Disclaimer: Sh*t Happens (2/5)
Oct. 24th, 2009 01:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
raeschaeTitle: Disclaimer: Sh*t Happens (2/5)
Author:raeschae
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
neutraldeviance
Graphics:raeschae
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Jared/Jensen, Sophia, Danneel, Tom (Mentions of others)
Warnings: None, really, outside the usual sexing and swearing. And a hell of a lot of kissing.
Word Count: 4735
Disclaimer: Don't know 'em. Certainly don't own 'em. And sure as hell don't mean to imply that any of the real persons mentioned herein are actually punked-out skaters or tat artists in their every day personal lives. I should hope that it's pretty clear that this isn't real.
Summary: “Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.” -John Lennon, Beautiful Boy (Sequel to Disclaimer: We Will Not Be Held Responsible . . . I won't say you absolutely have to read that one first, but I will say you might be a little lost if you don't.)
A/N: I am never again promising to post within a time frame. I swear! I actually woke up at 11:50, and then my internet wasn't working! Are you freaking kidding me? Anyway - I dragged myself down to the coffee shop that I live above and, theirs is being "maintained." Great. Just great. So whenever I actually manage to get it to work, you'll get to read this, and I'm sorry it wasn't up by noon.
ruben_c83, this is for you. Can my cookies be Snickerdoodles this time?
One more quick thing? Graphics under the cut, so watch out if you need to.
Jared has never really minded fighting with Jensen. It probably sounds weird to most people, but the thing is, they never fight about anything real. Sure, they disagree some times and occasionally raise their voices to get a point across, but they don't really fight all that much. When they do, it's over stupid shit that doesn't make a bit of difference in the long run anyway. And half the time, Jared's pretty sure they only press each other's buttons so they can have steamy make up sex, usually involving handcuffs and a dildo Jensen refers to affectionately as 'Gigantor.'
But the other night, Jensen basically accused Jared of cheating on him, or wanting to anyway, with some random dude. And that's pretty fucking big. It's not them. It's not what they do. And Jared doesn't really think he's a creature of habit, but when Jensen goes and does something so uncharacteristic as calling Jared out for shit he hasn't even done? It's . . . well, it's bull shit, that's what it is.
And it pisses Jared off because he's never, ever given Jensen any reason not to trust him. Never so much as alluded to being interested in anyone else, and never lied to the kid. Never. So when he says that he wasn't flirting with Brock, he means that he wasn't flirting with Brock and Jensen should know that. He should know Jared better after five years together. Jared thought that he did know him better.
Maybe that's the mind fuck right there. Jensen's the one person in Jared's life who's always just gotten him, no questions and no explanations necessary. But lately? It's like they just don't know each other anymore. Like maybe Jensen's not as fluent in 'Jared' as he used to be or something.
He's never known anyone like Jensen, and that includes the good and the bad. Never known anyone who can turn him on so thoroughly, so quickly. And someone who can push every button he has and piss him off just as fast. He doesn't care about most people enough to give a damn if they're being idiotic or not. He cares too much about Jensen not to let the guy get to him. It's kind of fucking terrifying to know that another person has that kind of power over you, actually.
And when Jared's scared? He's kind of like a caged animal. Pissed off and swinging at any and everyone in his path. Which is probably why he snapped at every member of his team on this fucking business trip, and even stooped so low as to send Jensen that asshole text message. He just doesn't really know how to react, and anger is . . . well, it's easier.
His first stop after the airport is home, but Jensen isn't there and that just fucks with Jared even more. He has an entire list of grievances, beginning with the way Jensen acted like a fucking drama queen on Thursday, and carrying through the finer points of how they haven't gone a day without speaking in five years, and possibly the fact that Jensen's a giant, insecure baby.
Fists clenched, he shoulders his way into the break room of Slinging Ink with no idea of what he's really doing here. It's not like he has any work to do or anything.
“Fuck,” Sophia rolls her eyes and sips at the coffee mug in her hands when she sees her boss walk through the door. Standing, she ignores Jared's 'eat shit and die' expression and nods toward the curtain. “Come with me.” He doesn't, and she stops with a hand on her hip. “Now!”
Well, it's not like he wasn't going to head out to his station anyway.
They're never open for business on Sundays, but it's not uncommon for someone to be hanging around, utilizing the studio space for personal projects, during off hours. The fact that Sophia is here doesn't surprise Jared, nor does the pencil drawing she's been sketching on an easel in the natural light of the front picture window. But when she grabs the television remote and nods for him to sit on the long, leather couch in the reception area, Jared just raises his eyebrow in question.
“Sit,” she orders, and he can't help wondering if this is payback for the way he told her to stop acting like a twelve-year-old girl at the photo shoot they had to do yesterday.
“Soph, I'm sorry for yester,” he starts, only to have her turn narrowed eyes on him that are really kind of scary.
“You're an ass,” she assesses and Jared thinks that's a little bit uncalled for. Sure, he's been in a bad mood, but that doesn't make him a bad guy. “Look at it through his eyes before you jump to conclusions,” she adds, pressing play and tossing him the remote.
Thursday night's show begins to play on the television and Jared turns to ask how Sophia even knew what he and Jensen fought about the other night. He sure as hell didn't tell anyone. Did he?
“You talk, a lot, when you drink, Jay,” she informs him as she lowers herself to the stool by the easel and lets him return to his regularly-scheduled viewing.
And fuck all if Jared doesn't see it. In crystal clarity. Those fuckers totally edited that whole thing with Brock to make it look like they were about to get horizontal right there in the middle of the shop.
Yeah, he said that Brock reminded him of Jensen, but it was after Brock told him some filthy joke. The kind that make Jared feel like a virginal eighth grader or something. What he said was, “God, you and Jen, man. Every fuckin' time you say shit like that, you remind me so much of him.”
Later, like three fucking hours later, Brock was long gone and Jared was working on another client. The girl in his chair was flirting with him in ways that even Brock wouldn't dare, and finally just asked him what his boyfriend had that she didn't. Chad made the obvious joke, and Jared chimed in with “And he's got those lips, man. Hottest fucking cocksuckin' lips you ever seen. Shit.”
Of course, the girl's nowhere to be seen on the show, and it totally looks like Jared's eyes are focused on Brock's lips instead of over some random chick's shoulder while he's lost in thought of his boyfriend sucking his dick. Goddammit, he's not entirely sure he wasn't trying to sleep with Brock after watching this. And he knows exactly what was going on. No wonder Jensen's pissed.
He kills the power on the television and stands from the couch. “Reality my fucking ass!” he exclaims and Sophia rolls her eyes and huffs a laugh.
She's been contending for weeks that she's not the Bridezilla they've turned her into while she and Chad plan their wedding on the show, but Jared just laughs it off and tells her the exact same thing Jensen told him the other night. 'They can't put it in the show if you don't say it, Soph.' The fuck they can't!
He's already dialing his agent while storming down the boardwalk. He's gotta find Jensen. Gotta fix this shit. Now.
But Jensen's not at Ollie. Danneel explains that he's down at Grind and that she's on her way there. He can give her a lift, and take the ass-chewing that she's been waiting to give him all weekend like a man.
He does. Though her verbal smackdown amounts to little more than, 'You're an ass, Padalecki. Get over yourself.' No wonder she and Sophia are such good friends.
The rest of the trip basically consists of Danneel trying not to laugh as Jared informs his agent that he's 'going to approve every damn episode of season two before it goes to air, and if the network doesn't like it, they can fuck a tree stump.' By the time he eases the car into the spot behind Grind, Danneel's cackling and declaring her eternal love to the man in the driver's seat, even as he mumbles shit like, 'edited for maximum drama my tight, white ass. They can suck my maximum drama. Fuckin' edit this.' And, yeah, maybe he's not making a hell of a lot of sense, but it's damn entertaining, as far as she's concerned.
Jensen's not quite so happy to see his boyfriend, though. Well, more like he's not so enthusiastic. His heart still speeds up, like his body doesn't realize that Jensen's angry, or just doesn't care. But his brain hasn't forgotten the show, or the phone call, or the fucking text message. Doesn't forget that Jared hasn't even tried to call since Thursday. That he wasn't here Saturday night.
“Hey,” Jared greets, hands stuffed deeply in his pockets as his shoulders hunch forward. Which is 'Jared' for, 'I fucked up. I'm sorry.'
Jensen offers a half-wave, eyes fixed solely on Jared's in his own version of, 'I get it. Me, too.'
Motioning over Jared's shoulder, Jensen leads the way to the back parking lot and it's awkward, but they share a quick 'hello' kiss before breaking apart and looking at their respective feet. Jensen wants to forgive Jared, and maybe apologize for flying off the handle, but it's not the kind of thing they do. They've never really fought like this, though. Who knows how they fix it?
“Your passport in the car?” Jared asks when the silence between them stretches a little thin to be comfortable. Jensen nods, and he holds out a hand. “Come on.”
“What? Where?” The look in Jared's eye answers the question. “I can't, Jared. I'm up to my ass in shit that's gotta get done before we open to the public tomorrow. I can't just traipse off to Mexico right now.”
There's a tantrum in Jared's chest, but it's mingled with pride that says he never used to have to beg his boyfriend for an impromptu getaway, and he shouldn't have to now. So he just rolls his eyes, snaps his jaw shut, and shakes his head. “Fuck it,” he shrugs, waving Jensen off and stuffing both of his hands in his pockets. “See ya at home, I guess.”
Jensen watches him leave, head reeling with confusion. Ten minutes ago, he was pissed, but dealing. He would have given anything, his ten-minutes-ago self, to have Jared walk in and apologize. But dammit he has too much to do. And they're just not those guys anymore – the ones who run off to TJ whenever they fucking feel like it. They have bigger responsibilities now. Careers and obligations that extend beyond hanging out and having fun.
“The fuck are you doin'?” Danneel asks when Jensen makes his way back to the show floor and reaches into a box of neon pink and white trucker hats.
Blinking, he looks from the hat in his hand, to the rack, and then back to Danneel. “Stockin' the hat rack?” he offers in a question, wondering if there is anything else he could be doing with a handful of fucking trucker hats.
The redhead crosses to him and yanks the hats out of his hand. “I meant what the fuck are you doing in here,” her thin arm points toward the back door. “Why aren't you out there with Jared, kissing and making up?”
This is the same girl who, just yesterday, told him that he should throw all of Jared's personal belongings out the second-story bedroom window because the fucker deserved to come home to his shit all over the lawn. This is the same girl who still hasn't forgiven Tom for the way he used to play Mike, even though the pair has been living together, happily, for almost two years now.
“Got shit to do,” he responds with a shrug, extending his hand to take his hats back. But Danneel yanks her arm away and shakes her head. “Dammit, Dani, please,” he grits, and it reminds him of the way he yelled at Brayden the other day. Which, in turn, makes him feel like an even bigger ass than he did before.
With one hand twisted in Jensen's tee shirt, Danneel pulls him forward until they're nearly nose-to-nose. “You listen to me carefully, Jensen Ross Ackles,” she bites out the three names and narrows her eyebrows. Danneel is fucking scary. Jesus. “I just spent two hours listening to that man curse a blue streak at the Bravo execs and promise them that he would fucking breach his contract with them in a motherfucking heartbeat if they ever so much as thought about fucking with this relationship in their goddamned editing room ever again. And I garun-damn-tee you he wasn't puttin' on a show for my benefit.”
Maybe it's Danneel's tone, or maybe it's just the fact that he already wanted to forgive Jared before, but Jensen is digging his phone out of his pocket before he says, “I should make sure Tom's cool with me leavin'.”
Over his shoulder, the man huffs. “Dude, you are my boss,” Tom reminds him.
Well, that's true. He's dialing even as he waves good-bye and heads out to his car. When his boyfriend answers, Jensen says, “I'm heading out right now. Should be at the house in a half hour or so.”
Jared clears his throat over the line and says, “Meet ya in an hour.”
When Jared mentioned buying a house on the beach in Tijuana a few years ago, Jensen was convinced that he was insane. It's not exactly the most exotic Mexican locale. In fact, just over the border, in California, there are far nicer places, almost just as far away from the world they call home. Plus, those places probably smell better and don't have as much trash on the beach.
But Jared loves the house because it isn't pristine and perfect and beautiful. He loves it because it looks like the kind of place an artist would go to get away, and it's quiet here. Far enough removed from the college parties and the madness that is the “tourist” scene in the city that it actually feels like a retreat. Not to mention the fact that nobody else is clamoring to buy up the real estate around them, so it's been pretty much the same locals scurrying past their little love nest the whole time they've owned the place.
He parks next to Jensen's car and smiles as he approaches the house. All of the windows are open – a a must since they haven't had time to come down in the last three months – and he can hear the whining sounds of some pop/emo/punk band drifting through the windows. As much as he loves their house in Santa Monica, Jared can't deny that this place, with Jensen inside, feels just as much like coming home.
Though he kind of wishes his boyfriend was waiting for him at the front door, Jared isn't expecting it. They're not the 'meet you at the front door with a beer and a smile' kind of couple. Never have been, and he supposes some things never change.
He wants to call out from the front door, suss out his boyfriend's location in the house, but something about shouting into the stillness feels wrong. So he just wanders around, checks the fridge to find Jensen's already stocked it with beer and fresh salsa from that place down the road that they love, and then pops into the bathroom before coming to a rest in the doorway of the bedroom.
Jensen is leaning against the headboard, brow knitted in concentration as he flips through a boarding magazine. He can't possibly be reading, not with the speed with which he's flipping pages. And it makes Jared smile around the lip of his beer bottle because he knows this is what Jensen does when he needs a distraction. When he's feeling anxious and itchy in his own skin.
He heard the car pull up a few minutes ago. Listened as Jared clomped around the house, looking for him, and felt his boyfriend's presence the second he appeared. His breath still catches in his throat, though, when he looks up to find Jared practically fellating the bottle in his mouth, tongue dragging over the lip as his eyes zero in on Jensen's mouth.
The overwhelming sentiment in the air between them is, well, what's more than awkward?
Where do we start? Where do we go from here?
It's not that they're bad at talking to each other. Sometimes it's even hard to shut them up. But when it comes to this? There are no words.
Jared crosses the room and sets his beer on the table next to the bed before shucking his tank top and dropping it on the floor. With grace that belies his enormous form, he crawls onto the end of the bed and positions himself on his knees between Jensen's instinctively spread thighs. “Hi,” he greets, dipping his head to capture Jensen's lips in his own.
They're not really a kiss-y couple. Aside from quick greetings, they don't waste a lot of time on making out anymore. Usually, when they're alone, their hands start fumbling for belt buckles as soon as their lips touch. But today, Jared needs to slow down, to let his body do the talking for him. He has to prove, if to nobody but himself, that they still know each other, easy and free like always.
For the life of him, Jensen can't figure out why he doesn't knock Jared down and kiss him breathless more often. The man is a fucking master with his lips, for fuck's sake. Aggressive with one huge hand on the back of Jensen's neck, and the other holding the side of his face firmly in place. But he's slow and deliberate in the way that he sucks and nips at Jensen's lips, rolling his tongue in and out of his boyfriend's mouth languidly.
Jensen's hands trail up and down Jared's hard back, and he can feel the moan in his throat as the mounds of muscle shifts under his fingers. Jared's skin is warm, and what Jensen really wants is to get out of these stupid jeans and get some real friction. He settles, instead, on shaking Jared's hands from his face and sitting forward as much as he can.
Jared's been told he's pretty damn good with the kissing, but he's pretty sure he doesn't hold a candle to the way Jensen's puffy soft lips press against his chest. His tongue darts out, licking at the curves of Jared's chest, flicking over his nipples until they pebble. “Jesus,” he groans, and even he thinks it sounds desperate. Shit, what this guy does to him. Especially when his lips, wet with his own spit and Jared's sweat, trace the 'J' on his sternum, the Pisces on his right pectoral, and the tail of the dragon curling over his collar bone.
When Jared pushes Jensen back against the pillows, it's less about manhandling his boyfriend and more about breaking the contact between Jensen's wet mouth and Jared's chest before the younger man comes in his jeans like a fifteen-year-old making out behind the bleachers at his first dance. He settles, instead, on plumbing the depths of Jensen's mouth with his tongue, though it's not much easier to control his own release when the older man fucking whimpers into Jared's mouth. Fuck.
Jensen's fairly certain they've never been so slow to get to the good stuff. Not in the five years they've been together. Or maybe it's just because they've been so damn frenzied with each other lately, squeezing in a quickie wherever their schedules will allow it. Today, though, they're in Mexico with all the time in the world. If they don't get off in five minutes, it's okay.
Hell, it's better than okay. His hands bunch and gather the denim covering Jared's firm ass, and Jared rocks down, just an echo of a touch brushing Jensen's hips before it's gone again. He arches and crawls back enough to shove the Sex Pistols tee shirt up to Jensen's arm pits before returning the attention he received earlier, taking extra care to tug and bite at the matching platinum rings piercing Jensen's nipples.
After what feels like an eternity of more deep, probing kisses, Jared finally eases Jensen's shirt over his head and then kicks out of his own jeans. Clad only in his boxer briefs, Jared shifts his knees, prying Jensen's thighs further open beneath him until he can feel his boyfriend's length beneath layers of denim and cotton. He rocks forward and growls into Jensen's mouth when the older man's hands slip below the waist band of his shorts, fingers brushing Jared's ass.
Tearing his face back, he sucks a ragged breath and narrows his eyes. “Such a fuckin' tease, Jen,” he scolds and Jensen doesn't even bother to deny it. Just smirks in a way that turns the slightest corner of his full, kiss-swollen lips.
“Fuckin' Christ, Jay,” Jensen grits when Jared's kiss falls far lower than it's expected target, landing hot and wet against Jensen's stomach. He makes quick work of Jensen's wide, black studded belt, and the button below it. But when he raises his eyes and grasps the zipper with his teeth, it's all Jensen can do not to look away, hips rolling up off the bed of their own volition.
The snail's pace Jared is setting is all fine and good. No, really, it's fine and fucking good. But it's not enough. Not anymore. “Come on, Jay,” he protests when Jared wedges his knee against Jensen's already aching cock and grins like a fucking maniac.
“Tell me, Jen,” Jared encourages, palm massaging over Jared's throbbing bulge. “Tell me what ya want.”
The Texas drawl that seeps into the edges of Jared's words only makes Jensen buck his hips and grunt a little from the back of his throat, but Jared won't let him move. Just keeps watching for his next instructions. Like he doesn't fuckin' know what to do with a dick two inches from his mouth. “Suck it,” Jensen orders when it becomes obvious that Jared won't do anything without an actual verbal command.
He barely has time to blink before Jared is swallowing his cock whole, hand tightly wrapped around the base to stave off a release, moaning and humming like a goddamn porn star. Only better.
“Oh Jesus,” Jensen's eyes roll back and his head presses hard into the pillow. “Fuck, Jared!” he grits out, voice raw and ragged as his hands find the back of Jared's head. He doesn't really grip, but Jared's sure as hell not going anywhere, either.
It makes Jared smile, the tell-tale signs of orgasm he can feel ripping through Jensen's thighs. Pulling back with a wet 'pop,' he nuzzles the head of Jensen's cock with his chin and says, “Give it to me, Jen,” he encourages, voice jagged with the burn of taking Jensen so far. He swallows the older man back down, throat working around the weight of his boyfriend in his mouth as he relaxes his fingers around the base and welcomes the release.
Nobody will ever convince Jensen that his heart doesn't stop the moment his cock explodes against Jared's tongue. There's no way the kid's going to be able to swallow it all, but give him a medal for a valiant effort. Besides, if there's anything hotter than the sight of Jared, lips red and swollen, chin and cheek painted white with droplets of come, Jensen certainly doesn't know what the fuck it is.
The laugh that rips from Jared's chest is gritty and fucked-raw. He clears his throat and watches Jensen unfurl, his legs and arms falling limp against the white sheets. “You know you're not done yet, right?” he asks, eyebrow raised as he stretches out at Jensen's side, trying like hell not to notice the painful erection between his own legs.
Jensen's eyes flit down and then back up, happy and sated. With all of the strength he can muster, he winds an arm around the back of Jared's neck and pulls the larger man over him like a blanket. “Fuck me like ya mean it, Jay.”
“The hell d'ya think yer doin'?” Jared's voice is quiet through the filter of his sleep-constricted throat. Not that it's an unwelcome feeling, waking up to Jensen's finger teasing his hole, but it's not exactly normal. Not lately, anyway.
Jensen makes a noncommittal sound and trails his finger down and between Jared's legs. By the time they dragged themselves into the shower earlier, it was after eleven. He looked at the clock when he heard Jared's car pull up in front of the house – it was a little after five. And, yeah, that's six hours of straight fucking, but it's not like there weren't breaks to recuperate. They're insatiable, sure, but they're also human.
“Jay,” Jensen's voice is low behind him, but absent of the filth and need that was there just a few hours ago. When Jared turns his head, Jensen clears his throat and pulls his hand back, creating enough space for his boyfriend to roll onto his back.
If there's one thing that Jared and Jensen don't spend a lot of time doing, it's staring longingly into one another's eyes. But for some reason, when their gazes lock this time? No words come out, because they're not necessary. The look they share says everything for them: “I fucked up. . . I over reacted. . . I'm sorry. . . I miss you. . . I don't want you to go. . . I love you.” Things they will never vocalize. Things they don't have to.
“Dude, I gotta recharge,” Jared growls when his stomach does.
With a nod, Jensen casts a glance at the bedside table. It's only four in the morning, but they've been coming here long enough to know which bars stay open all night, and which ones have chefs that can be bribed to make a good ol' American cheeseburger. “Hector?” he asks and Jared nods, rolling off of his own side of the bed.
His limbs feel like wet noodles and it takes him more than a few minutes, and a couple of stumbles, to feel stable on his feet again. “Jesus, man, think you fuckin' broke me,” he accuses with nothing but humor and laughter in his voice.
Jensen smiles, genuine and bright, and it feels damn good to do it again. “Me? I'm not the one who pulled on your legs like I was tryin' to crack a wishbone.” When Jared chuckles, Jensen rolls his eyes and stretches his arms over his head, trying to pop that place between his shoulder blades that won't quite re-align on its own.
They bicker about who has the more severe sex-related injuries while they dress and Jared grabs his keys, indicating that he'll be driving to wherever they end up. He's not going to mention it, but it's possible that his shoulders are more relaxed than they have been in months. That this feels more like them, more right, than it has in a long damn time.
They're on the porch when Jensen's cell phone rings. It doesn't even occur to Jared that it's four in the morning. “Dude, you were supposed to turn that off.”
Jensen shrugs and pulls the phone from his pocket. “I thought I did,” he answers, flipping it open. “Hey, Chris. 'Sup?”
The smile on Jensen's lips doesn't so much fade as disappear like it was never there. His entire body stiffens and his eyes glaze over as he leans back against the porch post like he's going to pass out otherwise. When he hangs up, he stares at the ground.
“The fuck?” Jared crosses to him and holds his shoulders tight. “What's going on?”
Jensen speaks to his shoes. “Accident in Inglewood,” he mutters. When he finally lifts his eyes to meet Jared's, they're glassy with unshed tears. “It's Bray. The don't know if he's gonna make it through the day.”
Chapter 3
Author:
raeschae Beta:
neutraldevianceGraphics:
raeschaeRating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Jared/Jensen, Sophia, Danneel, Tom (Mentions of others)
Warnings: None, really, outside the usual sexing and swearing. And a hell of a lot of kissing.
Word Count: 4735
Disclaimer: Don't know 'em. Certainly don't own 'em. And sure as hell don't mean to imply that any of the real persons mentioned herein are actually punked-out skaters or tat artists in their every day personal lives. I should hope that it's pretty clear that this isn't real.
Summary: “Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.” -John Lennon, Beautiful Boy (Sequel to Disclaimer: We Will Not Be Held Responsible . . . I won't say you absolutely have to read that one first, but I will say you might be a little lost if you don't.)
A/N: I am never again promising to post within a time frame. I swear! I actually woke up at 11:50, and then my internet wasn't working! Are you freaking kidding me? Anyway - I dragged myself down to the coffee shop that I live above and, theirs is being "maintained." Great. Just great. So whenever I actually manage to get it to work, you'll get to read this, and I'm sorry it wasn't up by noon.
ruben_c83, this is for you. Can my cookies be Snickerdoodles this time?One more quick thing? Graphics under the cut, so watch out if you need to.
Jared has never really minded fighting with Jensen. It probably sounds weird to most people, but the thing is, they never fight about anything real. Sure, they disagree some times and occasionally raise their voices to get a point across, but they don't really fight all that much. When they do, it's over stupid shit that doesn't make a bit of difference in the long run anyway. And half the time, Jared's pretty sure they only press each other's buttons so they can have steamy make up sex, usually involving handcuffs and a dildo Jensen refers to affectionately as 'Gigantor.'
But the other night, Jensen basically accused Jared of cheating on him, or wanting to anyway, with some random dude. And that's pretty fucking big. It's not them. It's not what they do. And Jared doesn't really think he's a creature of habit, but when Jensen goes and does something so uncharacteristic as calling Jared out for shit he hasn't even done? It's . . . well, it's bull shit, that's what it is.
And it pisses Jared off because he's never, ever given Jensen any reason not to trust him. Never so much as alluded to being interested in anyone else, and never lied to the kid. Never. So when he says that he wasn't flirting with Brock, he means that he wasn't flirting with Brock and Jensen should know that. He should know Jared better after five years together. Jared thought that he did know him better.
Maybe that's the mind fuck right there. Jensen's the one person in Jared's life who's always just gotten him, no questions and no explanations necessary. But lately? It's like they just don't know each other anymore. Like maybe Jensen's not as fluent in 'Jared' as he used to be or something.
He's never known anyone like Jensen, and that includes the good and the bad. Never known anyone who can turn him on so thoroughly, so quickly. And someone who can push every button he has and piss him off just as fast. He doesn't care about most people enough to give a damn if they're being idiotic or not. He cares too much about Jensen not to let the guy get to him. It's kind of fucking terrifying to know that another person has that kind of power over you, actually.
And when Jared's scared? He's kind of like a caged animal. Pissed off and swinging at any and everyone in his path. Which is probably why he snapped at every member of his team on this fucking business trip, and even stooped so low as to send Jensen that asshole text message. He just doesn't really know how to react, and anger is . . . well, it's easier.
His first stop after the airport is home, but Jensen isn't there and that just fucks with Jared even more. He has an entire list of grievances, beginning with the way Jensen acted like a fucking drama queen on Thursday, and carrying through the finer points of how they haven't gone a day without speaking in five years, and possibly the fact that Jensen's a giant, insecure baby.
Fists clenched, he shoulders his way into the break room of Slinging Ink with no idea of what he's really doing here. It's not like he has any work to do or anything.
“Fuck,” Sophia rolls her eyes and sips at the coffee mug in her hands when she sees her boss walk through the door. Standing, she ignores Jared's 'eat shit and die' expression and nods toward the curtain. “Come with me.” He doesn't, and she stops with a hand on her hip. “Now!”
Well, it's not like he wasn't going to head out to his station anyway.
They're never open for business on Sundays, but it's not uncommon for someone to be hanging around, utilizing the studio space for personal projects, during off hours. The fact that Sophia is here doesn't surprise Jared, nor does the pencil drawing she's been sketching on an easel in the natural light of the front picture window. But when she grabs the television remote and nods for him to sit on the long, leather couch in the reception area, Jared just raises his eyebrow in question.
“Sit,” she orders, and he can't help wondering if this is payback for the way he told her to stop acting like a twelve-year-old girl at the photo shoot they had to do yesterday.
“Soph, I'm sorry for yester,” he starts, only to have her turn narrowed eyes on him that are really kind of scary.
“You're an ass,” she assesses and Jared thinks that's a little bit uncalled for. Sure, he's been in a bad mood, but that doesn't make him a bad guy. “Look at it through his eyes before you jump to conclusions,” she adds, pressing play and tossing him the remote.
Thursday night's show begins to play on the television and Jared turns to ask how Sophia even knew what he and Jensen fought about the other night. He sure as hell didn't tell anyone. Did he?
“You talk, a lot, when you drink, Jay,” she informs him as she lowers herself to the stool by the easel and lets him return to his regularly-scheduled viewing.
And fuck all if Jared doesn't see it. In crystal clarity. Those fuckers totally edited that whole thing with Brock to make it look like they were about to get horizontal right there in the middle of the shop.
Yeah, he said that Brock reminded him of Jensen, but it was after Brock told him some filthy joke. The kind that make Jared feel like a virginal eighth grader or something. What he said was, “God, you and Jen, man. Every fuckin' time you say shit like that, you remind me so much of him.”
Later, like three fucking hours later, Brock was long gone and Jared was working on another client. The girl in his chair was flirting with him in ways that even Brock wouldn't dare, and finally just asked him what his boyfriend had that she didn't. Chad made the obvious joke, and Jared chimed in with “And he's got those lips, man. Hottest fucking cocksuckin' lips you ever seen. Shit.”
Of course, the girl's nowhere to be seen on the show, and it totally looks like Jared's eyes are focused on Brock's lips instead of over some random chick's shoulder while he's lost in thought of his boyfriend sucking his dick. Goddammit, he's not entirely sure he wasn't trying to sleep with Brock after watching this. And he knows exactly what was going on. No wonder Jensen's pissed.
He kills the power on the television and stands from the couch. “Reality my fucking ass!” he exclaims and Sophia rolls her eyes and huffs a laugh.
She's been contending for weeks that she's not the Bridezilla they've turned her into while she and Chad plan their wedding on the show, but Jared just laughs it off and tells her the exact same thing Jensen told him the other night. 'They can't put it in the show if you don't say it, Soph.' The fuck they can't!
He's already dialing his agent while storming down the boardwalk. He's gotta find Jensen. Gotta fix this shit. Now.
But Jensen's not at Ollie. Danneel explains that he's down at Grind and that she's on her way there. He can give her a lift, and take the ass-chewing that she's been waiting to give him all weekend like a man.
He does. Though her verbal smackdown amounts to little more than, 'You're an ass, Padalecki. Get over yourself.' No wonder she and Sophia are such good friends.
The rest of the trip basically consists of Danneel trying not to laugh as Jared informs his agent that he's 'going to approve every damn episode of season two before it goes to air, and if the network doesn't like it, they can fuck a tree stump.' By the time he eases the car into the spot behind Grind, Danneel's cackling and declaring her eternal love to the man in the driver's seat, even as he mumbles shit like, 'edited for maximum drama my tight, white ass. They can suck my maximum drama. Fuckin' edit this.' And, yeah, maybe he's not making a hell of a lot of sense, but it's damn entertaining, as far as she's concerned.
Jensen's not quite so happy to see his boyfriend, though. Well, more like he's not so enthusiastic. His heart still speeds up, like his body doesn't realize that Jensen's angry, or just doesn't care. But his brain hasn't forgotten the show, or the phone call, or the fucking text message. Doesn't forget that Jared hasn't even tried to call since Thursday. That he wasn't here Saturday night.
“Hey,” Jared greets, hands stuffed deeply in his pockets as his shoulders hunch forward. Which is 'Jared' for, 'I fucked up. I'm sorry.'
Jensen offers a half-wave, eyes fixed solely on Jared's in his own version of, 'I get it. Me, too.'
Motioning over Jared's shoulder, Jensen leads the way to the back parking lot and it's awkward, but they share a quick 'hello' kiss before breaking apart and looking at their respective feet. Jensen wants to forgive Jared, and maybe apologize for flying off the handle, but it's not the kind of thing they do. They've never really fought like this, though. Who knows how they fix it?
“Your passport in the car?” Jared asks when the silence between them stretches a little thin to be comfortable. Jensen nods, and he holds out a hand. “Come on.”
“What? Where?” The look in Jared's eye answers the question. “I can't, Jared. I'm up to my ass in shit that's gotta get done before we open to the public tomorrow. I can't just traipse off to Mexico right now.”
There's a tantrum in Jared's chest, but it's mingled with pride that says he never used to have to beg his boyfriend for an impromptu getaway, and he shouldn't have to now. So he just rolls his eyes, snaps his jaw shut, and shakes his head. “Fuck it,” he shrugs, waving Jensen off and stuffing both of his hands in his pockets. “See ya at home, I guess.”
Jensen watches him leave, head reeling with confusion. Ten minutes ago, he was pissed, but dealing. He would have given anything, his ten-minutes-ago self, to have Jared walk in and apologize. But dammit he has too much to do. And they're just not those guys anymore – the ones who run off to TJ whenever they fucking feel like it. They have bigger responsibilities now. Careers and obligations that extend beyond hanging out and having fun.
“The fuck are you doin'?” Danneel asks when Jensen makes his way back to the show floor and reaches into a box of neon pink and white trucker hats.
Blinking, he looks from the hat in his hand, to the rack, and then back to Danneel. “Stockin' the hat rack?” he offers in a question, wondering if there is anything else he could be doing with a handful of fucking trucker hats.
The redhead crosses to him and yanks the hats out of his hand. “I meant what the fuck are you doing in here,” her thin arm points toward the back door. “Why aren't you out there with Jared, kissing and making up?”
This is the same girl who, just yesterday, told him that he should throw all of Jared's personal belongings out the second-story bedroom window because the fucker deserved to come home to his shit all over the lawn. This is the same girl who still hasn't forgiven Tom for the way he used to play Mike, even though the pair has been living together, happily, for almost two years now.
“Got shit to do,” he responds with a shrug, extending his hand to take his hats back. But Danneel yanks her arm away and shakes her head. “Dammit, Dani, please,” he grits, and it reminds him of the way he yelled at Brayden the other day. Which, in turn, makes him feel like an even bigger ass than he did before.
With one hand twisted in Jensen's tee shirt, Danneel pulls him forward until they're nearly nose-to-nose. “You listen to me carefully, Jensen Ross Ackles,” she bites out the three names and narrows her eyebrows. Danneel is fucking scary. Jesus. “I just spent two hours listening to that man curse a blue streak at the Bravo execs and promise them that he would fucking breach his contract with them in a motherfucking heartbeat if they ever so much as thought about fucking with this relationship in their goddamned editing room ever again. And I garun-damn-tee you he wasn't puttin' on a show for my benefit.”
Maybe it's Danneel's tone, or maybe it's just the fact that he already wanted to forgive Jared before, but Jensen is digging his phone out of his pocket before he says, “I should make sure Tom's cool with me leavin'.”
Over his shoulder, the man huffs. “Dude, you are my boss,” Tom reminds him.
Well, that's true. He's dialing even as he waves good-bye and heads out to his car. When his boyfriend answers, Jensen says, “I'm heading out right now. Should be at the house in a half hour or so.”
Jared clears his throat over the line and says, “Meet ya in an hour.”
When Jared mentioned buying a house on the beach in Tijuana a few years ago, Jensen was convinced that he was insane. It's not exactly the most exotic Mexican locale. In fact, just over the border, in California, there are far nicer places, almost just as far away from the world they call home. Plus, those places probably smell better and don't have as much trash on the beach.
But Jared loves the house because it isn't pristine and perfect and beautiful. He loves it because it looks like the kind of place an artist would go to get away, and it's quiet here. Far enough removed from the college parties and the madness that is the “tourist” scene in the city that it actually feels like a retreat. Not to mention the fact that nobody else is clamoring to buy up the real estate around them, so it's been pretty much the same locals scurrying past their little love nest the whole time they've owned the place.
He parks next to Jensen's car and smiles as he approaches the house. All of the windows are open – a a must since they haven't had time to come down in the last three months – and he can hear the whining sounds of some pop/emo/punk band drifting through the windows. As much as he loves their house in Santa Monica, Jared can't deny that this place, with Jensen inside, feels just as much like coming home.
Though he kind of wishes his boyfriend was waiting for him at the front door, Jared isn't expecting it. They're not the 'meet you at the front door with a beer and a smile' kind of couple. Never have been, and he supposes some things never change.
He wants to call out from the front door, suss out his boyfriend's location in the house, but something about shouting into the stillness feels wrong. So he just wanders around, checks the fridge to find Jensen's already stocked it with beer and fresh salsa from that place down the road that they love, and then pops into the bathroom before coming to a rest in the doorway of the bedroom.
Jensen is leaning against the headboard, brow knitted in concentration as he flips through a boarding magazine. He can't possibly be reading, not with the speed with which he's flipping pages. And it makes Jared smile around the lip of his beer bottle because he knows this is what Jensen does when he needs a distraction. When he's feeling anxious and itchy in his own skin.
He heard the car pull up a few minutes ago. Listened as Jared clomped around the house, looking for him, and felt his boyfriend's presence the second he appeared. His breath still catches in his throat, though, when he looks up to find Jared practically fellating the bottle in his mouth, tongue dragging over the lip as his eyes zero in on Jensen's mouth.
The overwhelming sentiment in the air between them is, well, what's more than awkward?
Where do we start? Where do we go from here?
It's not that they're bad at talking to each other. Sometimes it's even hard to shut them up. But when it comes to this? There are no words.
Jared crosses the room and sets his beer on the table next to the bed before shucking his tank top and dropping it on the floor. With grace that belies his enormous form, he crawls onto the end of the bed and positions himself on his knees between Jensen's instinctively spread thighs. “Hi,” he greets, dipping his head to capture Jensen's lips in his own.
They're not really a kiss-y couple. Aside from quick greetings, they don't waste a lot of time on making out anymore. Usually, when they're alone, their hands start fumbling for belt buckles as soon as their lips touch. But today, Jared needs to slow down, to let his body do the talking for him. He has to prove, if to nobody but himself, that they still know each other, easy and free like always.
For the life of him, Jensen can't figure out why he doesn't knock Jared down and kiss him breathless more often. The man is a fucking master with his lips, for fuck's sake. Aggressive with one huge hand on the back of Jensen's neck, and the other holding the side of his face firmly in place. But he's slow and deliberate in the way that he sucks and nips at Jensen's lips, rolling his tongue in and out of his boyfriend's mouth languidly.
Jensen's hands trail up and down Jared's hard back, and he can feel the moan in his throat as the mounds of muscle shifts under his fingers. Jared's skin is warm, and what Jensen really wants is to get out of these stupid jeans and get some real friction. He settles, instead, on shaking Jared's hands from his face and sitting forward as much as he can.
Jared's been told he's pretty damn good with the kissing, but he's pretty sure he doesn't hold a candle to the way Jensen's puffy soft lips press against his chest. His tongue darts out, licking at the curves of Jared's chest, flicking over his nipples until they pebble. “Jesus,” he groans, and even he thinks it sounds desperate. Shit, what this guy does to him. Especially when his lips, wet with his own spit and Jared's sweat, trace the 'J' on his sternum, the Pisces on his right pectoral, and the tail of the dragon curling over his collar bone.
When Jared pushes Jensen back against the pillows, it's less about manhandling his boyfriend and more about breaking the contact between Jensen's wet mouth and Jared's chest before the younger man comes in his jeans like a fifteen-year-old making out behind the bleachers at his first dance. He settles, instead, on plumbing the depths of Jensen's mouth with his tongue, though it's not much easier to control his own release when the older man fucking whimpers into Jared's mouth. Fuck.
Jensen's fairly certain they've never been so slow to get to the good stuff. Not in the five years they've been together. Or maybe it's just because they've been so damn frenzied with each other lately, squeezing in a quickie wherever their schedules will allow it. Today, though, they're in Mexico with all the time in the world. If they don't get off in five minutes, it's okay.
Hell, it's better than okay. His hands bunch and gather the denim covering Jared's firm ass, and Jared rocks down, just an echo of a touch brushing Jensen's hips before it's gone again. He arches and crawls back enough to shove the Sex Pistols tee shirt up to Jensen's arm pits before returning the attention he received earlier, taking extra care to tug and bite at the matching platinum rings piercing Jensen's nipples.
After what feels like an eternity of more deep, probing kisses, Jared finally eases Jensen's shirt over his head and then kicks out of his own jeans. Clad only in his boxer briefs, Jared shifts his knees, prying Jensen's thighs further open beneath him until he can feel his boyfriend's length beneath layers of denim and cotton. He rocks forward and growls into Jensen's mouth when the older man's hands slip below the waist band of his shorts, fingers brushing Jared's ass.
Tearing his face back, he sucks a ragged breath and narrows his eyes. “Such a fuckin' tease, Jen,” he scolds and Jensen doesn't even bother to deny it. Just smirks in a way that turns the slightest corner of his full, kiss-swollen lips.
“Fuckin' Christ, Jay,” Jensen grits when Jared's kiss falls far lower than it's expected target, landing hot and wet against Jensen's stomach. He makes quick work of Jensen's wide, black studded belt, and the button below it. But when he raises his eyes and grasps the zipper with his teeth, it's all Jensen can do not to look away, hips rolling up off the bed of their own volition.
The snail's pace Jared is setting is all fine and good. No, really, it's fine and fucking good. But it's not enough. Not anymore. “Come on, Jay,” he protests when Jared wedges his knee against Jensen's already aching cock and grins like a fucking maniac.
“Tell me, Jen,” Jared encourages, palm massaging over Jared's throbbing bulge. “Tell me what ya want.”
The Texas drawl that seeps into the edges of Jared's words only makes Jensen buck his hips and grunt a little from the back of his throat, but Jared won't let him move. Just keeps watching for his next instructions. Like he doesn't fuckin' know what to do with a dick two inches from his mouth. “Suck it,” Jensen orders when it becomes obvious that Jared won't do anything without an actual verbal command.
He barely has time to blink before Jared is swallowing his cock whole, hand tightly wrapped around the base to stave off a release, moaning and humming like a goddamn porn star. Only better.
“Oh Jesus,” Jensen's eyes roll back and his head presses hard into the pillow. “Fuck, Jared!” he grits out, voice raw and ragged as his hands find the back of Jared's head. He doesn't really grip, but Jared's sure as hell not going anywhere, either.
It makes Jared smile, the tell-tale signs of orgasm he can feel ripping through Jensen's thighs. Pulling back with a wet 'pop,' he nuzzles the head of Jensen's cock with his chin and says, “Give it to me, Jen,” he encourages, voice jagged with the burn of taking Jensen so far. He swallows the older man back down, throat working around the weight of his boyfriend in his mouth as he relaxes his fingers around the base and welcomes the release.
Nobody will ever convince Jensen that his heart doesn't stop the moment his cock explodes against Jared's tongue. There's no way the kid's going to be able to swallow it all, but give him a medal for a valiant effort. Besides, if there's anything hotter than the sight of Jared, lips red and swollen, chin and cheek painted white with droplets of come, Jensen certainly doesn't know what the fuck it is.
The laugh that rips from Jared's chest is gritty and fucked-raw. He clears his throat and watches Jensen unfurl, his legs and arms falling limp against the white sheets. “You know you're not done yet, right?” he asks, eyebrow raised as he stretches out at Jensen's side, trying like hell not to notice the painful erection between his own legs.
Jensen's eyes flit down and then back up, happy and sated. With all of the strength he can muster, he winds an arm around the back of Jared's neck and pulls the larger man over him like a blanket. “Fuck me like ya mean it, Jay.”
“The hell d'ya think yer doin'?” Jared's voice is quiet through the filter of his sleep-constricted throat. Not that it's an unwelcome feeling, waking up to Jensen's finger teasing his hole, but it's not exactly normal. Not lately, anyway.
Jensen makes a noncommittal sound and trails his finger down and between Jared's legs. By the time they dragged themselves into the shower earlier, it was after eleven. He looked at the clock when he heard Jared's car pull up in front of the house – it was a little after five. And, yeah, that's six hours of straight fucking, but it's not like there weren't breaks to recuperate. They're insatiable, sure, but they're also human.
“Jay,” Jensen's voice is low behind him, but absent of the filth and need that was there just a few hours ago. When Jared turns his head, Jensen clears his throat and pulls his hand back, creating enough space for his boyfriend to roll onto his back.
If there's one thing that Jared and Jensen don't spend a lot of time doing, it's staring longingly into one another's eyes. But for some reason, when their gazes lock this time? No words come out, because they're not necessary. The look they share says everything for them: “I fucked up. . . I over reacted. . . I'm sorry. . . I miss you. . . I don't want you to go. . . I love you.” Things they will never vocalize. Things they don't have to.
“Dude, I gotta recharge,” Jared growls when his stomach does.
With a nod, Jensen casts a glance at the bedside table. It's only four in the morning, but they've been coming here long enough to know which bars stay open all night, and which ones have chefs that can be bribed to make a good ol' American cheeseburger. “Hector?” he asks and Jared nods, rolling off of his own side of the bed.
His limbs feel like wet noodles and it takes him more than a few minutes, and a couple of stumbles, to feel stable on his feet again. “Jesus, man, think you fuckin' broke me,” he accuses with nothing but humor and laughter in his voice.
Jensen smiles, genuine and bright, and it feels damn good to do it again. “Me? I'm not the one who pulled on your legs like I was tryin' to crack a wishbone.” When Jared chuckles, Jensen rolls his eyes and stretches his arms over his head, trying to pop that place between his shoulder blades that won't quite re-align on its own.
They bicker about who has the more severe sex-related injuries while they dress and Jared grabs his keys, indicating that he'll be driving to wherever they end up. He's not going to mention it, but it's possible that his shoulders are more relaxed than they have been in months. That this feels more like them, more right, than it has in a long damn time.
They're on the porch when Jensen's cell phone rings. It doesn't even occur to Jared that it's four in the morning. “Dude, you were supposed to turn that off.”
Jensen shrugs and pulls the phone from his pocket. “I thought I did,” he answers, flipping it open. “Hey, Chris. 'Sup?”
The smile on Jensen's lips doesn't so much fade as disappear like it was never there. His entire body stiffens and his eyes glaze over as he leans back against the porch post like he's going to pass out otherwise. When he hangs up, he stares at the ground.
“The fuck?” Jared crosses to him and holds his shoulders tight. “What's going on?”
Jensen speaks to his shoes. “Accident in Inglewood,” he mutters. When he finally lifts his eyes to meet Jared's, they're glassy with unshed tears. “It's Bray. The don't know if he's gonna make it through the day.”
Chapter 3
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2009-10-24 07:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-24 07:43 pm (UTC)Y'all are just gonna have to wait for chapter 3 to see what happens next. :)
(Yes, I know I'm a bitch - I embrace it.)