Creative Control, 1/3, R, Jared/Jensen
Jan. 3rd, 2010 03:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
raeschaeTitle: Creative Control (1/3)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raeschae
Pairing:J2
Rating:R
Word Count: 7879
Summary: In the hierarchy of filmmaking, there are those with distinct vision, and then there are production assistants.
A/N: For years, I have been wanting to write a specific fic. For whatever reasons, I just never could find the right angle. The pairing was off, or the situation didn't work out, or I just couldn't do it the way I wanted. Finally, though, I have found the pairing, the situation, and the motivation to actually do it. I kind of love how it turned out - and I hope y'all do, too!
Thanks to:neutraldeviance, for the beta. vamphile, for the persistent cheerleading.
Graphics by:raeschae (under the cut)
The bar is loud and the crowd is rowdy. It's not really Jared's regular scene, but the crew decided that they would celebrate together before principle photography begins at 9:30 tomorrow morning, and being as he's the Director of Photography, he figures he should make an appearance. Not that most of them will even notice. They're too drunk to care who's around at this point.
“Hey, Jared!” the art director slurs, wrapping an arm up and around Jared's shoulder. Well, he aims for 'up and around,' but mostly just ends up smacking the middle of Jared's back and letting his hand slide away. “Didn't think you were gonna show!”
Jared has worked with Dave a few times before, and he's good at what he does. Maybe not the best, but he's adequate, and he doesn't piss Jared off too much, so he forces a smile and a nod, accepting the beer bottle that Cynthia, one of the wardrobe girls, passes to him on her way to the dance floor.
He finds a table near the back corner and pretends to listen to whatever Dave is rambling about at his side. A few other guys, grips and a couple of painters, join them and Jared acts like he's listening. He's in “the business” after all. He can play his part as well as any of the actors he lights and shoots on a daily basis.
In reality, Jared's attention is focused on the bar. Or, rather, a guy at the bar. A guy at the bar with a really great ass, and a tee shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders. From this distance, Jared can tell that the guy's drunk, and he kind of has to quell the urge to sidle up to him and ask if he can take him home. Mostly to make sure that he doesn't drive in his current state, and not at all because of the way he leans his elbows on the bar and sticks that ass out for anyone who might happen to notice. Jared's not noticing. Not even a little bit.
“Who's that?” he hears himself ask after about fifteen minutes of what he assures himself is subtle staring.
The grip on his left follows the line of vision and then huffs softly. “Jensen?”
Jared shrugs his shoulders in response. “If I knew, would I have asked?”
“He's a PA,” is the response Jared had been looking for. “Been around for awhile. One of the best. I'm surprised you haven't worked with him before.”
Truth be told, Jared is surprised, too. Production Assistants aren't contracted to one specific studio, or even director. Occasionally, they develop a steady working relationship, but there's no guarantee that you'll work with one every time you sign onto a project with this guy, or that woman. Still, Jared's done a lot of work in this town in the last seven years, and he's pretty sure there aren't a lot of the best that he hasn't worked with yet.
Of course, there's a possibility that this guy – Ryan, he thinks his name is – is overselling. PA is where they all start, not exactly a career goal, so if this Jensen character's been at it for awhile, chances are he's just not good enough to be something else. He seems to enjoy drinking, and flirting, and the general atmosphere of the party, so maybe that's his downfall.
Whatever the reason, whoever he is, Jared sees the trouble he's about to find before it happens. The guy Jensen's working at the bar is not interested, and about thirty seconds from using his fists to prove it.
Without thinking, Jared stands from his spot and wades through the crowd of people between his table and the bar. He covers the guy's fist with his hand just as it draws back to swing in Jensen's direction. “Hey,” he says, voice low and even against the guy's ear. “You wanna take that shit outside? Some of us are tryin' to have a good time here.”
The guy yanks his hand out of Jared's grip and he spins, eyes ignited with rage. “Sure. We'll take it outside. You motherfucking Hollywood homos need to learn when to take no for an answer,” he spits violently, cracking his knuckles and turning back to Jensen. “You. Me. Back Alley. Now.”
Jensen quirks an eyebrow and Jared watches as his green eyes sparkle and rake over the guy, tongue traveling the length of his full, lower lip. Jesus Christ, he's even more beautiful up close. “Aw, baby, why didn't you just say so?” Jensen says sweetly. “Do some-a my best work in back alleys.” He turns his back, like he doesn't even know he's about to get his ass kicked, and walks down a hallway without a second glance.
Kid's gonna get his fucking ass kicked, and Jared should damn well let him. He's practically begging for a fight at this point. A part of him says that he should just let it happen. Let the guy go after him and forget that he ever laid eyes on this Jensen person in the first place. It's not like Jared knows him or anything.
Except for the part where he knows a hundred guys like him better than Jensen will ever know himself. With a heavy hand on the other guy's shoulder, Jared moves swiftly and swings around in front of him. “You walk out the door, and believe me when I tell you it's the last thing you'll do this week.” His eyes are focused, and he's been told that they're intense when narrowed. Apparently, it's true, because the guy just rolls his shoulders and sinks back to the stool he'd been on a few minutes earlier.
Convinced that the guy is going to stay put, Jared turns and walks down the hall, letting himself into the back alley and holding his arms wide in invitation. “You want a fight? Come on, man. Let's do this,” he challenges, shrugging out of his leather coat and tossing it onto the dumpster nearby.
Jensen looks confused, fists balled at his sides and legs slightly bent in a fighting stance. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks, bitter and angry without so much as a hint of the seductive guy flirting it up at the bar.
“Name's Jared. Rumor has it we're gonna be workin' together for a little while,” he introduces, dropping his hands to his sides and then stuffing them into his pockets.
Smiling, Jensen shakes his head and curls his bottom lip between his teeth. “Kinda ruined a sure thing there, Jared,” he accuses.
“Nah.” Jared shakes his head and pulls one hand from his pocket to run it through his hair. “You didn't wanna fuck that guy,” he deduces. “You wanted to fight him. Been workin' him up for it for the last fifteen minutes.”
Jensen doesn't disagree. “Everybody gets their rocks off somehow, man.” He shrugs, like prodding a straight guy into a fight in a bar by flirting with him in front of fifty people he works with is normal behavior.
“Alright, then,” Jared opens his arms again. “You wanna fight? I'm right here. But I'll warn you right now – I'm sober, and I'm bigger than you. Probably hit harder, too. And I don't go easy on anybody.”
Just like that, the flirtatious eye-rake and the lip licking is back as Jensen considers Jared. “You didn't come out here to fight me,” Jensen says, moving slowly, like a predatory cat, in Jared's direction. “You been watchin' me.” Stopping just short of Jared's personal space, he pitches his voice low. “You wanna fuck me, Jared? Slam me up against this dirty wall and sink into this ass you been lookin' at? That why you wanted me alone out here?”
He feels the wall, cold and gritty through his tee shirt as Jensen backs him up. The guy's really too fucking hot for his own good, and there's a pretty good chance that he doesn't even know it. Jared could do it. Jensen would let him. Even though they've never spoken. Even though there's no way anyone would hear them if Jared didn't want them to. Even though it's the dumbest fucking thing Jensen could do.
“No,” he shakes his head, voice calm and crystal clear in the space between them. Jensen looks startled and takes a step back, but Jared just captures one of his lapels in his fist. “Don't need to push you up against a dirty wall to fuck your perfect little ass, Jensen,” he growls, lowering his face until their foreheads almost touch. “Could take you home, couldn't I? You'd get in my car, let me take you back to my place, maybe even tie you up? Fuck you until you can't remember your own goddamn name. You'd let me, wouldn't you?”
Jensen's breath hitches and his fingers dig into Jared's hips, eyes half-lidded from lust and inebriation. “Please,” he whimpers, barely audible over his quickening breath.
“Come on.” Jared grabs the collar of Jensen's jacket, stops at the dumpster to retrieve his own, and then leads the way around the building to his car in the well-lit parking lot. Jensen doesn't resist. Not once.
By the time they get to Jensen's house, Jared is pretty sure the guy's going to pass out in his front seat. His head started lolling about three blocks back, and he's mumbling things incoherently under his breath as he drifts off. If he knew Jensen, he would just take him back home and let him sleep it off on Jared's couch. But he doesn't know Jensen, and he's not idiot enough to take a complete stranger to his own house.
“Alright, come on,” Jared says throwing Jensen's door open when he's finally parked in front of the place Jensen could barely remember the address to back at the bar. “Let's get you to bed.”
The lazy grin on Jensen's lips is almost cute. Jared can't help thinking it would have been shame if he'd have let that fucker in the bar split those pretty, pretty lips in a stupid fight.
“You comin' to bed with me, Jared?” Jensen asks after the chilled night air seems to snap him back to semi-consciousness. At least he's sober enough to walk, Jared figures. “Cause the things I could do to you,” he chuckles to himself as they approach his building. But then he stops in front of the stairs like he can't quite figure out how to climb them.
Hands securely on Jensen's waist, Jared guides him up to the second floor, and then follows the hall around a corner. “You said 2K, right?” Jensen nods. “You got a key?”
It takes him a minute, but Jensen finally manages to pull the key out of his pocket and hand it over. Jared makes quick work of the lock and then lets Jensen push his way into the living room and fumble for a light.
The apartment is, for lack of a better term, chaotic. It isn't dirty or gross or anything. Jared doesn't find himself wondering how in the hell a human being could live like this, or worrying that he's going to contract a virus or something. But it isn't exactly tidy and welcoming, either.
Magazines and beer bottles cover the coffee table, and there are clothes piled and draped all over the love seat and what appears to be a treadmill. Two of the couch cushions have been pulled off and thrown to the floor, right behind the dented place, cluing Jared in immediately to Jensen's favorite television-watching spot. Netflix envelopes and other dvd cases are spread across the top of the entertainment center, while others spill out of a tall tower to the left of the flat-screen television.
Jared is vaguely aware that Jensen is standing in front of him, but he can't get his eyes to focus on anything but the laundry. The room bothers him, even though he's not sure it should. It's not until Jensen's hand slides under his shirt, his fingernails lightly scratching over Jared's abdomen, that he seems to remember he's not alone here.
“Alright,” Jared smiles, stepping away from the contact. It kind of sucks, because he'd love to have Jensen's hands all over him. Under normal circumstances, he'd already be in the bedroom, stripping Jensen naked and licking him open. “Let's get some water,” he suggests.
He lets himself into the kitchen, and is glad to find that it's reasonably clean. There are a few dishes in the sink, and a few boxes of non-perishable food on the counter, but it isn't dirty or unsanitary.
The refrigerator, however, gives him brief cause for concern. “Jensen, you have no food,” he says, tone confused as he pulls a lone bottle of water from inside and uncaps it. Turning, he finds Jensen leaning next to the counter, one foot resting atop the other as he keeps his eyes fixed on the floor. “You eat a lot of take out or somethin?”
With a roll of his eyes, Jensen looks up, cheeks slightly flushed in what could very well be embarrassment. “I'm a fucking PA, Jared. I can't afford to be a take-out guy.”
“Apparently, you can't afford to eat at home, either,” he motions toward the empty refrigerator and Jensen lowers his eyes again. “I'm not tryin' to be a dick.” He really isn't. But there's something slightly off about Jensen's place, and about Jensen flirting a guy into a bar fight, that's got Jared's protective, and some say overly-concerned, side sitting up and taking notice.
“No, it's fine,” Jensen looks up, eyes unreadable. “I just don't eat at home. You ever seen how much food there is on set, man? I get there before seven most days, and I stay until ten or eleven. So it's easier to just eat there.”
It's a valid argument, except, “You don't work seven days a week.” Jensen just shakes his head. “So, what? You just don't eat on the days you don't work?” Of course, it's ridiculous and Jared knows that. He's just trying to prove a point. Be nice if he could remember what that point is, but Jensen's looking a little like a whipped puppy and Jared kind of wants to hug him instead of figuring out his eating habits.
“What, are you my nutritionist?” Jensen asks suddenly. “I eat,” he nods over his shoulder to the three boxes of instant mac and cheese.
“You eat . . . that's all you eat?”
“I get busy,” Jensen shrugs. “Sometimes I forget . . . Man, why we talkin' 'bout this again?” He makes to take a step forward and Jared shakes his head, holding his hand out to rest it in the center of Jensen's chest. “Can we just . . . I don't know, fuck or somethin'? I'm not fuckin' anorexic or anything. I swear, I eat. All the fuckin' time on set. Those taquitos are awesome!”
Withdrawing his hand from Jensen's chest to hold both up in front of him, Jared concedes, but he doesn't apologize. He's not sorry for caring about the guy's well-being, but he's not going to try to fight a guy who's still half-drunk.
Instead, he takes in the way Jensen slumps back against the counter and barely sips at his water bottle and then closes the space between them. “Come on,” he grunts, wrapping an arm around Jensen and feeling the guy melt into his side again. “You're about to pass out on your feet.”
Jensen mutters something, but allows Jared to drag him over to his bedroom. Jared isn't expecting the bed to be made or anything, but the starkness of the room kind of surprises him a little bit. There's a dresser on one wall, littered with ticket stubs and receipts, and a beautiful wrought-iron bed. That's all.
“Kind of a minimalist, aren't ya?” Jared smiles when Jensen disentangles himself and pulls his tee shirt over his head with a roll of his eyes.
“Got what I need.” Jensen crosses the room, his fingers finding their way under Jared's shirt again. “Only things I do in here are sleep,” he raises an eyebrow and wraps a hand around Jared's neck to pull him closer. “And fuck,” he adds, teeth scraping against the column of Jared's throat.
It takes every last ounce of self-control Jared has to pull those hands away from his body. Damn but Jensen feels good pressed against him. “If you weren't drunk right now,” he growls, turning his head before Jensen's mouth can find his.
“Not too drunk for this,” Jensen insists, eyes drooping in contrast to his words.
Save for the fact that Jensen sways unsteadily on his feet, Jared considers giving into the urges zapping hard and fast through his veins. There are handcuffs attached to the rung of the headboard, and Jensen is clearly willing. It would be so fucking easy to just throw the guy down, restrain him, and make him beg.
“Go. To. Sleep,” Jared commands instead, voice measured and slow in order to keep it from shakily betraying his words.
Though he protests a bit more, Jensen doesn't try to stand when Jared pushes him back on the bed and kneels to pull the sneakers from his feet. In fact, he flops back, sighs contentedly, and raises his arms over his head to stretch like a cat in a sun-filled window. Jesus fuck, Jared deserves an award for backing out of the room.
With one final glance around the living room, he shakes his head and lets himself out of the apartment. Jensen is too fucking hot, and he can't help wondering how many other guys he's brought back here while too trashed to even ask for their names. How many men has Jensen let into his own personal space without thought or concern for the possible consequences?
It's disconcerting, to say the least, and enough of a thought to keep him from feeling bad for walking away. He did the right thing back there, for himself and certainly for Jensen.
Of course, if Jensen ever throws himself at Jared like that again while sober and in charge of all of his faculties? Jared won't say no a second time.
A week into shooting, Jared has only seen Jensen a handful of times. Ryan was right – Jensen is one hell of a PA. Probably the best Jared's ever worked with. He's efficient, and friendly, and actually seems to really like his job. He smiles at Jared, the same as everyone else, as though they never met outside of work. After a couple of days, Jared resigns himself to the realization that Jensen probably doesn't remember the other night at all.
They're well into week two when Jared walks into the lunch tent and finds Jensen filling a Styrofoam container with three kinds of meat and some macaroni. Like a man who hasn't eaten in days, which is amusing until Jared remembers Jensen's refrigerator at home and the fact that this is probably the only meal Jensen's going to get today.
Without a second thought, he fills two containers and joins Jensen at the table he's perched against. “Hey,” he smiles, pulling a chair out. “Join me?”
Jensen just holds up a finger and says, “On it,” before giving Jared an apologetic smile. “I don't really have time to sit,” he starts.
“You get a half hour like everybody else, don't you?”
“Well, yeah, but . . . they kind of like it if I'm available, ya know? In case anybody needs anything.”
“Well, I need for you to eat. So,” Jared pushes the chair out further and grins when Jensen drops into it. “Thanks.”
His words of gratitude are met with a soft smile that Jensen aims toward the table, like he's afraid to let Jared see it. “You're work is pretty amazing, man. Dailies are lookin' awesome.”
“Thanks, man,” Jared nods and they fall into an easy silence for a minute before he bothers to slide the extra container toward Jensen. “That's for you.”
“Oh, I'm okay,” Jensen holds his hands up as he polishes off the last of his chicken breast. “Plenty here,” he adds.
Licking his lips, Jared angles his head and waits for a few of the actors to pass before he says, “You have the next couple days off. Thought you might wanna take some home with you.”
Jensen raises an eyebrow and shoots an incredulous look in Jared's direction. “What the fuck is your obsession with my diet, man?”
He might be taken aback if the question didn't mean that Jensen does remember the other night. With a shrug, Jared leans back in his chair and rests his hand on the back of Jensen's neck. “I like you,” he says simply. “Just want you to take care of yourself.” With a wink, he adds, “And maybe stop getting drunk and taking strangers back to your apartment.”
“Dude, you're the one who took me. I didn't ask you for that,” Jensen protests, posture stiffening visibly.
Jared slides his hand down the length of Jensen's spine as he says, voice low and commanding, “Relax, Jensen.” Jensen does. Immediately. “Just don't wanna find out you're not at work on Sunday because some asshole cuffed you to that bed of yours and left you there. Or worse.”
“I'm kind of offended that you apparently think I'm completely dysfunctional and a possibly a little bit of a moron,” Jensen says, his eyes sparkling beneath the surface with dark humor. “You honestly think I don't have a key stashed somewhere near that bed? I can reach it no matter where I'm cuffed from, ya know? Gimme a little credit, okay?”
“Not gonna stop some fucker from lockin' your ass up and beatin' you stupid,” Jared points out, fingers running casually over Jensen's hip before he pulls his hand back.
“Some people get off on pain,” is Jensen's parting defense, without a trace of the humor. “I gotta get back to work.”
Jared waits until Jensen gathers his empty plate, and the container Jared prepared for him, before he speaks. “Jensen.” Jensen turns, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Do you wanna grab some dinner Saturday night?”
“Why? So you can make sure I'm eating? Or so I don't get fucked up and take a stranger home to bang me?”
“I was thinkin' so I could get to know you better.” Jensen loosens his stance a little, head tilted to consider Jared as he closes the distance between them. “And I'm not a stranger anymore.” His voice is soft and dripping with intent.
Jensen opens his mouth, and then slaps his hand over the mouthpiece of his headset and his eyes drift. He nods, presses a button at his hip, and then says, “On it,” with another smile in Jared's direction. “Tell me when and where.”
It takes Jared a second to realize Jensen is talking to him again. “Seven thirty at Sona?”
Jensen looks skeptical. “You're kidding, right? That place is,” he stops and shakes his head. “I'm a PA.” he says it like maybe Jared forgot or something.
“I asked you out, Jensen.”
“So this is, like, a date?” Jared nods. “Dude, if you wanna get laid, you can just come over to my place. You don't have to spend that much money on me.”
“You gonna make me a Sonoma lamb rack with goat cheese tortellini?”
“I don't even wanna watch you eat goat cheese tortellini,” Jensen pulls a face and shakes his head.
Jared laughs. “Seven thirty. Don't be late.”
Jensen nods in compliance and then nods his head and mutters, “On it,” into his headset again before ambling off with an awkward wave.
Saturday night, eight fifteen, and Jared is disappointed that Jensen hasn't shown yet. Not surprised, just disappointed. He really did want to take the guy to a nice dinner and get to know him a little bit. He seems so calm and collected on set, even amidst the chaos of fifteen departments doing thirty different things around him. So different from that guy at the bar, looking for a fight or a fuck to unwind. Jared wanted to pry into his psyche, figure out exactly what makes Jensen tick.
And he still wants to. Enough as he takes his keys from the valet and grabs Jensen's address from it's saved place in his GPS. If Jensen wants to stand him up, that's his prerogative, but he's going to have to tell Jared why in person. Alone. Without the safety of two hundred sweaty crew members at work.
By the time he gets to Jensen's place, he's moved from disappointed to frustrated. Jared's a reasonably pleasant guy, or so he likes to think, but he just got stood up so he's not exactly his normally jovial self at the moment. Also, there's a good possibility he might find Jensen cuffed to his bed, bloody and unconscious or something, and that kind of puts a damper on the smiles and rainbows, too.
His fist pounds heavily against the door of Jensen's apartment and he can hear the television when he stops. “Jensen, come on, man. Open up!” None of Jensen's neighbors come out to make sure everything's okay, and while he doesn't expect them to, it only bothers Jared more for some reason. Anything could happen to this guy, in this place, and nobody would even fucking notice. “I'm not goin' away!” he adds loudly, pounding again.
The lock clicks and the door opens, but by the time Jared steps through, Jensen's flopping back down on the couch and flicking cigarette ashes into the tray at his side. “What are you doin' here?” Jensen asks flatly, his hair mussed and his face puffy. His flat eyes are trained on the television, but Jared doubts he knows what he's watching.
“We had a date,” Jared says, hands on his hips. The room reeks of cigarettes and something else. Something far more stale and depressing.
Jensen shrugs his shoulders and doesn't so much as risk a glance in Jared's direction. “Didn't feel up to it,” he says, sucking another drag on his cigarette and growing ever-more interested in the way the plume flows and fades into the air in front of his face.
It pisses Jared off. To be tossed aside like sitting around on the couch is better than hanging out with him for a night? Yeah, that hurts his pride. But it's more than that. It's the far-away look in Jensen's eyes that says he's not quite here on the same plane as the rest of the world. The way he barely moves, barely even acknowledges Jared's presence. Like maybe he's not even really aware that Jared is here.
“You could have called,” Jared points out, trying his best not to sound like a pissy little bitch. It's hard when all he wants to do is shake Jensen and ask him what the fuck is wrong with him.
With a shrug, Jensen stamps his cigarette into the ashtray and reaches toward the floor to produce a half-empty bottle of Mountain Dew. “Meant to,” is his only explanation.
“Dude, what is your damage?” Jared manages to maintain most of his cool, hands on his hips as he shakes his head. It's infuriating, this devil-may-care attitude Jensen is hitting him with, but he's not about to explode like a volcano. He's known too many guys like Jensen in his life to satisfy him with that reaction.
Another shrug, and Jensen sets the bottle back on the floor before drawing the ashtray to his thigh and pulling another cigarette from the near-empty pack at his side. He lights it, holds the smoke for just a second, and then exhales with a sigh that seems to relax his entire body further into the cushions.
When he scratches his blunt nails through his disheveled hair, Jared notices the angry red marks on his wrists for the first time. And the stubble burn on his neck. “You brought someone home last night,” Jared deduces, feeling slightly sick to his stomach.
Jensen just grabs his soda, tiny smirk on his lips as he takes another pull from the electric green bottle. “Jealous?” he asks with more inflection than any of this other words thus far.
He is, but that's not the part that makes Jared's heart beat quicken. “Some stranger you picked up in a bar, right?” It's hard to press the words out of his tightening throat, but he does it anyway.
Jensen quirks an eyebrow, but has yet to meet Jared's eye. “Wasn't a stranger this morning.”
He says it like he's proud of himself, like there's something impressive about getting shit faced and bringing a total stranger into his house. Like it's totally normal, and natural, and safe to let some guy he doesn't know cuff his drunken body to his own bed and use him however he chooses. Like he doesn't fucking care.
“I don't even know why I'm here,” Jared grits his frustration through clenched teeth. It's true – this is ridiculous. Why the fuck should he spend his Saturday night giving a damn about a kid who doesn't give two shits about his damn self? He doesn't want Jared's help, or even his company, so why did he even think it was a good idea to try?
If he didn't know better, Jared would swear that Jensen shoots a look out the corner of his eye for a brief second before taking the remote and flipping through fourteen channels in about twelve seconds. He settles on some reality show and then stamps out another cigarette.
“Fuck it. I'll see you on set Monday.” In a couple of steps, he makes it to the front door and throws it open, prepared to make a grand exit.
Another second, and he would have already been over the threshold. He never would have heard the 'figures' Jensen mutters under his breath. Never would have glanced over his shoulder to see the way Jensen's eyes lower to his leg, or the way he rolls another unlit cigarette dejectedly against his thigh.
And Jared gets it. Even as he shuts the door behind him and starts down the hall, everything becomes clear in his mind. Jensen's testing him. Pushing boundaries. Figuring out whether Jared is one of the many who just want to order him around and manhandle him, or if he's made of something more. Seeing how far he can push before Jared just walks away.
Because everybody walks away, right? That's what guys like Jensen always seem to believe – that they're never going to measure up, so they might as well just push you away before you decide to leave on your own. He's seen it before. He's lived with it.
But what Jensen doesn't understand, what he couldn't possibly begin to know, is that Jared's a rock. He's a wall. He's the immovable object, and it doesn't matter what irresistible force Jensen thinks he is, shoving Jared out of his life isn't going to be so fucking easy. He doesn't back down, and if Jensen wants to throw down the gauntlet, he's going to see what it looks like when Jared steps to the challenge.
The thing about Jensen is that he's not just a good PA. He's a fan-fucking-tastic PA. There is nothing asked of him that he doesn't somehow make happen, and Jared's heard a few of these idiots give him some really complicated instructions over the last few weeks. He's still not sure how the guy managed to find some rare bottled water from somewhere in Arizona for the lead actress's trailer in less than three hours, but he got it done. It's like there's absolutely nothing he won't do when directly instructed.
Of course, he avoids Jared like he's some kind of disease. Barely stops long enough to drop a new draft of the shooting script into Jared's assistant's hand before he's off and listening to his headset for his next set of commands. He shrugs off invitations to lunch and beer with the guys after work. Following a weekend, he always looks a little worse for wear, but it doesn't affect his performance so Jared can't make a big deal out of it.
They're in the fourth week of shooting when Jared decides that enough is enough and if he's tired of playing the 'just look me in the eye and let me show you that I want you' game with Jensen. It's clearly not going to work. Which is fine – Jared has a plan. One that he's pretty sure will work for both of them in the long run.
“Jensen,” he calls out when the camera operator is changing film and Jensen is talking to the director and one of his assistants. “You taking lunch orders?”
Jensen nods, holds up a finger for Jared to wait a second, and then turns his full attention. “What can I get ya?” he asks, smile looking almost genuine. He's always smiling at work, like the guy who sulked on his couch a couple weeks back is just his raggedy-ass twin brother or something.
“Tuna. On whole wheat. No mayo,” he catches his bottom lip between his teeth and then tilts his head to the side. “Ya know what? Grab a chicken club, hold the bacon, and extra mayo, too,” he adds. Jensen looks surprised by the bulk of the order, but says nothing as he jots it down. “Couple bags of those baked chips and two waters.”
Without so much as a grunt, Jensen nods and walks away. When he returns, Jared is in the middle of an argument with the art director about some idiotic, god-awful painting he wants on the wall of the living room. It doesn't make sense for the scene, and it blocks half of Jared's “natural” light source. They are not using the goddamn painting, and he doesn't even know who Dave's uncle is, no matter how many times the guy drops his name like it means something.
Jensen clears his throat when Dave stalks away, and Jared rakes his fingers through his hair as the director calls for the lunch break. Everyone scatters from set, and then Jared turns and meets Jensen's eye. “Thanks,” he smiles brightly, looking at the bag of food at Jensen's side.
“It's my job,” Jensen shrugs, smile only slightly more genuine this time than it has been recently.
“You're good at it,” Jared pushes forward with the compliment and reaches into the bag. He withdraws one wrapped sandwich and extends it toward Jensen. “Come on. Eat with me.”
Jensen rolls his eyes. “We're not doin' this shit again, Jared,” he insists.
“So don't fight me on it,” is Jared's response.
They're alone on the set now, and that's probably why Jensen drops the grin and throws his arms out to his sides. “Why are you doing this? Why bother? Am I some kind of charity case to you or something? I don't get it!”
“I told you before, I like you.”
“But why?” Jensen's voice climbs, like he's actually freaked out by the concept of someone just liking him. “I'm a fucking PA – a grunt – a slave, Jared. I don't have some exciting life. I don't make a lot of money. I've never sucked your dick or even been all that nice to you. How the fuck can you stand there and say that you like me. You don't even fuckin' know me!”
“So give me a chance to get to know you,” Jared proposes simply, pulling his sandwich out of the bag and lowering himself to his chair. With a nod of his head, he motions to the one beside him, the director's, and waits for Jensen to make the decision.
“This is such bull shit,” Jensen shakes his head and grabs the sandwich, flopping into the chair and slumping down. He's petulant, almost like a little kid being made to eat Aunt Edna's super-special meatloaf surprise or something.
For a long time, they chew in silence and say nothing. It's not the best way to get to know someone, sure, but it's a start. At least Jensen's not bolting from the room or staring all catatonic-like at the floor, so Jared considers it progress.
“Where you from?” he asks when he's half-way through his sandwich.
Jensen seems thrown by the question at first, but swallows and then answers. “Texas. Richardson. It's, um . . . it's outside of Dallas.”
“No shit?” Jared can't help smiling. “Born and bred in San Antonio, man.”
Though he tries to hide it, Jensen smiles. “How 'bout that,” he says, and it's not enthusiastic, but it's not sarcastic, either, so Jared lets it slide.
“So why Hollywood? You have grand ambitions of acting or directing?”
Jensen blushes a little and shakes his head, rips another bite off of his sandwich and chews it slowly about thirty times before answering. “My dad's an actor,” he admits. “Back in Dallas. Mostly theater stuff . . . some commercials. . . been doin' it my whole life pretty much.” He takes a drink of his water before continuing. “They let me PA on this local PBS thing he did back when I was in high school. Kinda loved it a little.”
“So you came to LA to be a . . . PA?” Jared doesn't mean to belittle, but come on. Who wants to be a PA?
Instead of looking embarrassed, Jensen nods and actually squares his chin, like he's proud of it. “The thought of being chained to a desk somewhere makes me wanna vomit. And being in charge of anything? Like you? Makes my skin crawl. This job is a dream for me,” he explains. “I mean, everything's all laid out. I know what I'm supposed to do, it's never the same thing two days in a row, and the atmosphere's chaotic and exciting. It's just . . . I know it's not for everybody. Some people wanna be more or whatever. I just,” he shrugs and pops a chip into his mouth. “I don't.”
Jared considers the new information, and it actually explains so much that he wants to burst out laughing with relief. He's pretty sure that Jensen would misconstrue that, though. So he just nods his head and then turns to meet Jensen's eye. “You're really good at it,” he compliments.
And Jensen's cheeks tint pink again. “Thanks,” he accepts the compliment with humility and lowers his head like Jared can't see him from two feet away if he can't see his eyes. “It's pretty easy. Just give people what they want.” With another shrug, he looks up again. “Doesn't take a rocket scientist or anything.”
“You'd be surprised how much better than most you are.”
A few people start filtering back onto the set and Jensen bolts out of his seat like he's been burnt. Wads the paper from his sandwich into a ball and stuffs it into his potato chip bag. With a soft smile, he tilts his half-empty water bottle toward Jared. “Thanks for lunch,” he says, almost shyly, and then taps the battery pack at his belt while tilting his head. “I'm on it,” he speaks into his headset.
“Jensen,” Jared says just before the guy can scurry away again. Jensen turns back. “I'll see you later.” Jensen just gives a customary shrug, smiles at one of the other PA's passing, and then runs off to find who ever was just talking in his ear a second ago.
Before Jared can think too much about the urge to follow, he's pulled into a conversation with one of the actors about blocking, Jensen pushed to the furthest corner of his mind.
For the next week, Jared convinces Jensen to have lunch with him every day. Even though they're sometimes interrupted by people chirping in Jensen's ear, or trying to get Jared's approval for something or other, they manage to sort of get to know each other a little bit better.
“We should try dinner again,” Jared says suddenly one day, nearly causing Jensen to choke on his broccoli soup. “Ya know, with you actually showing up this time.”
Jensen smiles wryly at the statement as he tilts his head. “Dude, you stand a guy up one time,” he teases and then his smile drops. “You really wanna give it another shot?”
With his hand on the back of Jensen's chair, it's not hard to just reach out and touch the back of his neck. Just the brush of fingers on warm skin, and Jared can tell it affects Jensen just as much as it gets to him. “I really do,” he admits, eyes darting between Jensen's wide, hopeful eyes, and the way he keeps darting his tongue out to lick at his full lips.
“Man, I already told you that you don't have to buy me dinner to get laid,” Jensen laughs nervously, even as his face moves closer to Jared's. Possibly because Jared's hand is guiding him, but Jared would like to think it's more about mutual desire.
He thinks they're still alone, but Jared doesn't fucking care anymore if someone's wandering in. The only person in the room that matters to him is Jensen, and the warmth of his breath, with the soft scent of his soup still lingering there.
Drawing Jensen's lower lip into his mouth first, he sucks slowly at the flavor of broccoli and cheese and chapstick and Jensen. He feels the moment that Jensen uncoils, melting forward and allowing Jared to lead while licking over the line of Jared's top lip. It's wet, and hot, and perfect. And if Jared doesn't stop, he's going to stuff his hand down Jensen's pants in about three seconds.
He pulls away reluctantly, eyelids heavy for a moment before he says, “Not about getting laid.” If he knows anything, it's that he doesn't have to spend a dime to get Jensen out of his clothes and onto his cock.
“Always about getting laid,” Jensen whispers, hands clutching the arm of Jared's chair as he goes in for another kiss.
In his head, Jared knows he should stop this. Knows he has to. But, “Dammit, Jensen,” he breathes when Jensen pulls back first. “Tryin' to do this right.” Did he really just say that out loud? Could he sound any more lame?
Jensen chuckles and sits back in his chair, effectively shaking Jared's hand off the back of his neck. “I'm not some fragile little girl, Jared,” he assures. “Don't have to handle me with kid gloves or anything. I don't break easy.”
If ever there was a more telling statement, Jared doesn't think he's ever heard it. Of course, he's not about to say that out loud and risk Jensen freezing up again. Instead, he curls his bottom lip into his mouth, catches Jensen's eye, and then shrugs, in typical Jensen fashion. “Maybe I don't wanna break you.”
He's close enough to hear Jensen's headset chirp, and he leans back further to give him room to answer. For the first time since he met Jensen, his green eyes never leave Jared's face as he listens to the command in his ear. “Yeah. On it,” he responds into the mouthpiece and then smiles, his hand covering Jared's on the chair. “Gotta run,” he apologizes, sort of.
“I get it,” Jared nods, fully aware that Jensen never really accepted his invitation for dinner.
“Maybe we could,” Jensen says as he stands, smoothing his hands over his jeans. “I don't know . . . the whole five star restaurant thing kind of skeezes me out, Jared. I'm sorry.”
Making his way to his feet, Jared reaches out and captures Jensen's wrist in his hand, thumb running slowly over the pulse point. Racing. And Jared's not arrogant enough to think it's just because they're touching. The idea of going to a nice restaurant actually scares Jensen. “Where do you wanna go?”
Unfortunately, the question only seems to add to the anxiety. “Why don't we just hang at my place?”
“Where'm I supposed to sit at your place, Jensen?” He regrets the words as soon as their out of his mouth. He doesn't want Jensen to think that he's judging him or anything. But honestly? The place is a wreck.
Lowering his eyes, Jensen clears his throat and nods his head, like a child taking in disapproving words from his parents or something. “Um, okay. Well, can we maybe . . . I don't know. Can't you just pick something less . . . ostentatious? Pretentious? Intimidating?”
Jared wants to point out that it's bad form to take a guy on a first date to The Waffle House, but the last thing he needs is a jittery, nervous, uncomfortable Jensen on his hands all fucking night. He's seen what Jensen does when he's wound too tight, and he'd prefer to never see it again, thank you very much.
With a nod, he rubs Jensen's wrist again, noting that his pulse has slowed considerably in the last minute or so. “I'll find something a little more casual,” he promises and Jensen smiles in spite of himself, turning to return to work. But Jared doesn't let go just yet. “And I'll pick you up at 7:00 on Saturday. You're not standing me up again.”
“Okay.” Jared lets go and Jensen runs off, doubling his speed to make up for the time he just lost from standing around for an extra two minutes.
Jared just watches him go, a million questions popping into his head unbidden. He'll have a chance to ask them Saturday night. Because it doesn't matter what Jensen tries to pull, he's not getting out of this date.
Part 2
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Author:
raeschaePairing:J2
Rating:R
Word Count: 7879
Summary: In the hierarchy of filmmaking, there are those with distinct vision, and then there are production assistants.
A/N: For years, I have been wanting to write a specific fic. For whatever reasons, I just never could find the right angle. The pairing was off, or the situation didn't work out, or I just couldn't do it the way I wanted. Finally, though, I have found the pairing, the situation, and the motivation to actually do it. I kind of love how it turned out - and I hope y'all do, too!
Thanks to:
neutraldeviance, for the beta. vamphile, for the persistent cheerleading.Graphics by:
raeschae (under the cut)
The bar is loud and the crowd is rowdy. It's not really Jared's regular scene, but the crew decided that they would celebrate together before principle photography begins at 9:30 tomorrow morning, and being as he's the Director of Photography, he figures he should make an appearance. Not that most of them will even notice. They're too drunk to care who's around at this point.
“Hey, Jared!” the art director slurs, wrapping an arm up and around Jared's shoulder. Well, he aims for 'up and around,' but mostly just ends up smacking the middle of Jared's back and letting his hand slide away. “Didn't think you were gonna show!”
Jared has worked with Dave a few times before, and he's good at what he does. Maybe not the best, but he's adequate, and he doesn't piss Jared off too much, so he forces a smile and a nod, accepting the beer bottle that Cynthia, one of the wardrobe girls, passes to him on her way to the dance floor.
He finds a table near the back corner and pretends to listen to whatever Dave is rambling about at his side. A few other guys, grips and a couple of painters, join them and Jared acts like he's listening. He's in “the business” after all. He can play his part as well as any of the actors he lights and shoots on a daily basis.
In reality, Jared's attention is focused on the bar. Or, rather, a guy at the bar. A guy at the bar with a really great ass, and a tee shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders. From this distance, Jared can tell that the guy's drunk, and he kind of has to quell the urge to sidle up to him and ask if he can take him home. Mostly to make sure that he doesn't drive in his current state, and not at all because of the way he leans his elbows on the bar and sticks that ass out for anyone who might happen to notice. Jared's not noticing. Not even a little bit.
“Who's that?” he hears himself ask after about fifteen minutes of what he assures himself is subtle staring.
The grip on his left follows the line of vision and then huffs softly. “Jensen?”
Jared shrugs his shoulders in response. “If I knew, would I have asked?”
“He's a PA,” is the response Jared had been looking for. “Been around for awhile. One of the best. I'm surprised you haven't worked with him before.”
Truth be told, Jared is surprised, too. Production Assistants aren't contracted to one specific studio, or even director. Occasionally, they develop a steady working relationship, but there's no guarantee that you'll work with one every time you sign onto a project with this guy, or that woman. Still, Jared's done a lot of work in this town in the last seven years, and he's pretty sure there aren't a lot of the best that he hasn't worked with yet.
Of course, there's a possibility that this guy – Ryan, he thinks his name is – is overselling. PA is where they all start, not exactly a career goal, so if this Jensen character's been at it for awhile, chances are he's just not good enough to be something else. He seems to enjoy drinking, and flirting, and the general atmosphere of the party, so maybe that's his downfall.
Whatever the reason, whoever he is, Jared sees the trouble he's about to find before it happens. The guy Jensen's working at the bar is not interested, and about thirty seconds from using his fists to prove it.
Without thinking, Jared stands from his spot and wades through the crowd of people between his table and the bar. He covers the guy's fist with his hand just as it draws back to swing in Jensen's direction. “Hey,” he says, voice low and even against the guy's ear. “You wanna take that shit outside? Some of us are tryin' to have a good time here.”
The guy yanks his hand out of Jared's grip and he spins, eyes ignited with rage. “Sure. We'll take it outside. You motherfucking Hollywood homos need to learn when to take no for an answer,” he spits violently, cracking his knuckles and turning back to Jensen. “You. Me. Back Alley. Now.”
Jensen quirks an eyebrow and Jared watches as his green eyes sparkle and rake over the guy, tongue traveling the length of his full, lower lip. Jesus Christ, he's even more beautiful up close. “Aw, baby, why didn't you just say so?” Jensen says sweetly. “Do some-a my best work in back alleys.” He turns his back, like he doesn't even know he's about to get his ass kicked, and walks down a hallway without a second glance.
Kid's gonna get his fucking ass kicked, and Jared should damn well let him. He's practically begging for a fight at this point. A part of him says that he should just let it happen. Let the guy go after him and forget that he ever laid eyes on this Jensen person in the first place. It's not like Jared knows him or anything.
Except for the part where he knows a hundred guys like him better than Jensen will ever know himself. With a heavy hand on the other guy's shoulder, Jared moves swiftly and swings around in front of him. “You walk out the door, and believe me when I tell you it's the last thing you'll do this week.” His eyes are focused, and he's been told that they're intense when narrowed. Apparently, it's true, because the guy just rolls his shoulders and sinks back to the stool he'd been on a few minutes earlier.
Convinced that the guy is going to stay put, Jared turns and walks down the hall, letting himself into the back alley and holding his arms wide in invitation. “You want a fight? Come on, man. Let's do this,” he challenges, shrugging out of his leather coat and tossing it onto the dumpster nearby.
Jensen looks confused, fists balled at his sides and legs slightly bent in a fighting stance. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks, bitter and angry without so much as a hint of the seductive guy flirting it up at the bar.
“Name's Jared. Rumor has it we're gonna be workin' together for a little while,” he introduces, dropping his hands to his sides and then stuffing them into his pockets.
Smiling, Jensen shakes his head and curls his bottom lip between his teeth. “Kinda ruined a sure thing there, Jared,” he accuses.
“Nah.” Jared shakes his head and pulls one hand from his pocket to run it through his hair. “You didn't wanna fuck that guy,” he deduces. “You wanted to fight him. Been workin' him up for it for the last fifteen minutes.”
Jensen doesn't disagree. “Everybody gets their rocks off somehow, man.” He shrugs, like prodding a straight guy into a fight in a bar by flirting with him in front of fifty people he works with is normal behavior.
“Alright, then,” Jared opens his arms again. “You wanna fight? I'm right here. But I'll warn you right now – I'm sober, and I'm bigger than you. Probably hit harder, too. And I don't go easy on anybody.”
Just like that, the flirtatious eye-rake and the lip licking is back as Jensen considers Jared. “You didn't come out here to fight me,” Jensen says, moving slowly, like a predatory cat, in Jared's direction. “You been watchin' me.” Stopping just short of Jared's personal space, he pitches his voice low. “You wanna fuck me, Jared? Slam me up against this dirty wall and sink into this ass you been lookin' at? That why you wanted me alone out here?”
He feels the wall, cold and gritty through his tee shirt as Jensen backs him up. The guy's really too fucking hot for his own good, and there's a pretty good chance that he doesn't even know it. Jared could do it. Jensen would let him. Even though they've never spoken. Even though there's no way anyone would hear them if Jared didn't want them to. Even though it's the dumbest fucking thing Jensen could do.
“No,” he shakes his head, voice calm and crystal clear in the space between them. Jensen looks startled and takes a step back, but Jared just captures one of his lapels in his fist. “Don't need to push you up against a dirty wall to fuck your perfect little ass, Jensen,” he growls, lowering his face until their foreheads almost touch. “Could take you home, couldn't I? You'd get in my car, let me take you back to my place, maybe even tie you up? Fuck you until you can't remember your own goddamn name. You'd let me, wouldn't you?”
Jensen's breath hitches and his fingers dig into Jared's hips, eyes half-lidded from lust and inebriation. “Please,” he whimpers, barely audible over his quickening breath.
“Come on.” Jared grabs the collar of Jensen's jacket, stops at the dumpster to retrieve his own, and then leads the way around the building to his car in the well-lit parking lot. Jensen doesn't resist. Not once.
By the time they get to Jensen's house, Jared is pretty sure the guy's going to pass out in his front seat. His head started lolling about three blocks back, and he's mumbling things incoherently under his breath as he drifts off. If he knew Jensen, he would just take him back home and let him sleep it off on Jared's couch. But he doesn't know Jensen, and he's not idiot enough to take a complete stranger to his own house.
“Alright, come on,” Jared says throwing Jensen's door open when he's finally parked in front of the place Jensen could barely remember the address to back at the bar. “Let's get you to bed.”
The lazy grin on Jensen's lips is almost cute. Jared can't help thinking it would have been shame if he'd have let that fucker in the bar split those pretty, pretty lips in a stupid fight.
“You comin' to bed with me, Jared?” Jensen asks after the chilled night air seems to snap him back to semi-consciousness. At least he's sober enough to walk, Jared figures. “Cause the things I could do to you,” he chuckles to himself as they approach his building. But then he stops in front of the stairs like he can't quite figure out how to climb them.
Hands securely on Jensen's waist, Jared guides him up to the second floor, and then follows the hall around a corner. “You said 2K, right?” Jensen nods. “You got a key?”
It takes him a minute, but Jensen finally manages to pull the key out of his pocket and hand it over. Jared makes quick work of the lock and then lets Jensen push his way into the living room and fumble for a light.
The apartment is, for lack of a better term, chaotic. It isn't dirty or gross or anything. Jared doesn't find himself wondering how in the hell a human being could live like this, or worrying that he's going to contract a virus or something. But it isn't exactly tidy and welcoming, either.
Magazines and beer bottles cover the coffee table, and there are clothes piled and draped all over the love seat and what appears to be a treadmill. Two of the couch cushions have been pulled off and thrown to the floor, right behind the dented place, cluing Jared in immediately to Jensen's favorite television-watching spot. Netflix envelopes and other dvd cases are spread across the top of the entertainment center, while others spill out of a tall tower to the left of the flat-screen television.
Jared is vaguely aware that Jensen is standing in front of him, but he can't get his eyes to focus on anything but the laundry. The room bothers him, even though he's not sure it should. It's not until Jensen's hand slides under his shirt, his fingernails lightly scratching over Jared's abdomen, that he seems to remember he's not alone here.
“Alright,” Jared smiles, stepping away from the contact. It kind of sucks, because he'd love to have Jensen's hands all over him. Under normal circumstances, he'd already be in the bedroom, stripping Jensen naked and licking him open. “Let's get some water,” he suggests.
He lets himself into the kitchen, and is glad to find that it's reasonably clean. There are a few dishes in the sink, and a few boxes of non-perishable food on the counter, but it isn't dirty or unsanitary.
The refrigerator, however, gives him brief cause for concern. “Jensen, you have no food,” he says, tone confused as he pulls a lone bottle of water from inside and uncaps it. Turning, he finds Jensen leaning next to the counter, one foot resting atop the other as he keeps his eyes fixed on the floor. “You eat a lot of take out or somethin?”
With a roll of his eyes, Jensen looks up, cheeks slightly flushed in what could very well be embarrassment. “I'm a fucking PA, Jared. I can't afford to be a take-out guy.”
“Apparently, you can't afford to eat at home, either,” he motions toward the empty refrigerator and Jensen lowers his eyes again. “I'm not tryin' to be a dick.” He really isn't. But there's something slightly off about Jensen's place, and about Jensen flirting a guy into a bar fight, that's got Jared's protective, and some say overly-concerned, side sitting up and taking notice.
“No, it's fine,” Jensen looks up, eyes unreadable. “I just don't eat at home. You ever seen how much food there is on set, man? I get there before seven most days, and I stay until ten or eleven. So it's easier to just eat there.”
It's a valid argument, except, “You don't work seven days a week.” Jensen just shakes his head. “So, what? You just don't eat on the days you don't work?” Of course, it's ridiculous and Jared knows that. He's just trying to prove a point. Be nice if he could remember what that point is, but Jensen's looking a little like a whipped puppy and Jared kind of wants to hug him instead of figuring out his eating habits.
“What, are you my nutritionist?” Jensen asks suddenly. “I eat,” he nods over his shoulder to the three boxes of instant mac and cheese.
“You eat . . . that's all you eat?”
“I get busy,” Jensen shrugs. “Sometimes I forget . . . Man, why we talkin' 'bout this again?” He makes to take a step forward and Jared shakes his head, holding his hand out to rest it in the center of Jensen's chest. “Can we just . . . I don't know, fuck or somethin'? I'm not fuckin' anorexic or anything. I swear, I eat. All the fuckin' time on set. Those taquitos are awesome!”
Withdrawing his hand from Jensen's chest to hold both up in front of him, Jared concedes, but he doesn't apologize. He's not sorry for caring about the guy's well-being, but he's not going to try to fight a guy who's still half-drunk.
Instead, he takes in the way Jensen slumps back against the counter and barely sips at his water bottle and then closes the space between them. “Come on,” he grunts, wrapping an arm around Jensen and feeling the guy melt into his side again. “You're about to pass out on your feet.”
Jensen mutters something, but allows Jared to drag him over to his bedroom. Jared isn't expecting the bed to be made or anything, but the starkness of the room kind of surprises him a little bit. There's a dresser on one wall, littered with ticket stubs and receipts, and a beautiful wrought-iron bed. That's all.
“Kind of a minimalist, aren't ya?” Jared smiles when Jensen disentangles himself and pulls his tee shirt over his head with a roll of his eyes.
“Got what I need.” Jensen crosses the room, his fingers finding their way under Jared's shirt again. “Only things I do in here are sleep,” he raises an eyebrow and wraps a hand around Jared's neck to pull him closer. “And fuck,” he adds, teeth scraping against the column of Jared's throat.
It takes every last ounce of self-control Jared has to pull those hands away from his body. Damn but Jensen feels good pressed against him. “If you weren't drunk right now,” he growls, turning his head before Jensen's mouth can find his.
“Not too drunk for this,” Jensen insists, eyes drooping in contrast to his words.
Save for the fact that Jensen sways unsteadily on his feet, Jared considers giving into the urges zapping hard and fast through his veins. There are handcuffs attached to the rung of the headboard, and Jensen is clearly willing. It would be so fucking easy to just throw the guy down, restrain him, and make him beg.
“Go. To. Sleep,” Jared commands instead, voice measured and slow in order to keep it from shakily betraying his words.
Though he protests a bit more, Jensen doesn't try to stand when Jared pushes him back on the bed and kneels to pull the sneakers from his feet. In fact, he flops back, sighs contentedly, and raises his arms over his head to stretch like a cat in a sun-filled window. Jesus fuck, Jared deserves an award for backing out of the room.
With one final glance around the living room, he shakes his head and lets himself out of the apartment. Jensen is too fucking hot, and he can't help wondering how many other guys he's brought back here while too trashed to even ask for their names. How many men has Jensen let into his own personal space without thought or concern for the possible consequences?
It's disconcerting, to say the least, and enough of a thought to keep him from feeling bad for walking away. He did the right thing back there, for himself and certainly for Jensen.
Of course, if Jensen ever throws himself at Jared like that again while sober and in charge of all of his faculties? Jared won't say no a second time.
A week into shooting, Jared has only seen Jensen a handful of times. Ryan was right – Jensen is one hell of a PA. Probably the best Jared's ever worked with. He's efficient, and friendly, and actually seems to really like his job. He smiles at Jared, the same as everyone else, as though they never met outside of work. After a couple of days, Jared resigns himself to the realization that Jensen probably doesn't remember the other night at all.
They're well into week two when Jared walks into the lunch tent and finds Jensen filling a Styrofoam container with three kinds of meat and some macaroni. Like a man who hasn't eaten in days, which is amusing until Jared remembers Jensen's refrigerator at home and the fact that this is probably the only meal Jensen's going to get today.
Without a second thought, he fills two containers and joins Jensen at the table he's perched against. “Hey,” he smiles, pulling a chair out. “Join me?”
Jensen just holds up a finger and says, “On it,” before giving Jared an apologetic smile. “I don't really have time to sit,” he starts.
“You get a half hour like everybody else, don't you?”
“Well, yeah, but . . . they kind of like it if I'm available, ya know? In case anybody needs anything.”
“Well, I need for you to eat. So,” Jared pushes the chair out further and grins when Jensen drops into it. “Thanks.”
His words of gratitude are met with a soft smile that Jensen aims toward the table, like he's afraid to let Jared see it. “You're work is pretty amazing, man. Dailies are lookin' awesome.”
“Thanks, man,” Jared nods and they fall into an easy silence for a minute before he bothers to slide the extra container toward Jensen. “That's for you.”
“Oh, I'm okay,” Jensen holds his hands up as he polishes off the last of his chicken breast. “Plenty here,” he adds.
Licking his lips, Jared angles his head and waits for a few of the actors to pass before he says, “You have the next couple days off. Thought you might wanna take some home with you.”
Jensen raises an eyebrow and shoots an incredulous look in Jared's direction. “What the fuck is your obsession with my diet, man?”
He might be taken aback if the question didn't mean that Jensen does remember the other night. With a shrug, Jared leans back in his chair and rests his hand on the back of Jensen's neck. “I like you,” he says simply. “Just want you to take care of yourself.” With a wink, he adds, “And maybe stop getting drunk and taking strangers back to your apartment.”
“Dude, you're the one who took me. I didn't ask you for that,” Jensen protests, posture stiffening visibly.
Jared slides his hand down the length of Jensen's spine as he says, voice low and commanding, “Relax, Jensen.” Jensen does. Immediately. “Just don't wanna find out you're not at work on Sunday because some asshole cuffed you to that bed of yours and left you there. Or worse.”
“I'm kind of offended that you apparently think I'm completely dysfunctional and a possibly a little bit of a moron,” Jensen says, his eyes sparkling beneath the surface with dark humor. “You honestly think I don't have a key stashed somewhere near that bed? I can reach it no matter where I'm cuffed from, ya know? Gimme a little credit, okay?”
“Not gonna stop some fucker from lockin' your ass up and beatin' you stupid,” Jared points out, fingers running casually over Jensen's hip before he pulls his hand back.
“Some people get off on pain,” is Jensen's parting defense, without a trace of the humor. “I gotta get back to work.”
Jared waits until Jensen gathers his empty plate, and the container Jared prepared for him, before he speaks. “Jensen.” Jensen turns, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Do you wanna grab some dinner Saturday night?”
“Why? So you can make sure I'm eating? Or so I don't get fucked up and take a stranger home to bang me?”
“I was thinkin' so I could get to know you better.” Jensen loosens his stance a little, head tilted to consider Jared as he closes the distance between them. “And I'm not a stranger anymore.” His voice is soft and dripping with intent.
Jensen opens his mouth, and then slaps his hand over the mouthpiece of his headset and his eyes drift. He nods, presses a button at his hip, and then says, “On it,” with another smile in Jared's direction. “Tell me when and where.”
It takes Jared a second to realize Jensen is talking to him again. “Seven thirty at Sona?”
Jensen looks skeptical. “You're kidding, right? That place is,” he stops and shakes his head. “I'm a PA.” he says it like maybe Jared forgot or something.
“I asked you out, Jensen.”
“So this is, like, a date?” Jared nods. “Dude, if you wanna get laid, you can just come over to my place. You don't have to spend that much money on me.”
“You gonna make me a Sonoma lamb rack with goat cheese tortellini?”
“I don't even wanna watch you eat goat cheese tortellini,” Jensen pulls a face and shakes his head.
Jared laughs. “Seven thirty. Don't be late.”
Jensen nods in compliance and then nods his head and mutters, “On it,” into his headset again before ambling off with an awkward wave.
Saturday night, eight fifteen, and Jared is disappointed that Jensen hasn't shown yet. Not surprised, just disappointed. He really did want to take the guy to a nice dinner and get to know him a little bit. He seems so calm and collected on set, even amidst the chaos of fifteen departments doing thirty different things around him. So different from that guy at the bar, looking for a fight or a fuck to unwind. Jared wanted to pry into his psyche, figure out exactly what makes Jensen tick.
And he still wants to. Enough as he takes his keys from the valet and grabs Jensen's address from it's saved place in his GPS. If Jensen wants to stand him up, that's his prerogative, but he's going to have to tell Jared why in person. Alone. Without the safety of two hundred sweaty crew members at work.
By the time he gets to Jensen's place, he's moved from disappointed to frustrated. Jared's a reasonably pleasant guy, or so he likes to think, but he just got stood up so he's not exactly his normally jovial self at the moment. Also, there's a good possibility he might find Jensen cuffed to his bed, bloody and unconscious or something, and that kind of puts a damper on the smiles and rainbows, too.
His fist pounds heavily against the door of Jensen's apartment and he can hear the television when he stops. “Jensen, come on, man. Open up!” None of Jensen's neighbors come out to make sure everything's okay, and while he doesn't expect them to, it only bothers Jared more for some reason. Anything could happen to this guy, in this place, and nobody would even fucking notice. “I'm not goin' away!” he adds loudly, pounding again.
The lock clicks and the door opens, but by the time Jared steps through, Jensen's flopping back down on the couch and flicking cigarette ashes into the tray at his side. “What are you doin' here?” Jensen asks flatly, his hair mussed and his face puffy. His flat eyes are trained on the television, but Jared doubts he knows what he's watching.
“We had a date,” Jared says, hands on his hips. The room reeks of cigarettes and something else. Something far more stale and depressing.
Jensen shrugs his shoulders and doesn't so much as risk a glance in Jared's direction. “Didn't feel up to it,” he says, sucking another drag on his cigarette and growing ever-more interested in the way the plume flows and fades into the air in front of his face.
It pisses Jared off. To be tossed aside like sitting around on the couch is better than hanging out with him for a night? Yeah, that hurts his pride. But it's more than that. It's the far-away look in Jensen's eyes that says he's not quite here on the same plane as the rest of the world. The way he barely moves, barely even acknowledges Jared's presence. Like maybe he's not even really aware that Jared is here.
“You could have called,” Jared points out, trying his best not to sound like a pissy little bitch. It's hard when all he wants to do is shake Jensen and ask him what the fuck is wrong with him.
With a shrug, Jensen stamps his cigarette into the ashtray and reaches toward the floor to produce a half-empty bottle of Mountain Dew. “Meant to,” is his only explanation.
“Dude, what is your damage?” Jared manages to maintain most of his cool, hands on his hips as he shakes his head. It's infuriating, this devil-may-care attitude Jensen is hitting him with, but he's not about to explode like a volcano. He's known too many guys like Jensen in his life to satisfy him with that reaction.
Another shrug, and Jensen sets the bottle back on the floor before drawing the ashtray to his thigh and pulling another cigarette from the near-empty pack at his side. He lights it, holds the smoke for just a second, and then exhales with a sigh that seems to relax his entire body further into the cushions.
When he scratches his blunt nails through his disheveled hair, Jared notices the angry red marks on his wrists for the first time. And the stubble burn on his neck. “You brought someone home last night,” Jared deduces, feeling slightly sick to his stomach.
Jensen just grabs his soda, tiny smirk on his lips as he takes another pull from the electric green bottle. “Jealous?” he asks with more inflection than any of this other words thus far.
He is, but that's not the part that makes Jared's heart beat quicken. “Some stranger you picked up in a bar, right?” It's hard to press the words out of his tightening throat, but he does it anyway.
Jensen quirks an eyebrow, but has yet to meet Jared's eye. “Wasn't a stranger this morning.”
He says it like he's proud of himself, like there's something impressive about getting shit faced and bringing a total stranger into his house. Like it's totally normal, and natural, and safe to let some guy he doesn't know cuff his drunken body to his own bed and use him however he chooses. Like he doesn't fucking care.
“I don't even know why I'm here,” Jared grits his frustration through clenched teeth. It's true – this is ridiculous. Why the fuck should he spend his Saturday night giving a damn about a kid who doesn't give two shits about his damn self? He doesn't want Jared's help, or even his company, so why did he even think it was a good idea to try?
If he didn't know better, Jared would swear that Jensen shoots a look out the corner of his eye for a brief second before taking the remote and flipping through fourteen channels in about twelve seconds. He settles on some reality show and then stamps out another cigarette.
“Fuck it. I'll see you on set Monday.” In a couple of steps, he makes it to the front door and throws it open, prepared to make a grand exit.
Another second, and he would have already been over the threshold. He never would have heard the 'figures' Jensen mutters under his breath. Never would have glanced over his shoulder to see the way Jensen's eyes lower to his leg, or the way he rolls another unlit cigarette dejectedly against his thigh.
And Jared gets it. Even as he shuts the door behind him and starts down the hall, everything becomes clear in his mind. Jensen's testing him. Pushing boundaries. Figuring out whether Jared is one of the many who just want to order him around and manhandle him, or if he's made of something more. Seeing how far he can push before Jared just walks away.
Because everybody walks away, right? That's what guys like Jensen always seem to believe – that they're never going to measure up, so they might as well just push you away before you decide to leave on your own. He's seen it before. He's lived with it.
But what Jensen doesn't understand, what he couldn't possibly begin to know, is that Jared's a rock. He's a wall. He's the immovable object, and it doesn't matter what irresistible force Jensen thinks he is, shoving Jared out of his life isn't going to be so fucking easy. He doesn't back down, and if Jensen wants to throw down the gauntlet, he's going to see what it looks like when Jared steps to the challenge.
The thing about Jensen is that he's not just a good PA. He's a fan-fucking-tastic PA. There is nothing asked of him that he doesn't somehow make happen, and Jared's heard a few of these idiots give him some really complicated instructions over the last few weeks. He's still not sure how the guy managed to find some rare bottled water from somewhere in Arizona for the lead actress's trailer in less than three hours, but he got it done. It's like there's absolutely nothing he won't do when directly instructed.
Of course, he avoids Jared like he's some kind of disease. Barely stops long enough to drop a new draft of the shooting script into Jared's assistant's hand before he's off and listening to his headset for his next set of commands. He shrugs off invitations to lunch and beer with the guys after work. Following a weekend, he always looks a little worse for wear, but it doesn't affect his performance so Jared can't make a big deal out of it.
They're in the fourth week of shooting when Jared decides that enough is enough and if he's tired of playing the 'just look me in the eye and let me show you that I want you' game with Jensen. It's clearly not going to work. Which is fine – Jared has a plan. One that he's pretty sure will work for both of them in the long run.
“Jensen,” he calls out when the camera operator is changing film and Jensen is talking to the director and one of his assistants. “You taking lunch orders?”
Jensen nods, holds up a finger for Jared to wait a second, and then turns his full attention. “What can I get ya?” he asks, smile looking almost genuine. He's always smiling at work, like the guy who sulked on his couch a couple weeks back is just his raggedy-ass twin brother or something.
“Tuna. On whole wheat. No mayo,” he catches his bottom lip between his teeth and then tilts his head to the side. “Ya know what? Grab a chicken club, hold the bacon, and extra mayo, too,” he adds. Jensen looks surprised by the bulk of the order, but says nothing as he jots it down. “Couple bags of those baked chips and two waters.”
Without so much as a grunt, Jensen nods and walks away. When he returns, Jared is in the middle of an argument with the art director about some idiotic, god-awful painting he wants on the wall of the living room. It doesn't make sense for the scene, and it blocks half of Jared's “natural” light source. They are not using the goddamn painting, and he doesn't even know who Dave's uncle is, no matter how many times the guy drops his name like it means something.
Jensen clears his throat when Dave stalks away, and Jared rakes his fingers through his hair as the director calls for the lunch break. Everyone scatters from set, and then Jared turns and meets Jensen's eye. “Thanks,” he smiles brightly, looking at the bag of food at Jensen's side.
“It's my job,” Jensen shrugs, smile only slightly more genuine this time than it has been recently.
“You're good at it,” Jared pushes forward with the compliment and reaches into the bag. He withdraws one wrapped sandwich and extends it toward Jensen. “Come on. Eat with me.”
Jensen rolls his eyes. “We're not doin' this shit again, Jared,” he insists.
“So don't fight me on it,” is Jared's response.
They're alone on the set now, and that's probably why Jensen drops the grin and throws his arms out to his sides. “Why are you doing this? Why bother? Am I some kind of charity case to you or something? I don't get it!”
“I told you before, I like you.”
“But why?” Jensen's voice climbs, like he's actually freaked out by the concept of someone just liking him. “I'm a fucking PA – a grunt – a slave, Jared. I don't have some exciting life. I don't make a lot of money. I've never sucked your dick or even been all that nice to you. How the fuck can you stand there and say that you like me. You don't even fuckin' know me!”
“So give me a chance to get to know you,” Jared proposes simply, pulling his sandwich out of the bag and lowering himself to his chair. With a nod of his head, he motions to the one beside him, the director's, and waits for Jensen to make the decision.
“This is such bull shit,” Jensen shakes his head and grabs the sandwich, flopping into the chair and slumping down. He's petulant, almost like a little kid being made to eat Aunt Edna's super-special meatloaf surprise or something.
For a long time, they chew in silence and say nothing. It's not the best way to get to know someone, sure, but it's a start. At least Jensen's not bolting from the room or staring all catatonic-like at the floor, so Jared considers it progress.
“Where you from?” he asks when he's half-way through his sandwich.
Jensen seems thrown by the question at first, but swallows and then answers. “Texas. Richardson. It's, um . . . it's outside of Dallas.”
“No shit?” Jared can't help smiling. “Born and bred in San Antonio, man.”
Though he tries to hide it, Jensen smiles. “How 'bout that,” he says, and it's not enthusiastic, but it's not sarcastic, either, so Jared lets it slide.
“So why Hollywood? You have grand ambitions of acting or directing?”
Jensen blushes a little and shakes his head, rips another bite off of his sandwich and chews it slowly about thirty times before answering. “My dad's an actor,” he admits. “Back in Dallas. Mostly theater stuff . . . some commercials. . . been doin' it my whole life pretty much.” He takes a drink of his water before continuing. “They let me PA on this local PBS thing he did back when I was in high school. Kinda loved it a little.”
“So you came to LA to be a . . . PA?” Jared doesn't mean to belittle, but come on. Who wants to be a PA?
Instead of looking embarrassed, Jensen nods and actually squares his chin, like he's proud of it. “The thought of being chained to a desk somewhere makes me wanna vomit. And being in charge of anything? Like you? Makes my skin crawl. This job is a dream for me,” he explains. “I mean, everything's all laid out. I know what I'm supposed to do, it's never the same thing two days in a row, and the atmosphere's chaotic and exciting. It's just . . . I know it's not for everybody. Some people wanna be more or whatever. I just,” he shrugs and pops a chip into his mouth. “I don't.”
Jared considers the new information, and it actually explains so much that he wants to burst out laughing with relief. He's pretty sure that Jensen would misconstrue that, though. So he just nods his head and then turns to meet Jensen's eye. “You're really good at it,” he compliments.
And Jensen's cheeks tint pink again. “Thanks,” he accepts the compliment with humility and lowers his head like Jared can't see him from two feet away if he can't see his eyes. “It's pretty easy. Just give people what they want.” With another shrug, he looks up again. “Doesn't take a rocket scientist or anything.”
“You'd be surprised how much better than most you are.”
A few people start filtering back onto the set and Jensen bolts out of his seat like he's been burnt. Wads the paper from his sandwich into a ball and stuffs it into his potato chip bag. With a soft smile, he tilts his half-empty water bottle toward Jared. “Thanks for lunch,” he says, almost shyly, and then taps the battery pack at his belt while tilting his head. “I'm on it,” he speaks into his headset.
“Jensen,” Jared says just before the guy can scurry away again. Jensen turns back. “I'll see you later.” Jensen just gives a customary shrug, smiles at one of the other PA's passing, and then runs off to find who ever was just talking in his ear a second ago.
Before Jared can think too much about the urge to follow, he's pulled into a conversation with one of the actors about blocking, Jensen pushed to the furthest corner of his mind.
For the next week, Jared convinces Jensen to have lunch with him every day. Even though they're sometimes interrupted by people chirping in Jensen's ear, or trying to get Jared's approval for something or other, they manage to sort of get to know each other a little bit better.
“We should try dinner again,” Jared says suddenly one day, nearly causing Jensen to choke on his broccoli soup. “Ya know, with you actually showing up this time.”
Jensen smiles wryly at the statement as he tilts his head. “Dude, you stand a guy up one time,” he teases and then his smile drops. “You really wanna give it another shot?”
With his hand on the back of Jensen's chair, it's not hard to just reach out and touch the back of his neck. Just the brush of fingers on warm skin, and Jared can tell it affects Jensen just as much as it gets to him. “I really do,” he admits, eyes darting between Jensen's wide, hopeful eyes, and the way he keeps darting his tongue out to lick at his full lips.
“Man, I already told you that you don't have to buy me dinner to get laid,” Jensen laughs nervously, even as his face moves closer to Jared's. Possibly because Jared's hand is guiding him, but Jared would like to think it's more about mutual desire.
He thinks they're still alone, but Jared doesn't fucking care anymore if someone's wandering in. The only person in the room that matters to him is Jensen, and the warmth of his breath, with the soft scent of his soup still lingering there.
Drawing Jensen's lower lip into his mouth first, he sucks slowly at the flavor of broccoli and cheese and chapstick and Jensen. He feels the moment that Jensen uncoils, melting forward and allowing Jared to lead while licking over the line of Jared's top lip. It's wet, and hot, and perfect. And if Jared doesn't stop, he's going to stuff his hand down Jensen's pants in about three seconds.
He pulls away reluctantly, eyelids heavy for a moment before he says, “Not about getting laid.” If he knows anything, it's that he doesn't have to spend a dime to get Jensen out of his clothes and onto his cock.
“Always about getting laid,” Jensen whispers, hands clutching the arm of Jared's chair as he goes in for another kiss.
In his head, Jared knows he should stop this. Knows he has to. But, “Dammit, Jensen,” he breathes when Jensen pulls back first. “Tryin' to do this right.” Did he really just say that out loud? Could he sound any more lame?
Jensen chuckles and sits back in his chair, effectively shaking Jared's hand off the back of his neck. “I'm not some fragile little girl, Jared,” he assures. “Don't have to handle me with kid gloves or anything. I don't break easy.”
If ever there was a more telling statement, Jared doesn't think he's ever heard it. Of course, he's not about to say that out loud and risk Jensen freezing up again. Instead, he curls his bottom lip into his mouth, catches Jensen's eye, and then shrugs, in typical Jensen fashion. “Maybe I don't wanna break you.”
He's close enough to hear Jensen's headset chirp, and he leans back further to give him room to answer. For the first time since he met Jensen, his green eyes never leave Jared's face as he listens to the command in his ear. “Yeah. On it,” he responds into the mouthpiece and then smiles, his hand covering Jared's on the chair. “Gotta run,” he apologizes, sort of.
“I get it,” Jared nods, fully aware that Jensen never really accepted his invitation for dinner.
“Maybe we could,” Jensen says as he stands, smoothing his hands over his jeans. “I don't know . . . the whole five star restaurant thing kind of skeezes me out, Jared. I'm sorry.”
Making his way to his feet, Jared reaches out and captures Jensen's wrist in his hand, thumb running slowly over the pulse point. Racing. And Jared's not arrogant enough to think it's just because they're touching. The idea of going to a nice restaurant actually scares Jensen. “Where do you wanna go?”
Unfortunately, the question only seems to add to the anxiety. “Why don't we just hang at my place?”
“Where'm I supposed to sit at your place, Jensen?” He regrets the words as soon as their out of his mouth. He doesn't want Jensen to think that he's judging him or anything. But honestly? The place is a wreck.
Lowering his eyes, Jensen clears his throat and nods his head, like a child taking in disapproving words from his parents or something. “Um, okay. Well, can we maybe . . . I don't know. Can't you just pick something less . . . ostentatious? Pretentious? Intimidating?”
Jared wants to point out that it's bad form to take a guy on a first date to The Waffle House, but the last thing he needs is a jittery, nervous, uncomfortable Jensen on his hands all fucking night. He's seen what Jensen does when he's wound too tight, and he'd prefer to never see it again, thank you very much.
With a nod, he rubs Jensen's wrist again, noting that his pulse has slowed considerably in the last minute or so. “I'll find something a little more casual,” he promises and Jensen smiles in spite of himself, turning to return to work. But Jared doesn't let go just yet. “And I'll pick you up at 7:00 on Saturday. You're not standing me up again.”
“Okay.” Jared lets go and Jensen runs off, doubling his speed to make up for the time he just lost from standing around for an extra two minutes.
Jared just watches him go, a million questions popping into his head unbidden. He'll have a chance to ask them Saturday night. Because it doesn't matter what Jensen tries to pull, he's not getting out of this date.
Part 2
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![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 05:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 07:28 pm (UTC)You'll learn more about Jensen in Part 2!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 06:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 07:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 06:23 pm (UTC)Who knew a couple of hours could be that long!!
Bossy!OverProtective!Jared is fun! me likey!
Can't wait to see what Wednesday brings!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 07:36 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading - I'm glad you enjoyed it.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 06:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 07:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 06:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 07:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 06:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 07:44 pm (UTC)To answer your question: Jensen's actually NOT younger than Jared. He's thirty. Jared is twenty-eight. Jensen's just not quite as "together" as Jared, so he probably comes off a little younger.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 06:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 07:45 pm (UTC)Btw, Happy Birthday! I should probably wait until Wednesday to tell you that, but I'll probably forget by then (I'm terrible with dates), so I'm sayin' it now. Hope you have a great day!
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 07:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 07:46 pm (UTC)And thanks - I'm glad you're liking the story so far!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 07:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 07:47 pm (UTC)I'm glad you're enjoying so far. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 07:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 07:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 08:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 12:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 10:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 12:45 am (UTC)I'm really glad that you're enjoying it so far, though. Thanks so much!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 11:21 pm (UTC)Really enjoying this, and very mich looking forward to more.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 12:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 11:27 pm (UTC)I love this. X x
no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 12:47 am (UTC)I promise it'll work on Wednesday. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 12:33 am (UTC)Looking forward to the next update
no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 12:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 01:58 am (UTC)Nice, I'm curious to find out what Jensen's deal is. I mean he turns down an expensive date with a hottie like Jared? yea, something is off with that boy.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 03:08 am (UTC)And I promise, you'll learn more about Jensen in the next chapter. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 03:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 03:58 am (UTC)Protective Jared is one of my favorite things in the world.. :D
Cant wait for more.. ^_^
no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 04:01 am (UTC)There will be more on Wednesday - I hope you keep enjoying it!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 06:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 01:42 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you're enjoying the story so far! Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 12:41 pm (UTC)Gorgeous and haunting, can't wait to see what happens next. Thanks for posting, I am enjoying this so much already.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 01:43 pm (UTC)Thanks again! I'm really glad you're enjoying this.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 06:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 06:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 10:06 pm (UTC)Hope Jared can show him what love is all about.
Tab x
no subject
Date: 2010-01-06 04:50 am (UTC)I'm really glad you're liking it so far!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 11:51 pm (UTC)Okay so um where's the rest of the story? Cause I'm still debating on if I should kick Jensen in the shins and steal Jared for my very own! LOL
This is good! Very Good!!!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-06 04:48 am (UTC)Ha . . . I love you - you know that right? You crack me up.
And no worries - you'll get more in about twelve hours. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-01-06 06:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-06 02:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-06 08:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-06 02:18 pm (UTC)I'm really glad you liked part 1, though!