment he’ll wake up hard and aching and alone.

But when Jeff turns the corner into his bedroom, Jensen is still there, naked in Jeff’s bed and more gorgeous than any fantasy. He squirms under Jeff’s heated gaze, clearly struggling not to cover up, and Jeff is struck by how young he seems, how inexperienced. Jeff leaves his props on the foot of the bed and moves to sit, reaching a hand toward smooth, freckled skin. Jensen’s breath catches at the first touch of Jeff’s fingers against his stomach, and his muscles tense, eyes canting downward to watch. Jeff’s no longer desperate, no longer out of control, and it feels right to take his time, petting Jensen in long, slow strokes, feeling him relax, the tension going out of him with every exhale. When he’s pliant again, his eyes closed and his legs falling open just a hint further, Jeff draws his fingers up over Jensen’s chest, his nipples, soft and sensitive and hardening beautifully under Jeff’s touch. He leans down to suck, and this time Jensen doesn’t shy away, just arches up into Jeff’s mouth, offering himself to Jeff for the taking. It’s that offering, that permission that goes right to Jeff’s cock, and suddenly it’s too hot in the room, his clothes stifling, and he pulls back and stands to strip them hurriedly off.

Jensen is still pliant on the bed, waiting with his eyes closed as Jeff finishes and kicks his clothes out of the way. Jeff reaches for him, drags his hand down from Jensen’s sternum to the rasp of hair beneath his belly button. Jensen’s eyes blink open before he can get any further, and Jeff’s caught by his gaze. Jensen’s eyes seem brilliantly green in the reflected light from the window, shining even when half his face is in shadow.

Jeff shakes himself into motion, looking for the towel instead of into Jensen’s eyes. He nudges Jensen’s hip and murmurs, “Lift,” and Jensen does, immediately, his back bowing and his feet firmly planted, spread apart on the bed. Jeff manages to get the towel under him, spread mostly flat except up by his shoulders, and he strokes Jensen’s thigh to get him settled again. Jensen’s legs spread a little at Jeff’s touch, already opening himself up for more, so Jeff reaches for the bottle of oil, spreads a puddle of it in his palm to warm it.

He lets a lot of the oil drip across Jensen’s chest and belly, watching as it slides into the shallow dips and grooves and down to the towel underneath. He strokes his hand through the glistening tracks, smearing them around until Jensen is covered. The sharp tang of cinnamon fills the room as Jeff rubs it into Jensen’s skin, pressing hard into Jensen’s pecs and down his sides. Jensen rolls his head back and Jeff can feel the moan building inside him, feel the vibrations of his chest as he lets it out. He leans over, crawling fully onto the bed, and mouths at the hollow of his clavicle.

Jensen moans again at that and Jeff sees his right hand shift on the bed, but he doesn’t touch Jeff or himself. Jeff smiles; he never set any rules, this fits, this works, and if Jensen is willing to obey, then all the better for both of them. Jeff dips his tongue into that hollow again and drags it up Jensen’s throat, up to the underside of his jaw.

“Jesus, fuck, your--your beard,” Jensen gasps.

“Good?” Jeff asks.

“Oh fuck yes. I didn’t--I forgot. I didn’t know it would feel like that.”

Jeff drops a kiss to Jensen’s lips before moving back down to tease his nipples into hard points. He can taste the weird chemical mix of the oil and the cinnamon and Jensen’s skin, and he’s so warm, so hot that he feels like he’s going to burn up before this is over. Jensen is squirming under him again, but Jeff doesn’t think he’s embarrassed any more -- his hips are rolling now, thrusting his cock up against Jeff’s stomach, looking for friction, for relief. And part of Jeff wants to give him what he needs, reach down and take Jensen’s cock in one oil-slick hand and stroke him right over the edge. But this is too delicious, Jensen aching and increasingly desperate, and Jeff grins wickedly against Jensen’s skin.

Jensen must feel it, because he laughs darkly and groans and whines, looking down at Jeff beseechingly. “Said I didn’t want to wait, you bastard,” he says, breathy and soft, and Jeff laughs back.

“Ready for me, huh?” Jeff asks, dropping a hand between Jensen’s legs and sliding one finger behind his balls, feeling for his hole. Jensen gasps sharply, but he doesn’t tense and he doesn’t try to close his legs, keep Jeff out. Jeff licks up the arc of Jensen’s neck and ends up at his lips, biting gently at the plush, swollen flesh and murmuring into Jensen’s mouth. “Yeah, you’re ready. You can’t wait to get me inside you. Gonna stretch you for me, all wet and open, and then I’m gonna fuck you. And you know what I’m gonna do then?”

“No, I dunno...what, fucking anything...” Jensen babbles, barely coherent, eyelashes fluttering wildly and driving Jeff to distraction.

“Gonna see if you come on my cock. You’re pretty desperate, sweetheart. Bet I can get you there.”

“Is that...” Jensen trails off before he can finish the question, and Jeff’s not sure if he even knew what the question was going to be. “Okay, yeah, do that, yes.”

Jeff reaches for the oil again and dribbles some over Jensen’s thighs, up one and across his hips, then down the other, and Jensen’s muscles twitch as the drops slide down between his legs. Jensen’s cock is wet, dripping all on its own, and Jeff swipes his fingers through the precome slicking the head and brings them to his mouth.

“You taste better than this shit,” Jeff says, shaking the bottle.

“Oh god, Jeff, come on, come on, you’re killing me, please.”

Smirking, Jeff takes hold of Jensen’s leg, gripping him firmly just below the knee, and pushes up. Jensen takes the hint and raises his other leg too, curling in on himself until his knees are nearly touching his shoulders. Jeff’s mouth goes dry.

“Hold there,” he says. “Just stay like that.”

A thick bead of precome drips down from Jensen’s cock onto his belly and Jeff wants to touch, wants it so bad, but he has other plans. He can’t give up on those plans now, not with how well Jensen’s playing into them. He pours another puddle of the oil into his palm and dips his fingertips into it. He’s slow about it, drawing out each motion, and Jensen starts to bite his lip, his gaze flicking from Jeff’s fingers up to his face and back again.

“Is it--Will it burn?”

“The cinnamon, you mean?”

“The... Well, that too.”

Jeff raises his eyebrows, a little surprised. “You’ve never... not by yourself?” Jensen shakes his head and Jeff continues. “This stuff is harmless, trust me. And as far as the rest of it...I won’t hurt you, Jensen.”

The words end up more serious than Jeff had intended, like maybe they’re talking about more than sex, even naked in bed with Jensen holding his legs open -- and fuck, Jeff will never get over that sight, not as long as he lives. Jensen’s eyes are wide and intense, staring hotly into Jeff’s, and after a moment, he nods.

“Okay?” Jeff asks, teasing one fingertip around the rim of Jensen’s hole.

“Yes, yeah, I want...just go slow.”

Jeff lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and keeps his eyes on Jensen’s face as he begins -- easy, so easy -- to press inside. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The slick oil makes it so easy to push one finger in, and in, and in, all the way, and Jeff has to restrain himself from adding another too quickly. He thrusts with one finger, a slow in-and-out that makes Jensen’s breath hitch and stutter, before pulling out and playing around the rim, dripping more oil from his palm until Jensen’s slick all over, shining with the wetness. With two fingers, he slides over and around Jensen’s hole, teasing and coaxing Jensen open for him. He dips one finger into Jensen, then comes right back with the second, and they both go in so easy again. He can feel Jensen’s muscles fluttering, tensing and releasing, but it’s not resistance, it’s just a perfect, slippery clench around his fingers.

Jeff scissors them as he plays, stretching Jensen open slowly, and he can hear the wet squelch of the oil as his fingers slide and twist against each other, against Jensen’s skin. Everything smells sharply of cinnamon and Jeff leans down for a quick taste, dragging his tongue up from Jensen’s perineum to his balls.

The wet sounds are clearer now as Jeff adds a third finger, tucks them all together and spreads them carefully, smearing the oil inside and out, and Jeff moans with his lips against Jensen’s balls.

“J-Jesus,” Jensen stutters. “Can you... Oh, fuck, touch me, please.”

“Not yet.”

“I’m gonna come, I swear to God, Jeff, please just--”

“Not yet,” Jeff says again. “But begging might help your case.”

“You gonna give in?”

“Nope. But it never hurts to try.” Jeff pulls his fingers out and rubs them over Jensen’s hole, then shifts his hand and slides his thumb in instead. “You have any idea how fucking gorgeous you look like this, boy?”

Jeff waits, but Jensen can’t seem to find words. His face is gleaming with sweat, and he’s panting, quick, shallow breaths that must be making him lightheaded. As Jeff watches, he pulls his legs back just an inch further, saying with his body what he can’t otherwise, silent begging that does more to move Jeff than any simple please. He takes his hand from Jensen’s ass and wraps it tight around his own cock instead, not stroking, just taking the worst of the edge off, getting himself back under control. He feels almost as strung out as Jensen looks, and he has to force himself to take a few careful breaths to keep from going off like an untouched teenager.

When he can think again, Jeff realizes he doesn’t have a condom, and there’s a moment of panic while he reaches up over Jensen’s body to search blindly through the top drawer of the bedside table, hoping like hell he’s got some left. He honestly doesn’t know if he can stop at this point, and Jensen is totally gone, and fuck, that doesn’t leave anyone as the responsible person in this room.

Just as he’s about to give up, he finds the distinctive shape he’s looking for and sits back on the bed with a rush of relief. He rips the packet open with his teeth, a move that he’s always thought looked stupid in porn but is actually turning out to be pretty practical considering his oil-drenched hands. It works, thank God, and in the next moment he’s ready and slicked-up and surging up to seat himself between Jensen’s legs, chest to sweaty chest and lips crashing together, hot and wet and perfect.

His cock slides in easy, just like his fingers had, and Jeff stops thinking completely as he thrusts in, letting the tight clench of Jensen around him take over his senses. Jensen lets his legs drop; one rests on Jeff’s shoulder, his calf pressed against Jeff’s neck, and the other slides down around Jeff until he has to curl his arm under Jensen’s knee to hold him up. Jensen’s arms come up around Jeff’s back, sliding down to his ass, and Jensen pulls him in hard, holding them together.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Jeff groans. “I can’t... I can’t think, are you...”

“I’m close, I want--Touch me, please, Jeff, please touch me now, I need you.”

Jeff groans and finds a rhythm, ramping up harder and harder now that he’s started, and Jensen’s fingers go tight. He moans loudly as each thrust drives home, and Jeff wants to change it up, shift to maybe make this easier on Jensen, better for him, but he’s at the point now where pulling out might not even be possible. He can’t bring himself to do anything but fuck, and he’s so close now -- but he’s determined to make Jensen come first.

He drives his hands between Jensen’s body and the bed, grabbing his ass and hauling him up. The new angle lets him fuck harder, deeper, drilling into Jensen fast and rough and leaning down to whisper filth into his ear at the same time, all the things that have been rattling around in his brain ever since he first saw Jensen all those years ago, smiling at him in the cold Vancouver sun. All the things he’s never let himself say.

“Been waiting for you, Jen, waiting so long for you to come to me, realize this is what you always fucking wanted. And you love it, don’t you, love the way I feel in you? Fucking made for it, made for me.” Jensen’s crying out in high, broken sounds, and Jeff can feel the end coming, rushing toward them like a freight train, whether he’s ready for it or not. He lets his hips go, his thrusts getting sloppy and desperate, fingers digging bruises into the soft flesh of Jensen’s ass, and listens to Jensen fracture under him. “Now show me how much you love it, boy. Come for me. Come on my cock, I wanna feel it, come on. Give it all to me -- just let it go.”

He feels the change in Jensen’s reactions almost immediately. Jensen starts moving in counterpoint to Jeff’s thrusts, bearing down on his cock and rolling his hips, clinging to Jeff’s arms and around his back. His cock slides against Jeff’s belly, caught between them, and Jeff knows it isn’t much friction, but Jensen’s grinding against him, completely shameless now about getting what he needs to come without either of their hands touching him.

Jeff is almost surprised when he feels the wet splash of Jensen’s come on his skin, and he ducks down to catch the long, unsteady groan as it leaves Jensen’s lips. He thrusts his tongue into Jensen’s mouth, bringing him down easy and slowing the rhythm of his hips to match. Then he lets Jensen’s legs slide down around him and leans back, dragging his hands down Jensen’s body and through the messy smears of come and massage oil on his chest.

“God, Jensen,” he rasps, “that was amazing. You’re amazing. So good for me.” Jeff lets his hand wander down to brush over Jensen’s wet, spent cock, and hisses as Jensen gasps and clenches around him, so fucking tight.

“Not done yet,” Jensen replies, hooking his feet around Jeff’s back and arching his body prettily under Jeff’s hands. “C’mon, want you to do it inside me.”

At that, Jeff growls, honest to god growls, and takes Jensen by the shoulders, dragging him down into every thrust, finally letting himself take exactly what he needs. And God, he can’t fucking shut up, even now, but Jensen doesn’t seem to mind, every part of his body spurring Jeff on.

“Gonna do it bare one of these days,” Jeff says, a dark, urgent rush of words all spilling out on top of each other. “Fuck you with nothing between us, and you’ll really feel it then, shooting up inside you and dripping out wet after. You want that, Jensen? Want me to mark you up inside, make you, fuck, make you smell like me?”

It’s stupid and crazy and Jeff doesn’t even know what he’s saying, but Jensen, all Jensen does is open his mouth, pretty pink cocksucking mouth, and say, “Oh Jesus Christ yes...”

And that’s all it takes, and Jeff thrusts one last time and holds, pulsing deep inside Jensen over and over, a span of mindless seconds that make all the work, all the preparation, all the aches he’ll feel tomorrow completely and assuredly worth it. Jensen keeps perfectly still, his eyes closed, like he’s savoring it, and even when Jeff finally begins to come down, he doesn’t want to move, to break the perfect stillness of this moment.

Then Jensen angles his head for a kiss, and Jeff can’t deny him. He’s getting the feeling he won’t be able to deny Jensen anything ever again.

“So, that was...” Jensen says after a few moments of sated silence.

“Next word out of your mouth better be good,” Jeff mumbles.

“I was going to say mindblowing, but if you want good, I could say good instead.”

Jeff turns his head and sets his mouth against Jensen’s throat, scraping his teeth over the thudding pulse point he feels there. He won’t leave marks, not this time, but he wants to. “Wish I could mark you up, make you mine.”

“You could,” Jensen says quietly.

Jeff doesn’t want to remind Jensen of his situation, of what brought him here nearly in tears and drunk out of his mind, not now when he looks so satisfied and calm, so he just hums a neutral acknowledgement and continues down, kissing what he can reach of Jensen’s collarbone and shoulder. When the cramped position gets to be too much, he shuffles back on his knees and pulls out, slipping off the condom carefully and dropping it into the trashcan by the bed. Jensen sprawls, limbs starfished out to the four corners of the bed, and smiles at him.

“It was good?” Jeff asks.

“You have to ask?” He reaches for Jeff with one hand, stroking his fingertips up Jeff’s arm until he gets a grip strong enough to pull Jeff down on top of him. With his mouth near Jeff’s ear, he whispers, “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to--”

“I’ve wanted this for a long time. Wanted it with you. But that’s not all, I mean... Thank you for being here, I guess. Taking care of me.”

Jeff tugs the towel out from under Jensen’s hips and starts blotting up the remnants of the oil and come staining his skin. When Jensen is dry, Jeff swipes the towel over his own stomach, dries off his hands, and tosses the towel in the general direction of his pile of clothes. He settles himself next to Jensen, tugging a sheet up over them and pulling Jensen easily into his arms when it’s clear that’s where he wants to be. As tired and satisfied as he is, Jeff fights against sleep, breathing in the scent of Jensen’s hair and pressing kiss after kiss against his temple. He thinks Jensen might have been about to say more, but his breathing is already growing slow and steady, and his eyes are closed, long eyelashes laying still against his cheeks. Whatever it is will have to wait until after they sleep -- if Jensen remembers it at all.

Jeff stays there for a long time, holding Jensen and trying not to think about tomorrow. Eventually, when it’s clear sleep is just another pipe-dream for him, he untangles himself gently from Jensen’s unconscious form and sits up on the side of the bed. His discarded clothes are in a pile at his feet, and without quite knowing why, Jeff reaches down to rummage in the pocket of his jeans, finding Jensen’s wedding ring and pulling it out to examine. It shines as he turns it between his fingers, catching the sunlight, and Jeff watches the gleam shift, back and forth, round and round.

In a few hours, Jensen will wake up, and reality will set back in. Jensen will still be married, and he will still have to get on a plane in another day and go back to work, somewhere Jeff can’t follow. He sighs, and looks back over his shoulder at the sleeping figure in his bed, wondering if maybe he should just get up and leave Jensen to sleep.

But the sheet has slipped off Jensen’s body, and he’s shivering in the cool air, and Jeff is moving before he can think twice about it, wrapping Jensen back up in his own encompassing heat. He’s already settled and comfortable before he remembers the ring in his hand, and by then he doesn’t want to move again. This feels too good to disturb, even by reaching out and setting the ring on the nightstand. Instead, Jeff flips it in his hand and blindly finds a finger it fits onto. Just somewhere to keep it safe. Just for now.

He wakes to sunlight, and gentle fingers touching his hand, and Jensen’s wide eyes staring into his, laden with meaning, with unspoken words. With a decision Jeff’s not sure he’s ready to hear.

Jensen takes Jeff’s hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing his fingers, and his palm, and finally the ring that doesn’t belong to Jeff at all, never looking away for a second.

“Keep it,” he whispers. “It fits.”

And, despite everything, Jeff smiles. “Yeah,” he replies. “Yeah. It does.”