Work Header

All You Have To Do Is Open Your Eyes

Work Text:

The new guy Clay wants on their team is freaking out.

Oh, he’s being totally stoic and silent about it, but Jensen has been eying the rigid line of his spine, expecting it to snap if it gets any stiffer for the past twenty minutes, and he knows he’s right.

“More coffee?” the waitress asks, stopping at the edge of their booth, right next to Clay, and smiling a smile meant only for him.

“Yeah,” Roque says, shoving his coffee mug toward her.

She refills it without looking away from Clay, leaving Clay to smirk at Roque and slide it back. Jensen really has to wonder what it is about Clay that makes women weak at the knees; Jensen isn’t immune to the odd going-wobbly-for-a-guy thing himself, but Clay really doesn’t do it for him.

“Jensen, get your damn elbow out of your damn eggs,” Clay barks, barely glancing at him and oh, yeah, maybe that’s why.

Jensen removes his elbow, wiping it off best as he can on the shiny vinyl table, and leans back to watch the new guy pretend not to be watching everyone else in the diner, one by one. He stops and stares for a long time at this little kid in the corner, who’s munching happily on a short stack of pancakes, like he’s checking in case he turns out to be the next big threat.

“Anything more to eat for you, boys?” the waitress asks. She grins over at Jensen. “More eggs?”

“Always more eggs,” Jensen agrees grandly. “Over easy, under easy, eggs are easily the best.” Roque kicks him. Jensen thinks that’s kind of unfair.

Everyone orders seconds then the waitress stops, looking at New Guy – Alvarez, C, not actually christened New Guy – and waiting.

New Guy looks back at her. He doesn’t speak.

It doesn’t exactly get awkward because they’re the Losers and they don’t do awkward, but everyone kind of tenses a bit, wondering if Alvarez is going to go all John McClane on their favourite diner.

Jensen really hopes he isn’t.

After a minute, Alvarez shakes his head, just barely, and sinks back against the cheap plastic seat cushion. His eyes flick back to the kid in the corner and oh, okay, yeah, that’s why Jensen’s a genius.

“He’ll have the pancakes,” Jensen says, before the waitress can put her pad away.

Everyone turns to look at him. Alvarez raises one eyebrow, but he doesn’t protest.

Yeah, Jensen decides, nodding to himself, I’m good. Guy definitely wants the pancakes.


The first mission that the five of them go on all together is kind of a disaster.

Jensen doesn’t want to point fingers or anything, but their intel is fucking stupid and the drug-runners they’re chasing aren’t exactly running.

Well, they are. But toward Jensen’s team, rather than away. He’s not a big fan of this development.

He flings himself into the river, laptop held high above his head to keep it dry, and forces his way across, trying to pretend that the thundering cascade trying to knock him off his feet is just a gentle mountain stream and that the things that squelch underfoot are leaves not leaches.

Bullets start flying across the river toward him before he’s halfway across and Jensen gives up on stealth to break into a run, charging his way up the bank.

Alvarez appears out of absolutely nowhere – a tree, Jensen thinks he dropped down out of a tree, maybe? – landing on his knees in the mud beside Jensen and providing cover while Pooch grabs Jensen by the wrist and drags him back behind the treeline.

“Fucking ambush,” Roque grunts at Jensen like he might have missed that somehow.

“No really, tell me more,” Jensen bitches, then shuts up when Clay shoves a Glock into his hands.

He turns around and fires over the top of Alvarez’s head, yelling at him to come the hell back already.

There’s a second where Alvarez freezes and the metronome-regular beat of his whip-crack shots falters but then he’s scrambling back toward them, keeping low under Jensen’s covering fire.

Not bad teamwork, Jensen thinks, grinning at Alvarez when he stumbles through the mud to join them.

Alvarez doesn’t smile back, but then Alvarez doesn’t smile.

“Okay, let’s move,” Clay says. “I’m on point; Pooch take our six.”

They set off at a steady pace, jogging along like they can’t hear the occasional crunch of leaves and rustle of branches as scary jungle critters try to keep them company.

“Hey,” Jensen says, bumping his elbow into Alvarez’s. “Gracias for the rescue.”

“De nada,” Alvarez replies, but it comes out tight, strained, and Jensen glances over quickly. The way Alvarez is holding his left arm against his side looks weird.

“You okay, man?” Jensen asks, trying to stop for a second, to get a better look.

Pooch yells at him to keep moving and Alvarez doesn’t slow anyway, so it doesn’t do Jensen any good.

“Hey, guys,” Jensen calls, raising his voice just enough to be heard, but hopefully not enough to carry. “Alvarez needs to stop a sec.”

When Alvarez turns to stare at Jensen, he looks a mix of confused and betrayed. “I do not,” he argues, maybe the first time he’s talked to the whole team all at once.

“Jensen?” Clay asks.

“Pretty sure he’s been shot, sir,” Jensen says, ignoring the way Alvarez’s confused look turns into one of surprise. If he didn’t want anyone to notice, he shouldn’t be so damn obvious about it.

“Sergeant?” Clay snaps.

“I’m fine,” Alvarez says immediately and that’s such a damn lie that Jensen reaches out automatically, jabbing him in the side he’s clearly protecting.

Alvarez goes down to his knees like a hanged man after the rope’s been cut, both hands going to his side where blood’s starting to seep through his fingers.

He still doesn’t make a sound of complaint.


“Hey, man,” Jensen says, when they’re on the medevac chopper back home and Alvarez is half-unconscious on the gurney to Jensen’s right.

For some reason, the others said Jensen had to be the one who flew back with Alvarez while they waited for the regular transporter. Jensen didn’t get it then, and he doesn’t get it now, but hey, it means he’ll get to hit the showers an hour earlier so he’s sure as hell not complaining.

Alvarez turns his head and just looks at Jensen.

That doesn’t put Jensen off talking. “I’m sorry I jabbed you,” Jensen tells him, because ‘jabbed’ is a way better word than ‘poked’, less Facebook-y.

Alvarez shrugs. “No pasa nada. Nad más una agonia insoportable.”

Jensen frowns. “Okay, I heard ‘agony’, but also heard ‘it’s okay’, so… are you trying to tell me you like pain? Is that what you’re telling me here?”

That earns him a really pronounced roll of Alvarez’s eyes. Jensen is delighted. “I said that it was okay, it was only a little blinding agony. You speak Japanese and Urdu and Romanian; why do you not speak better Spanish?”

That is the most Jensen has ever heard Alvarez speak. He knows it’s probably because of the morphine, but he likes to think it might be because of him.

“Because everyone at my high school learned Spanish and I figured I might have a chance at a better job if I spoke something more unusual,” Jensen tells him, shrugging. “Plus, I was bored a lot in college.”

Alvarez actually smiles. It turns out he has a fucking beautiful smile and Jensen feels his eyes widening without his permission.

“Alvarez,” he starts but Alvarez shakes his head.

“Cougar,” he says, which doesn’t make a lot of sense to Jensen, but then Jensen isn’t the one on pain meds with a bullet in the spleen.

“Puma?” Jensen tries. Maybe they’re playing word association.

Another eye roll. Jensen could maybe get addicted to those. “No,” Alvarez says, waving a hand and frowning when it pulls on the IV needle stuck in the back of it. “Once, a long time ago, I had a platoon. They called me Cougar.”

“Oh.” Jensen swallows. He knows what happened to Cougar’s platoon in Afghanistan; everyone knows that. “Oh! Right! That’s… That’s a pretty cool nickname, dude.”

Alvarez nods then tips his head, looking at Jensen. When he nods again, it seems more decisive.

He doesn’t say anything else, even though Jensen tries to wait him out. In the end, Jensen gets bored and guesses, “You want me to ask you why?”

Alvarez frowns. “No. No, I do not tell that story.”

Right. And Jensen guesses that everyone who would happily tell that story is now dead. He smiles uncertainly at Alvarez, who just about smiles back and, okay, Jensen is an idiot.

“Can I call you Cougar?” he asks. He feels kind of awkward, so he reaches out and fiddles with the brim of Alvarez’s hat, which is currently sitting on Alvarez’s chest.

Alvarez reaches out and raps Jensen on the knuckles with the flat of his palm. “You can,” he says, seriously, “but you cannot touch the hat.”


Life in Clay’s team isn’t all marching across jungles and running through rivers. Sometimes, they have fuck all to do and spend their time cooling their heels on base.

Jensen’s bored.

Jensen’s not the only one, he knows that, but he’s definitely the loudest about it.

“Swear to God, J, I love you, but I’m gonna shoot you in a minute,” Pooch groans. He kicks out the chair across their rickety wooden table from him and slaps a pack of cards down on the table. “Sit.”

Jensen sits. “What are we playing?”

Pooch starts shuffling the cards. “Spades?”

“Awesome.” Jensen grins. “Me and Cougar versus you and Roque?” He leans back and grins at Cougar, who’s moved permanently onto the windowsill. “Cougs? Want in.”

“Okay, no,” Pooch says, holding up his hands, “there is no way I’m gambling for money against you two.”

Jensen frowns, leaning across the table to make wide, concerned eyes at Pooch. “Is it because we’re just that fucking good?” he asks.

“No.” Pooch knocks the edge of the pack once, twice against the table. “It’s because I’m pretty sure you can read each other’s damn minds.”

Jensen keeps his grin in place, but he stops paying full attention because he’s confused. Sure, he always seems to know what Cougar’s shrugs and eyebrow lifts and hat tilts mean, but that’s because they’re a team. Everyone here can read Cougar like that, right?

“What? No.” Jensen laughs. He’s kind of nervous, which is weird; he doesn’t know why. “Cougar’s just a mass of tells, that’s all.”

That gets Cougar’s attention. He pushes his hat up far enough that Jensen can see his whole face for once, then raises both eyebrows.

“Right, see, right there.” Jensen points. “That means that he’s maybe gonna kill me, but he’s interested enough in what I’m saying to let me go on a bit longer.”

Cougar’s eyes narrow and Jensen laughs.

“And that means that he’s pissed because I got that one right.”

Pooch throws his hands up in disgust and goes to join Roque at the dartboard. Jensen doesn’t care. He won, which is the most important thing.

Second most important is the fact that Cougar hasn’t stopped looking at him.

“What?” Jensen asks, feeling strangely defensive. It’s not his fault that Cougar is like an open book.

“Nothing,” Cougar says and actually takes his hat off, moving from his seat to the chair opposite Jensen’s. He picks up the pack of cards that Pooch left behind. “You know how to play Mississippi stud?”

“I do not,” Jensen says, leaning forward. “Gonna teach me?”

Cougar looks at him from under his thick, dark eyelashes and smirks. “I’m going to teach you how to cheat,” he says, waving his hands in the universal motion of same difference.

“Even better,” Jensen says, and settles in to learn some more of Cougar’s tells.


In a dive bar in Tulsa, Jensen meets the only girl in the Northern Hemisphere who’s prepared to flirt with him. (The Southern Hemisphere isn’t looking too great either, but he’s holding out hope for Antarctica.)

Her name’s Caroline. She’s really, really hot.

“That’s the whole point,” she says excitedly, leaning across the table and gripping Jensen’s hand, “would you want to risk going back and potentially killing your grandfather? I know I wouldn’t.”

She’s also apparently a science geek. Jensen thinks it might be Christmas.

“You know,” Jensen says slowly, “I’d probably risk it. What’s life without a little danger, right?”

She laughs. “On your own potentially-non-existent head be it.”

She hasn’t let go of his hand. Jensen squeezes her fingers and is about unleash his suave and sophisticated array of chat-up lines (shut up, he is) when he glances over her shoulder and catches sight of Cougar, sitting alone at the bar.

He does not look happy.

“Hey,” Jensen says, leaning over and talking right up against her ear. “I gotta go check on my buddy. I’ll be right back.”

She shrugs, reaching for his bottle of beer. “Bring more drinks.”

Jensen salutes sloppily and grins. He might maybe be in love, he decides.

Cougar’s eyes trail Jensen the whole way from the table over to the bar. His elbows are braced back on the bar and his legs are splayed on either side of his stool. Jensen’s kind of amazed he isn’t surrounded by gorgeous ladies of his own, to be honest.

“You look sad, Sergeant Cougar,” Jensen says, leaning on the bar beside him. “Strike out?”

Cougar doesn’t answer, just raises his hand in the air, and two shots of whiskey magically appear on the between them.

Jensen reaches out for one, but Cougar picks up his own drink, downs it, and slams his glass down on top of Jensen’s hand, all in approximately the time it takes Jensen to blink.

“Okay,” Jensen says slowly. “So that one’s not for me. All the whiskey for Cougs, that’s cool too.”

“It’s for your new lady friend,” Cougar tells him, waving over at her with the hand not currently pining Jensen’s to the bar. Jensen’s just lucky Cougar didn’t have a knife handy, he guesses.

“What, no!” Jensen gives Cougar his best glare. “You can’t swoop in, all like dark and mysterious and handsome, and steal her away with one drink. She likes me.”

Cougar’s eyebrows do a weird wiggle thing after Jensen says handsome, one that Jensen can’t parse. He refuses to be embarrassed though; he can appreciate that he works with a team of handsome men – and Clay – if he wants to.

“I am not trying to steal your girl, Jensen,” Cougar says, in a tone that implies he thinks he’s being impressively patient with Jensen’s stupidity. “I am rewarding her for having good taste.”

Jensen blinks.

Then he frowns.

“I… can’t work out where the insult to me is in there?” he admits. There has to be one. Otherwise Cougar just said a nice thing for no reason and Jensen’s friends don’t do that.

Cougar smiles elliptically. “Take your lady her drink,” he says and slouches down further on his stool, heels braced against the floor. If Jensen tried that, he’d slide straight off onto his ass.

Still confused, Jensen picks up the shot and takes it back to Caroline.

“Who’s your friend?” she asks him, downing the shot in one.

“Guy I work with,” Jensen says automatically, even though that doesn’t begin to cover what Cougar is to him.

A couple of synapses in his brain tingle, telling him he’s getting an incoming thought, but he’s distracted by Caroline nudging her knee against his.

“You want to come back to my apartment?” she asks. “I have more liquor and the music’s better.”

Jensen was actually kind of enjoying the old school 80s hair rock playing from the jukebox but hell yes does he want to go back to her apartment.


Actually, he’s kind of distracted by Cougar still. He hates knowing that something important happened and that he missed it. Jensen’s smart, he doesn’t normally miss things, the only things he’s really bad at are relationships and –


“I definitely do,” he tells her, “but can you hold that thought for one minute? Maybe less?” He holds up his finger to show her how very, very fast his single minute will be.

She waves him off. “Does your friend want to join us?”

Now there’s a thought. “I’ll check,” Jensen says and strides back over to Cougar.

Cougar doesn’t look so amused this time.

“Do you want to come have a threesome with me and the hottest girl in Oklahoma?” Jensen asks, because he only has a minute so why beat around the bush.

Cougar’s eyebrows are long gone under the rim of his hat. “No,” he says and starts to turn away.

Jensen takes his life into his hands and grabs him by the shoulder. “You totally want to fuck me, though, right?”

Jensen might be wrong about this, he might, but there’s also the chance that he might be right and he’s got to know.

Cougar goes very still. It’s similar to the way he freezes just before he kills someone, but it’s less focused, more… Is Cougar scared?

“Because that’s okay,” Jensen rushes on, “that is way more than okay. That’s like, like if Santa and the Easter bunny and Apple decided to get together and make the perfect iJensen gift.”

Cougar doesn’t look convinced. Or maybe Jensen’s just grabbed the wrong end of the stick with both hands and is about to get burned.

“You have someone waiting for you,” Cougar says quietly. “You should go home with her.”

“No, wait.” Jensen flails uselessly for a second. He likes Caroline a lot, but he met her today. He’s known Cougar for close on a year and he never thought he’d have anything like a shot with him.

This is mind-blowing and confusing and Jensen maybe needs to lock himself in a dark room for a few hours to recover.

Cougar doesn’t say anything, just points over his shoulder at where Caroline’s still sitting, looking impatient.

Not knowing what else to do, Jensen says, “Yeah, okay,” and goes back to her.

“You’re not coming home with me,” she says, before he can say a word. “Are you?”

Jensen winces. “You have no idea how much I want to.”

Caroline snorts and shakes her head at him. “Sure, I do,” she says, “I’m awesome.”

“You are,” he agrees miserably. “You’re just… I’m not sure what I…”

She pats him on the arm. “Good luck with your breakdown, baby,” she says and gets up from the table and walks out of his life.

Jensen sinks down into her vacated seat and groans. When he looks up at the bar, Cougar is gone too so Jensen groans again.

He feels like he’s losing control of his life really quickly.


They get called out on a mission before Jensen can corner Cougar and demand a talk. Or sex. Jensen would be more than happy with just sex and no talking.

It’s thirty-three days in the Hindu Kush mountain range, which is cold, miserable, beautiful, and leaves Cougar even quieter than normal.

They stop over in Germany on the way home and the army puts them up in an actual hotel, with actual running water and clean sheets. It’s amazing.

Jensen’s showers the last thirty-three days off his skin, then muscles his way into Cougar’s room.

Well, he picks the lock, but that’s Jensen’s favourite type of muscle, so.

Cougar is sitting on his bed, hair damp and curling down his back, staring at the space where his TV would be, if he’d opened the cabinet doors in front of it.

“I had a whole thing planned out to say to you,” Jensen tells him, kicking off his shoes and sitting next to Cougar on the bed.

Cougar’s feet are bare. It doesn’t look right. Jensen wants to protect him, even though he has no damn clue what from or even if Cougar would let him.

“Don’t,” Cougar says.

Jensen shakes his head. “Wasn’t going to.” He settles in next to Cougar and joins him in staring at absolutely nothing. “That’s a cool piece of lint, right,” he says, pointing at the air in front of them.

Cougar closes his eyes for a long second. It’s what he does when he isn’t quite ready to smile.

“So I’m just gonna nap here,” Jensen announces. “It’s comfortable. Don’t make too much noise; you know what you’re like. Loudest motherfucker I know.”

Cougar still doesn’t say anything, but his body relaxes, his shoulder resting just a millimetre away from Jensen’s. Jensen closes the gap, leaning into Cougar’s side. Cougar doesn’t push him away.


Turns out that when Jensen joked about napping, he wasn’t exactly joking.

He wakes up disoriented but really fucking warm to a pitch-black room and has a moment of disoriented panic before he tunes into the soft snores to his left and the buzzing drone from the minifridge in the corner.

Cougar, right. Hotel, right.

Wait. Cougar. Cougar is sleeping against Jensen’s side, head heavy on Jensen’s shoulder and his hair getting all up and static-y in Jensen’s face.

Jensen holds his breath, which is clearly the wrong thing to do, because Cougar wakes with a start three seconds later.

“Sorry,” Jensen whispers and Cougar relaxes again, all in rush. “You’re not sleeping on a corpse, dude, don’t panic.”

“¿Estás respirando?” Cougar asks, voice thick from sleeping. He never normally sleeps so deep on missions that he can’t snap straight out of it, so Jensen’s never heard him sound croaky and middle-of-the-night rough before.

“Yeah, I’m totally breathing,” Jensen promises. He shifts, sneaking his arm out from behind Cougar’s back because it’s starting to tingle. Then he realises that he doesn’t know where to put it.

He takes a minute to wonder how brave he’s feeling, then reminds himself that he’s sleeping in a bed beside Cougar and they’re all alone, and lets his arm drape along Cougar’s shoulders.

He’s pretty smooth, he thinks.

Cougar mutters, still half-asleep and turns in towards Jensen, head settling more comfortably on Jensen’s shoulder.

Jensen wants to stop breathing again, except he learned his lesson on that a minute ago. “Yeah, okay,” he says, tentatively touching Cougar’s hair. “This is good.”

“Jensen,” Cougar murmurs.

“Yeah?” Jensen asks. “Yes? That’s me.”

Cougar’s lips form a shape against Jensen’s neck that Jensen thinks might be a smile. “If you are quiet and you let me go back to sleep right now, we can have sex in the morning.”

Okay then.

Now Jensen has a lot of say. He doesn’t though, he bites his lips firmly closed, because ohmygod, he is not stupid enough to pass up on an offer like that.


Cougar’s mouth tastes like he hasn’t cleaned his teeth yet this morning, and his hair keeps falling into Jensen’s eyes, no matter how many times Jensen reaches up and pushes it back for him.

Sex with Cougar is amazing.

“Fuck,” Jensen groans, arching up into all of Cougar’s glorious, warm, naked skin. “Fuck, fuck, please can we fuck?”

“Si,” Cougar breathes into Jensen’s mouth and rolls them over so that Jensen is unexpectedly on top of him.

“Oh hey,” Jensen says, looking down at him. He’s flushed and sweating already, so damn attractive that Jensen is pretty sure he’s going to owe some old sea witch his soul for this at some point. “I didn’t mean… didn’t necessarily mean… I mean, you can do me, if you want.”

Cougar doesn’t answer, just spreads his legs, so his thighs are bracketing Jensen’s hips.

The skin on the inside of his thighs is crazily soft and Jensen loses some time running his hands up and down it. Then he remembers that Cougar wants Jensen to fuck him and gets back with the programme.

“I don’t have lube,” Jensen confesses. “Why don’t I have lube? I should definitely have lube.”

Cougar reaches up and presses a finger to Jensen’s mouth. “I have lube,” he says and then does this awesome, impossible, slinky thing with his upper body, reaching over the side of the bed where his bag sits and miraculously finding a tiny blue bottle of Durex lube and a condom without looking.

“You’re wonderful,” Jensen says fervently and tackles Cougar down flat on the bed.

Turns out Cougar likes to kiss all the way through sex. If you’d asked Jensen, he would have thought Cougar’d be aloof and kind of cool about the whole thing, but Cougar is grabby and scratchy and very, very into it.

Jensen’s head starts spinning with burning, desperate want, and it only gets worse (better) when he’s finally inside Cougar, Cougar’s hips driving up to meet him and forcing Jensen all the way inside without giving himself time to adjust.

“Fucking fuck don’t move,” Jensen begs, dropping his head down against Cougar’s and just breathing, trying not to come all over everything and end this before it begins.

In a shocking twist of fate, Cougar actually doesn’t move. He doesn’t move at all, actually, it’s kind of creepy.

“Okay?” Jensen asks, bumping his nose against Cougar’s.

Cougar’s eyelashes flutter open and the left corner of his mouth curves up into the smuggest, most content smile Jensen’s ever seen on his face.

Possibly on anyone’s face.

“Cougs,” Jensen breathes. The centre of his chest feels like someone just punched it hollow.

Cougar tips his face up and bites Jensen’s bottom lip. “Move now.”

They’re good at sex. Jensen never thought they’d be anything else, but they’re really good at sex. Or maybe Cougar is and Jensen’s just along for the ride. Either way, there’s a lot of swearing and sweating and Cougar keeps writhing under Jensen in ways that make Jensen’s cock want to write him a personalised thank you note.

After a minute, the writhing seems to turn kind of pointed and Jensen manages to pull himself out of his haze of rhythmic fucking to lick his dry lips and say, “Yeah, what? What do you want?”

Cougar grabs one of Jensen’s hands and plants it firmly on his hip, pushing down on it.

Jensen thinks fast, trying to translate that and the desperate look in Cougar’s eyes until it makes sense.

“You want me to hold you still?” Jensen asks. He can do that; he can totally do that. He’s bigger and heavier than Cougar, maybe not stronger, but he can, if Cougar wants to let him.

Cougar doesn’t say a word, so Jensen presses down on Cougar’s hip and watches him shudder.

“I’m gonna need you to say yes or no on this one,” Jensen says, apologetically. He kisses Cougar hard, just because Cougar is amazing. “Sorry.”

Cougar sighs. “Yes,” he says, making it sound like an imposition even though his voice is wrecked already from all the groaning and panting. “Yes, Jensen, hold me down and fuck me.”

He says it completely deadpan and Jensen grins at him, letting Cougar see his teeth. “Oh yeah,” he says and grabs Cougar’s hands, pining them to the bed above his head.

Cougar arches, but Jensen doesn’t let him up, and Cougar forces a moan out from between his teeth and comes all over his belly.

“Oh my god,” Jensen breathes, like a prayer, and freezes, not sure if he should pull out or keep going. He’s so hard and so ready to come; he doesn’t want to stop, but he will if that’s what Cougar wants.

“Fuck me,” Cougar orders.

So Jensen does.


Three years later:

“What do you think; are Clay and Aisha fucking?” Jensen asks, crawling into Cougar’s bunk and whispering in his ear.

Cougar pulls back far enough to give Jensen a Look.

Jensen laughs. “Yeah, okay, point. Of course they are.” He shifts around, trying to get comfortable on the too-small bed. Clay really needs to start finding them safe houses with double beds; he should have worked out by now that Jensen refuses to sleep alone.

Cougar shifts over onto his side, making room and looking very pointedly at the space of mattress in front of him.

Jensen lies down, back to Cougar, and stops wriggling. Much. Cougar’s been sad and cranky since Bolivia and Jensen doesn’t want to annoy him badly enough to kick Jensen out of bed.


As soon as Jensen’s still, Cougar wraps an arm around Jensen’s waist and presses his face into Jensen’s spine.

Oh, okay, Jensen thinks, putting his hand over Cougar’s and lacing their fingers together, maybe Cougar’s lonely, not cranky, tonight.

“You think this is gonna work,” Jensen whispers into the darkness. “I want it to work; I want to go home.”

“Shh,” Cougar hums and kisses the back of his neck.

“Did I tell you about the Marigolds?” Jensen asks, after they’ve (well, he’s) been quiet for a minute or so. “They got this new coach and I swear she’s slipping steroids in their juice boxes.”

“The Petunias will win,” Cougar says with all the confidence of someone who gets cuddles from Kitty whether or not her team wins. Jensen, for some reason, has to put up with pouting when she loses.

“Will you two shut the fuck up?” Roque growls from across the room. Roque has been really grumpy lately. Just because they’re officially dead is no reason to get all bitchy all the time.

“Seriously,” Pooch sighs and there’s a creaking of bedsprings as he – presumably – rolls over in a huff. “I think I prefer it when you two just fuck and we all pretend we can’t hear you.”

“Cougar,” Jensen says, elbowing Cougar in the chest. “They’re talking shit about us. You gonna let them get away with it.”

“Shh,” Cougar says again.

Jensen gasps dramatically and pretends to be getting out of bed. “That’s it; I’m going to sleep next door. I bet Aisha would kick ass for me.”

Cougar tightens his arm around Jensen’s chest and pulls him back down. “Shut up, you love me,” he says and plucks his hat from the headboard and drops it on Jensen’s head.

Jensen laughs and sinks back down against him. There’s not much he can say to that.