raeschae | February Thirtieth, 1/1, R, J2 (AU)

Title: February Thirtieth
Author:

raeschae
Pairing: J2 (AU)
Word Count: 5200 (give or take)

Summary: It’s been almost a year since Jared got drunk and made a slight tactical error at a party, costing him his relationship and most of his friends. Fortunately, he’s still got Chad (which isn’t really so much a blessing, but it’s better than nothing), and a new neighbor who is completely ignorant to his former drunken idiocy.

A/N: I have absolutely no idea where this fic came from. There are other things I should be working on, other things I am working on, but this kind of popped into my head the other night and, well, here it is. Hope y’all enjoy it.

“I need a date.”

“February thirtieth.”

Jared lifts his head, tears his eyes away from the riveting pattern of the ceiling tiles, and slowly rolls his neck in the direction of the man sitting at the opposite end of his couch.

Chad is dressed in pajama pants and a Buffalo Bills tee shirt that his dad bought for him when he was in the fifth grade. It stretches tight and thin across his scrawny chest, and is dangerously close to teasing his happy trail. It is quite possible that this is what he slept in last night, or what he's planning on sleeping in tonight. Either way, it's disturbing because Chad doesn't sleep here.

Also, he's fascinated by this reality show on the History channel, and his eyes don't even leave the screen as Jared skeptically considers him. He's been waiting to see the naked girls for the last two hours of the marathon, and Jared hasn't yet mustered the heart to tell him that it's actually called Pawn Stars. Figures Chad graduated second grade and should, at the very least, be able to read the title card when it flashes on the screen every fifteen minutes or so.

“You're not kidding, are you?” he asks when it becomes clear that Chad's already checked out of the conversation.

“About what?”

“I said I need a date. As in someone to go out to dinner with and, hopefully, get laid by at the end of the night.”

“What for?”

“Because I'm tired of sitting around this damn apartment, and I'm not gonna belly up to some bar all alone, looking single and desperate.”

“But you are single and desperate.”

Sometimes, Jared wishes that Chad would watch television at his own house. “I'm not desperate,” he insists, even though he kind of is.

It's been nine months since his last relationship ended, and that was kind of his fault. In as much as getting drunk and making out with his boyfriend's little sister (and possibly her cousin, but Jared doesn't remember that – he's only seen pictures, which could have totally been Photoshopped) in a bathroom during some party can be considered his fault.

“Dude, I don't know what you're problem is. We hang out all the time.”

Chad's right. They do. Because Chad's the only one that will still talk to him. The rest of his friends, mutually shared with his ex back in the day, don't really have time for Jared, the slutty, slutty whore. Being as Chad has a penchant for boning barely-legals and bragging about it after the fact, he's pretty much the only step down the ladder in their esteemed opinions.

“I don't wanna hang out,” Jared clarifies. “I wanna go out. Do something. Be somewhere. Interact with human beings face to face, without having to type my thoughts and express my flirtation with emoticons!”

Chad reaches for the phone. “Alright, calm down. Jesus,” he exclaims, dialing and holding up a finger for Jared to hold on.

Like he's going anywhere. Like he has somewhere to go.

“Yeah, I just placed an order for delivery, like, five minutes ago,” Chad says, rolling his eyes. “For delivery. Yeah, that's me. Um, can you . . . don't cancel the order. . . No, I don't wanna change it. . . I just wanna cancel the delivery part. We're gonna come pick it up instead.” Another eye roll. “Look, man, I'll still tip you or whatever, okay? Yeah, just . . . no, listen, my friend here is feeling a little agoraphobic and we need to get some air, okay? Thanks.”

It takes a full two minutes for Jared to wrap his head around the fact that Chad knows what agoraphobic means, and another couple to get that he just told the delivery guy at The China Palace that they're pathetic enough to believe that picking up dumplings and egg rolls constitutes going out on a Saturday night.

“You know that's not what I meant, right?” Normal people would know it's not what he meant, but. February thirtieth.

With a shrug, Chad stands from the couch and shuts the television off. “There's not even any chicks on this fuckin' show,” he says. That's all he says. As though it somehow explains everything.

“Chad, I don't wanna -” Jared stops himself and groans as he stands. What the hell? It's not like he has anything else to do.

It's been almost a year since he woke up to that note, informing him that his bitch ass better never so much as think about touching Kevin's little sister ever again, and that the relationship they had been building for seventeen months was over. Since he decided that maybe he was a little too fond of cheap liquor, good weed, skilled fingers, and plump lips. Especially when shaken together and served in a nice, frosty glass of really bad fucking judgment.

A year might not be a long time for some people, but Jared is neither a monk nor a senior citizen, so it feels like an eternity.

He misses sex. And drinking. And parties. And hanging out with people who aren't Chad.

He never had trouble making friends before. It shouldn't be that hard now. It's not like everyone knows about what happened. And even if they do, they can't all possibly care that Jared broke a cardinal rule of dating. You know, the one where you don't fuck around on your boyfriend with his younger sister when you're supposed to be gay and completely unaffected by really supple, lifted and separated, nineteen-year-old breasts.

“Look, man,” Chad starts when they're in the car and Jared can't really throw him out into oncoming traffic, “if it means that much to you, we can totally hit a club or somethin' later.”

Jared raises an eyebrow and turns his head just enough to see his friend out of his periphery before returning his focus to the road. “Not really what I had in mind.”

“Well, beggars can't be choosers, Jay-man.”

“I appreciate the offer, Chad, but let's just get our dinner, okay?”

Jared really does appreciate the offer. He appreciates that Chad still hangs around, either because he doesn't know any better, or he just doesn't care. But a.) the guy looks like he spent the entire day with his lips attached to a bong in his mother's basement, and b.) the guy spent the entire day with his lips attached to a bong in his mother's basement. He's not exactly Jared's idea of the perfect wing man.

He doesn't even bother getting out of the car at the restaurant, and not just because he doesn't want to be seen with someone who honestly believes he looks good enough to hit a club in his ratty, old pajamas. He just doesn't feel like moving beyond the cab of the truck.

“So I was thinking,” Chad announces as he climbs back into his seat and slams the door, nearly spilling the large paper bag in the process. “I know this guy, and he's pretty cool, if you can ignore the ankle bracelet and remember that he only has to stay away from the “controlled substances” until his parole is over.”

In retrospect, Jared's pretty sure this is where he loses the will to live.

***

He doesn't really get a lot of visitors these days, so Jared is a little surprised when there's a knock on his door later that night. Chad is passed out on the couch, chicken and rice coma kicking in full force, and he's never been so grateful for the peace and quiet.

During dinner, he suggested three more potential “dates” for Jared: Luis, with the best connections to the purest shit straight from his uncle in Columbia. Darren, the computer “expert,” who's sole purpose and ambition in life is hacking into various high-profile newspaper and magazine websites and inserting words about bodily functions into front-page articles, and Benny, who's only on that damn registry because some asshole decided pissing in a public fountain constituted some sort of crime. It wasn't even like he took his dick out for sexually offending purposes or anything. Who even knows that asking an officer to hold it for you so you can balance your drunk ass can get you arrested?

Without bothering to check the peep hole, Jared throws the door open and then promptly freezes in his place.

The guy standing on the other side of the threshold is not real. He can't be. There is no possibility that someone with those lips, and those eyelashes, dressed in those jeans can actually live and breathe in the construct of this reality.

“Hey,” the not-real guy offers a small wave and then gestures over his shoulder. “I just moved in down the hall and this is going to sound really stupid, but the electricity is supposed to be turned on yesterday, and they still haven't gotten around to it yet, but it was either move in today anyway or sleep on a park bench, so I kind of have to live like a nineteenth century Puritan until they manage to work me into their schedule.” He runs his hand over the back of his head and fucking blushes.

“I'm Jared.” As though his mouth and brain are no longer connected, Jared just kind of waves in conjunction with his completely nonsensical greeting.

His full lips curve into the most blinding and beautiful smile Jared has ever seen. Literally, like, ever. “Jensen,” he extends his hand and Jared actually does retain enough brain function to accept it.

Of course, that brain power promptly shuts down when Jensen’s fingers wrap around his, firm and warm. “You, uh,” he swallows and remembers to withdraw his hand before it gets creepy. “You wanna come in?”

It’s entirely possible that months without talking to anyone other than co-workers, the UPS guy, and Chad has rendered Jared incapable of interacting with actual, real-life human beings. Which, ultimately, is probably going to make it really hard to accomplish his goal of getting laid. He’s not yet so socially awkward that he doesn’t realize thinking about getting laid right now, with Jensen staring at him, would be counter-productive to the actual goal of getting laid, though.

So he clears his throat and closes the door, cringing as Jensen looks the sleeping lump in his couch up and down. “Roommate?” he asks.

“Obligatory douchebag best friend,” Jared corrects.

“Oh, right.” Jensen nods like he understands and then adds, “I have one of those.” He looks at Chad again. “His name’s Mike. Less hair, more drool.” Turning on his heel, Jensen seems to remember that there’s something in his hand. Jared hasn’t even gotten so far as his hands, what with the way his tee shirt stretches across his chest and his neck is. . . Well, it just is. “Oh, hey. I just wanted to use your microwave, actually.”

Bi-passing Chad, Jared leads the way into the kitchen and nods toward the microwave while fishing a couple of beers out of the refrigerator. When Jensen turns back, Jared offers him one. “Thanks,” Jensen accepts, and he seems almost grateful. “The rent on this apartment was so much the better deal than my last place, that I thought it was probably too good to be true. But then I figured everybody thinks that, and occasionally you’re kind of surprised when it turns out to be both good and true, so I signed the lease, and then everything kind of fell to shit, ya know?”

Jensen talks a lot. Jared doesn’t mind because his brain is still kind of tripping all over the place, still trying to acclimate itself to interpersonal communication that doesn’t revolve around naked women or his job at the dentist's office. So he mostly nods, stares at Jensen’s mouth around the lip of the beer bottle, and tries not to molest the guy in the middle of his story.

That’s not as easy as it may sound, being as Jensen’s story is really fucking long and involves everything from his break up with some guy named Marshall, to some interesting snippets about his mother’s nagging tendencies, to something about the cable guy being as inept as the electric company that Jared can’t really follow while raking his eyes over the way Jensen’s chest flexes when he leans his hands back to brace them against the counter.

“I get it man,” he nods when Jensen stops talking because it seems polite, and because he’s fairly certain that the pregnant pause means the guy’s finally done. “Moving blows.”

The laugh that escapes Jensen’s throat is high-pitched and kind of hysterical, but not in a creepy, dorky, or disturbing way. "It really fucking does." The microwave beeps and Jensen pivots at his waist to grab the popcorn. "Alright, well, thanks," he holds up the bag and nods, setting his half-empty bottle of beer on the counter.

Jared watches Jensen walk toward the door, and the view from the back is almost as spectacular. It's hard to believe, but the way the most perfect blue jeans in the world hug the curve of his ass? Yeah, it's pretty fan-fucking-tastic.

Which is probably why, without thinking, he calls out, “You should stay.” Granted, he meant what he said when he told Chad that he wants to go out more often, but staying in with Jensen could be good, too, right? The whole point of the going out was to meet people who haven’t seen his scarlet “A” and all, and Jensen has given no indication that he believes Jared to be a dirty, back-stabbing harlot.

“It’s fine, Jared. Thanks for letting me use your microwave, but I don’t wanna put you out.”

“You’re totally not.” So maybe Chad was more than a little right when he said that Jared is kind of desparate. But it’s not like he’s going to try to fuck the guy against a wall tonight or anything. Unless there are, ya know, vibes or something. “I mean, what are you gonna do if you head back to your place? Sit around in the dark and eat popcorn?” For once, he remembers how to smile without looking like there’s something wrong with his face. “Come on, man. Even I think that’s pathetic.”

“And look what you do for fun on a Saturday night,” Jensen intones, eyes drifting pointedly to the Chad-shaped lump on the couch. When the lump raises a hand to scratch at his exposed stomach, he looks back at Jared. “You really do know how to party, Jared.”

It’s not like Jared can actually deny it. Or say, “I used to know how to party, but it bit me in the ass in a very not orgasm-inducing way, so I stopped and now that I would very much like to start again, my engine seems to be stalled”? That doesn’t really seem like it will work.

“You still have half a beer to finish,” he tempts, though he’s pretty sure he doesn’t need to. Jensen seems to be weighing the options, and it looks like he might be coming down heavier on the side of staying. But it never hurts to sweeten the pot. And what’s sweeter than beer really?

Chad grunts, rolls over onto his stomach and bows his back, his ass popping up and then thrusting back down as though he might be trying to hump Jared’s couch. It’s, sadly, not the first time this has happened, and Jared has learned his lesson about asking what Chad dreams when such an unfortunate incident occurs. He’s also learned the value of Scotchgarding.

“Dude, I’m gonna need so much more than half a bottle if he keeps that up,” is Jensen’s acceptance of the invitation.

For the first time in months, Jared thinks maybe his life doesn’t completely suck out loud.

***

As it turns out, Jensen is almost as cool a guy to hang out with as he is attractive, and he’s pretty damn hot.

They both prefer first person shooter video games, action movies with more explosions than plots, and both have careers in medicine. Well, Jensen earned a certificate in medical transcription from one of those places they advertise during daytime television, and works out of the alcove in his living room. Jared is a dental hygeniest. Somehow, they still manage to fall into the habit of referring to each other as ‘doctor’ when they pass in the hallway of the building. Chad says it’s not even funny, but Chad laughs at his own body hair, so what does he know?

Most of the time, they get take-out and hang around Jared’s place. Occasionally they go to Jensen’s, but it’s kind of awkward and uncomfortable there on account of the next door neighbors having loud, obnoxious sex that bangs their headboard against the wall Jensen’s television is on pretty much all the time. Jared is always torn between storming over and demanding they keep it down, and demanding to know how they can possibly keep it up. There’s a slight part of him that also wants to ask if he can join.

Because, honestly, hanging out with Jensen is the most fun he’s had in about as long as he can remember. And granted, they sometimes go out, to dinner, and movies, and once to a semi-pro hockey game, but there were about fifteen people there, and twelve of them had mullets, so Jared doesn’t really think that counts. He should be happy to have what he’s been claiming to want, right?

But Jared is still having as much sex as he was when he met Jensen two months ago (which is to say none), and now he wants it more than he did before (which he really didn’t think was even possible). And not just because he’s knocking on the door of a full year of celibacy, either.

Before, getting laid was theoretical and conceptual. It was something he wanted to do, thought about doing, and fantasized about in the vaguest of terms. Now, it’s something he wants to do with Jensen, and thinks about doing with Jensen, and fantasizes in minute, precise details that all involve Jensen. He’s pretty sure he’s going to break his hand, or another bathroom fixture, if he doesn’t get Jensen naked in the next week to ten days.

“Don’t you two bitches have any other friends?” Jensen’s friend, Mike, asks as he steps out of Jensen’s bedroom with two ties around his neck, both undone. He holds up an end of each and raises his eyebrow. “Which one says, ‘wealthy and generous in bed’?”

Jensen snorts and plunges his fork into the steaming pile of spaghetti Jared picked up at Mama Lucia’s before coming over tonight. “Being as you’re neither, I don’t think it really matters.”

“Which is why I need the tie to say it for me. Obviously,” Mike corrects.

They continue bickering, but Jared’s not paying attention. Two things have occured to him and he’s not sure which is more bothersome.

1.) Jensen just implied that he knows about Mike’s generosity, or lack thereof, in the bedroom, and it’s entirely possible that this is because Jensen either was at one time, or is currently, fucking Mike. Which would be a lot like Jared trying to fuck Chad, and he’s eating right now so he shoves that thought out of his head entirely.

2.) Mike is right. Jensen has spent every day with Jared since he moved into this building. He doesn’t have any more friends than Jared does, and Jared has never bothered to notice, or find out why.

By the time he jumps off the Tilt-A-Whirl of his own thoughts, Mike is slamming the front door shut. He doesn’t mean to say it, but it just kind of slips out. “So, did you guys date, or was it just sex?”

Jensen nearly chokes on a meatball, and Jared would help but he’s kind of struck by the fact that even bug-eyed and choking, Jensen is ridiculously and unfairly hot. “Me and Mike?” He sets his plate on the coffee table and turns his body on the couch. “Why would you . . . how did . . . I’m not sure I . . . Um,” he scrambles for an answer once he’s cleared his throat about fifteen times. “About four months ago. We agreed never to speak of it again.”

“But you just said,” Jared nods over his shoulder as though there’s instant replay Jensen can check if he’s forgotten.

“Yeah, well, I’m not so good with the secrets, man. Have you met me?” He shakes his head and grabs the garlic breadstick off of his plate. “I kinda talk a lot when I’m nervous, usually about my own embarrassing shortcomings and mistakes. Ergo, I slept with Mike four months ago.”

“Ergo?”

“That’s what you have a problem with here? My word choice is the issue you’re taking with that revelation?”

“Well, if I think much beyond your word choice, Jensen, my brain might start picturing you having sex with Mike, and I’m not sure I can handle that.” Mostly because his brain is perfectly happy to continue picturing Jensen having sex with Jared, and Mike never fits anywhere in the equation. Ever.

“Yeah, well, I’m like the world’s worst drunk,” Jensen shrugs his shoulders and cradles his plate back in his lap, shovelling a full fork into his mouth and sucking the noodles through pursed lips that are still sexy, even when covered in bright red sauce.

There is no word in the English language that accurately describes how much Jared wants to lick that marinara off of that mouth. Enough, though, that he blurts without thinking, “Not the worst,” while his eyes are still fixated just above Jensen’s chin.

He’s about two seconds away from looking completely fucking creepy when Jensen’s tongue darts out and collects the sauce. Now Jared’s got that tongue to add to the mix and it’s really not helping anything at all.

“Yeah?” Jensen raises an eyebrow skeptically. “So let’s hear it,” he challenges.

It takes a second for Jared's brain to figure out that Jensen is requiring some sort of answer to some kind of question from him. Shaking his head, he reminds himself that he’s a grown-ass man, not a silver mutt affectionately referred to as The Tramp, and Jensen is cerainly no Lady. Spaghetti shouldn’t be this erotic.

By the time he realizes what he’s gotten himself into, it’s too late to back gracefully out of confessing his darkest secret. The thing is, Jared’s gotten used to having Jensen around. He likes the way Jensen’s eyes kind of light up when he sees Jared in the hall, and the smiles they share when standing across the threshold from one another with food in one hand and a six-pack in the other. This entire relationship is built on Jared’s confidence that Jensen has no clue what he did a year ago. Why he doesn’t have any other friends to hang out with, as Mike so astutely pointed out earlier.

“I, uh,” he lowers his head and focuses his eyes on the bowties drowning in alfredo sauce on his plate. Poor little bowties. He knows how that feels. Well, not with alfredo sauce. It’s more of a metaphor, really. “My last boyfriend broke up with me because I got drunk and made out with his sister in our bathroom at a party.”

“What?”

It’s possible he’s mumbling. Risking a glance up, Jared cringes at the confused look in Jensen’s eye. “I got drunk at the party I was throwing for his birthday, and I fucked around with his sister, andpossiblyhiscousin, in our master bathroom.”

For a long time, Jensen doesn’t say anything. And then, “Coulda been worse. Coulda fucked around with ‘em in the master bedroom. Or, I mean, what if he had found you in the guest bathroom, huh? What does that say about your standards? I would say that, if you’re going to fuck around with your boyfriend’s sister and cousin, you picked the best possible place for such fuckery.”

Jared doesn’t think before he lunges forward on the couch and seals his mouth to Jensen’s. Why he does it is up for debate, but he’s pretty sure it has something to do with the fact that he’s been dying to taste these lips all night. Possibly because Jensen doesn’t seem to think Jared’s most egregious error is that big a deal. Also, remember that part where he’s really fucking horny? That hasn’t really changed, either.

Pulling back when Jensen doesn’t respond, Jared feels his cheeks growing warm. This one, he can’t blame on alcohol and poor decision making skills. “Uh, I don’t know why I did that,” he chuckles nervously.

“I don’t fucking care why you did it,” Jensen sucks in a ragged breath. “Been waitin’ for you to for eight fucking weeks, man,” he adds, practically throwing his dinner onto the table and balling Jared’s shirt in both fists to drag him back down on the couch. “Jesus Christ, how many signals does a guy have to send?”

“Hey!” Jared wants to be affronted, but Jensen’s knees are falling open and he’s settling in between his thighs and there’s too much blood rushing away from his brain to feign any kind of offense. “You ramble all the fuckin’ time, Jensen, but you never once said anything about wanting to fuck me half as much as I’ve been wanting to fuck you.”

“How would you know? You barely listen when I talk. You just stare at my mouth like wanna eat my lips.” Jensen rolls his eyes and groans when Jared bends to suck at the place where his neck meets his shoulder. “Besides, Chad told me you were celibate.”

“Chad told you what?”

“Back when we first met? That first night, when you went to the bathroom. He told me about your ex and the sister and the cousin and all that shit, and then he told me that you had taken a vow of celibacy because of it.” He cranes his neck, in what Jared can only assume is an attempt to guide him back to that place.

He just stares because everyone knows you don’t listen to anything Chad says. For any reason. At all. “And you never said anything?”

“Dude, everybody does stupid shit when they’re drunk,” Jensen shrugs, rolling his hips forward. “I mean, I slept with Mike, for fuck’s sake.” Another hip roll, this time while his fingers play under the waistband of Jared’s jeans, and that’s just . . . really unfuckingfair. “And it’s not like I was going to pressure you into anything you were morally opposed to or whatever. I’m not going to force you into something you’re not interested in, ya know?”

He can feel Jensen, hot and hard, against him and it makes him groan in spite of himself. “Oh, I’m interested,” he nods emphatically before kissing Jensen again, if for no other reason than to shut him the hell up for once.

There are things Jared has learned about Jensen over the last couple of months:

1.) Jensen likes a lot of the same things he does, including Wii Fit and the album Funhouse by Pink, though neither of them will ever admit it to either aloud.
2.) Jensen can fill uninterrupted minutes, by saying absolutely nothing at all in more words than most people use in an entire day, when he’s nervous or uncomfortable.
3.) Jensen looks good in every fucking thing he wears, even that Kriss Kross tee shirt that he claims is funny in its irony, but really just makes him look like he never let go of 1989.

But there are new things that Jared learns while rutting against Jensen on his couch, licking at his mouth and sucking at his jaw and neck:

1.) Jensen likes a lot of the same things Jared does, including, but not limited to, strong fingers wrapped tight around their hard cocks, and a little twisting motion on every other upstroke.
2.) Jensen’s constant stream of words against Jared’s ear, not the least of which is the way he growls, “Goddamn, Jared, your fucking hands are killin’ me, man,” and begs “make me come, Jared, wanna fuckin’ come for you,” are a lot harder for Jared to tune out than Jensen’s normal babbling.
3.) Jensen looks even better with his pants hanging open and his shirt rucked up to his chest, his hair sticking out everywhere and his lips all swollen red from sucking on Jared’s fingers while Jared strokes him through his orgasm.

Jared’s kind of disappointed that they don’t get to any actual sex the first time, but then Jensen stands, pushes his jeans over his hips and nods over his shoulder. Then he pulls his tee shirt off and is literally standing there, fucking naked in front of Jared’s face. “You wanna take this to the bedroom?”

He’s not rambling, and Jared realizes that all it took to calm Jensen down was stripping him out of his clothes and making him come. That would have been handy information a couple of months ago, but instead of belaboring the point, he peels his own shirt off and then trips out of his pants as he follows Jensen into his room and falls into a heap on his bed.

They’re both content to just lay there and stare at the ceiling for a little while. Jared tries not to over-analyze what all of it means, if anything at all, but mostly fails miserably and starts wondering how long he and Jensen will be together before their ready to fill out adoption papers and bring their own little starving orphan boy home from Cambodia.

“Hey, Jared?” Jensen finally asks, while Jared is backtracking from his adoption plan and trying to convince himself that Jensen wants this to be more than a one night stand.

Of course, he had a one off with Mike four months ago, but that has to be different, right? The exception instead of the rule? Because, obviously, that was Mike. Mike is Jensen’s Chad. Of course, that brings him back to thinking about sex with Chad, and he’s really pretty fucking grateful for Jensen’s interruption. Also, he thinks rambling when nervous might be a legitimate, contagious medical condition.

“Hm?” is what he says out loud.

“I have a younger sister.”

“I have a Chad.”

“You touch Mac, I will kill you dead.”

“You touch Chad, I will,” Jared stops short because he realizes that they are so not on equal ground for bargaining here. “Well, I’ll probably throw up in my mouth and never be able to touch you again.”

Jensen rolls onto his side and smirks. “Well, then I guess you don’t have to worry. Cause I really fucking like it when you touch me.”

Jared lets Jensen straddle his hips and he just laughs when he says, “You don’t have a damn thing to worry about, either.”