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Imprint Part 2
It isn't until Jensen gets back to Jared's that he realizes he left his cell phone on Jared's kitchen counter, the cell phone he's had on silent for three days. It has acquired a slew of text messages and some irate voicemails in his absence. "I'm in trouble now," he mutters after he's checked them, sprawled on Jared's surprisingly comfortable corduroy couch with Peeka and Boo in his lap.
"What's wrong?" Jared wants to know, puttering around in the kitchen making breakfast for dinner-pancakes and turkey sausage.
In answer, Jensen puts Chris' last message on speakerphone.
"Jenny boy, you better be dead in a ditch somewhere, that's the only fucking excuse for ignoring me for three days! I know you're not at home, 'cause I been there, and the place looks like a fucking bomb hit it! Your OCD take a vacation, what the fuck? You better call me, Jensen, I swore to Christ if you made me fucking worry like that again I was gonna tear you a new asshole. Did I sound like I was fucking joking? Call me."
The computerized voice comes on with its' halting instructions and Jensen presses 'END.' "Five 'fucks' in one message. He's pissed."
"Maybe you should call him back? Crazy, I know, but it just might work," Jared jokes as he flips a pancake.
"If I call him back, he'll want to know what's going on."
"So?"
"I can't lie to Chris."
"So don't lie to him," Jared replies as though he doesn't realize that Jensen developing Lund's for his male co-star is endlessly mockable. Maybe he doesn't. Jensen decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. It's possible Jared has friends that are actually, like, sympathetic and helpful during a personal crisis.
Must be nice.
In order to put off having to talk to Chris and answer his nosy questions, Jensen asks a nosy question of his own, one that he'd set aside at the time in favor of getting the hell out of the hospital. "Why do you feel like this is your fault?"
Jared freezes, his face turning a very unattractive shade of puce. "Huh?"
"Don't bother playing stupid. I'm not gonna buy it." If Jensen hadn't seen Jared's audition tapes he would assume the kid is a terrible actor. He sure can't lie for shit. "You said you felt like this was your fault. Why?"
Dead silence for an annoyingly long time. Finally Jared confesses, "I prayed for this."
"Why?"
"Knowing Gracie and Lee; as a kid I didn't see the problems." Jared won't look at him, like he's waiting for Jensen to freak out or something. Which, okay, going on previous experience is a fair expectation. "I just saw that they were together, and happy. I wanted that."
"Aww, Jared. You told your imaginary friend about us? That's sweet."
"You don't believe in God?" Jared gapes at him.
"Nope."
"I thought your family was super-religious."
"They are."
Jensen's so desperate for Jared to drop the subject that he isn't all that surprised when Jared just says, "Oh," and turns back to the stove. More of that imprint-induced telekinesis. After a minute with just the pop-sizzle of the sausage to break the silence, he says, "You really should call your friend back. Or text him or something, just so he knows you're not dead."
"A text message. I can do that," Jensen decides. Not dead, xcel the wake. <3 you 2 bitch.
The message he receives a minute later is the textually rendered equivalent of a scream. WHERE THE FUCK R U?!?!?!? ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE!!!
no.
Predictably, his phone rings anyway. Jensen considers turning it off, but only for a minute. Chris really will kill him. "What?"
"Where the hell have you been, fucker?"
"Getting married in Vegas," Jensen replies, totally deadpan.
Dead silence for a full minute before Chris says cautiously, "I don't know whether to congratulate you, or smack you upside the head for being a sarcastic fuckwad."
Jensen snorts. "Can't smack me upside the head through the telephone, Kane."
"I was worried, asshole! The last time you disappeared off the face of the earth-"
"Yeah, I know. Sorry," Jensen replies shortly, knowing that his tone conveys the real message. Don't bring that up again.
"You gonna tell me what's going on, or do I have to beat it out of you?"
"You'll mock me into the next century, so yeah, I'm not telling you fuck-all."
"Jensen-"
"No."
"I'll find out," Chris promises.
"I can safely say that you wouldn't guess this if you had a million years," Jensen disagrees with a faintly hysterical laugh.
"Are you off your meds?" Chris demands, exasperated.
Jensen knows it's just an expression, but when he thinks about it, he realizes he didn't take his Effexor when Jared woke him up this morning. And he feels fine, not irritated and jittery like he usually does when he misses a dose. "Yes."
"Jen-"
"I forgot, okay? Been an eventful day. 'M taking it right now. Relax, Mom." He digs in the canvas messenger bag he loaded with a book, the Pilot script for Supernatural, his cell phone charger, and a change of clothes when Jared came to pick him up. He pulls out the brown vial and regards it distastefully. He doesn't like the spacey feeling the pills give him, or how at night, he'll crash hard for a few hours, then wake up muzzy-headed at five a.m. and be unable to get back to sleep. He slept better in Jared's octopus arms last night than he has in the past year.
"Take it," Chris growls in his ear, like he can sense Jensen's hesitation. "If you're having 'eventful days' this is not the time to go cold turkey."
"I hate it when you're right," Jensen mutters, but even Dr. Fleming had said it would be best not to make any changes to his medication until they were sure what effects imprinting on Jared was going to have. Jensen had seen a light at the end of the tunnel when the shrink mentioned that Lund's had been known to alter brain chemistry in the past, but they don't know for sure if Jensen's freaky head will decide to follow Jared's good example, or if he'll end up dragging the kid down with him instead.
He hopes not. Jared's happy about this whole clusterfuck now, but sooner or later he's going to realize he's stuck with a guy who has more baggage than Samsonite. It would be nice if Jensen could at least manage not to give Jared clinical depression, like emo has suddenly become the newest STD.
"Jensen! Earth to Jensen! Christ, son, your brain needs a leash."
"Sorry," Jensen mutters, palming a pill and swallowing it down with a sip of the orange juice Jared forced on him when they got home. And I'm already thinking of Jared's place as home, fuuuuuck.
"Are you gonna tell me what's up with you now?" Chris asks, uncharacteristically serious.
Jensen sinks back into the couch cushions, pulling Boo closer and caving to the inevitable. "So, you've heard of imprinting, right..."
An hour later, when they've eaten and Chris has finished educating Jared on all the interesting ways a body can be disposed of, just in case he hurts Jensen, Jared pulls him into the bedroom and shoves him face first onto the bed. "I don't know what you've heard, but 'm not that easy," Jensen mutters into the pillow.
"You're too tense. Take off your shirt."
"A suggestion that's guaranteed to make me less tense," Jensen mocks.
"Relax, bitch, I'm not after your virtue. Gonna give you a backrub."
"You know, 43% of injuries to the back are from people trying to help," Jensen says, automatic response from the days when he'd wanted to be a physical therapist.
"You don't have any herniated discs or scoliosis or crap like that, though," Jared protests, sounding like he actually knows what he's talking about. "Doctors would have said something. And right now, you are wound so tight I'm surprised your head doesn't spin around and fly off. It's making me restless."
"Dude, shut up," Jensen grumps, but he takes his shirt off anyway.
A moment later, the room fills with an appealing chocolate scent and Jensen feels the bed dip, then the not-entirely-unwelcome weight of Jared straddling his hips. The pressure forces the arch out of his lower back and draws out a grunt of pain-edged pleasure. And that's before Jared's enormous Pada-paws press all down his spine and dissolve him into a puddle of sated bliss. "You okay?" Jared breathes against the nape of his neck as he bends over, working his way down Jensen's arms.
"Ohhhyeah," Jensen purrs, resisting the temptation to grind his ass back against Jared's hips. It's not a sex thing, he assures his libido. Just a desire to get as close to that pleasure-giving touch as possible.
"I need you to relax if I'm gonna get any sleep," Jared rationalizes as his thumbs dig into the steel-cable tendons of Jensen's neck.
"Whatever you gotta tell yourself." Jensen can't resist the mocking, but it loses its' edge on a breathy moan.
"Right. I can tell you're really suffering." Jared is clearly amused by his capitulation, but Jensen can't summon the brain cells to care. He's consumed with sensation, focusing on touch to the exclusion of all else. "How 'bout I stop then, since you hate it so much?"
"Don' stop. Kill you," Jensen mumbles.
Jared's cell phone comes to life on the nightstand with a tinny rendition of 50 Cent's P.I.M.P. "I have got to stop letting Chad pick his own ringtone," Jared mutters, taking his hands off of Jensen just long enough to put it on speaker. "What do you want, Murray?"
"Jay, man, you're coming to my bachelor party this weekend!"
"Uh, Chad? You're not even divorced yet."
"Who says you have to be unmarried to have a bachelor party?"
"I think it's implied," Jared replies. Jensen can feel the other man shaking with suppressed laughter above him.
"Yeah, well, I think you're wrong. Why am I on speaker, Jay?"
" 'Cause I'm busy." At the reminder, Jared gets back to work on Jensen's shoulders.
"Busy getting laid? Hi, Sandy!"
"Sandy broke up with me."
"Rebound sex! Awesome!" Chad enthuses.
Jared's denial of " 'm not havin' sex, Chad, Christ, is that all you think about?" is interrupted by another moan. Jensen bites his bottom lip to keep it in but isn't successful.
"What's that, Jay? Couldn't hear you over all the sex," Chad drawls.
"Shut up. And you're not having a bachelor party."
"Of course I am! Sophie left me, right? I am a bachelor, and therefore must party. So must you. Jesus, you've been in a serious relationship pretty much the entire fucking time I've known you. It's boring. Now you're free!"
Jensen feels himself tense right back up when Jared laughs uncomfortably. "Um. Yeah, about that, Chad."
"Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me, Jaybird!"
"Yeah, I bet Jen wishes I was kidding too."
"Hmm, not right now," Jensen mumbles as Jared's thumbs attack his collarbones before discomforted stiffness can get a foothold in his muscles. "Keep doing that for the next sixty or seventy years and it's all good."
"I would, but eventually we'll have to eat and stuff, you know."
"Eventually? Who are you kidding, Jay, I bet you're hungry right now!" Jensen points out.
"Yeah, okay, I could go for some peanut butter toast or something," Jared admits, to no-one's surprise. "And Chad, you better not be jacking off to this. I'm not your personal Skinimax."
"I stopped as soon as I figured out 'Jen' was a guy." he replies, apparently seriously. "What the fuck, Jay?"
"You already knew I was bi, Chad, save the shock for the Academy."
"Yeah, well." Chad is silent for a disconcerting length of time. "I've never seen you date a guy. I thought you were just theoretically bisexual."
"Like how you're only theoretically an asshole?" Jensen's worried for a minute that, despite Jared's previous assurance that he's bi, this whole disaster will be a problem with his family and friends, but Jared is laughing. "Stop being such a fucktard, Chad, you're freaking Jensen out even more than he already is."
"You scored a straight boy? I don't know whether to be sad or proud."
"Goodbye, Chad."
"Aw, c'mon, don't be like that, baby."
"Douche." Jared hangs up and goes back to making Jensen's brain leak out his ears. "It's really okay, Jensen," he says, annoyingly prescient. "I wouldn't have told my parents if it wasn't."
"I just...I don't even tell my parents about girls I'm dating because they're so nosy."
"Did I forget to mention the part about Dad having to sit on my momma?"
"Yeah, but they already knew the whole imprinting thing was a possibility," Jensen pointed out.
"Not any more than any other parent would. Not s'posed to be genetic, remember? And I already told them I was bi."
"You did?" Jensen tries to think of a situation he would tell his parents anything about his sex life, and can't.
" 'Course I did. I can't keep a secret in a locked box. 'Sides which, I trust my parents. I pretty much tell them everything."
"How?" Jensen demands after a few minutes of gaping silence.
"Well, maybe not Dad so much, but I know Momma tells him everything. And I could tell my Momma I'm an alien and she'd take it just fine. Never understood how people get by not havin' someone they've known their whole lives that they can trust."
"I have Chris for that."
"The guy whose calls you ignored for three days? Yeah, I can tell y'all are real close," Jared teases, but he still has his hands on Jensen's back, more of a pet than a massage now, so Jensen lets it slide. His last thought is that he really should get up and get ready for bed.
It's four a.m. and Jared is crashed out on his front, one arm draped over Jensen's waist. Jensen blinks awake and just stares at the shadowy ceiling for a few minutes, silently bitching because he didn't take his contacts out. Jared had thankfully insisted he change into pajamas when they got home, but...well, okay, it occurs to him that maybe Jared doesn't even know he's half-blind. They don't actually know everything about each other-it just feels that way.
He eases out of bed and goes into the bathroom to switch out his contacts for glasses, then crawls back into bed, turning on the bedside lamp because he's clearly going to be up for a while. Jared obligingly rolls over to throw an arm over his hips, head pillowed on his stomach. He's basically faceplanted into Jensen's crotch and it should be weird, but Jensen doesn't mind so much. He opens the pilot script and starts going over his lines again, visualizing the blocking, pauses. Thankful that Jared's got the exposition monologue in the stairwell scene, the one he would have been stuck with if he'd stayed Sam.
I can't do this alone.
Yes, you can.
Well, I don't want to.
He winces. Dean's headspace is a scary place to be. He needs his family to survive, like air. Jensen wonders how he's going to get that across without making it look like Sam and Dean are fucking. With the tension between the characters and his and Jared's hyperawareness of each other, there's gonna be nothing subtle about the sexual subtext. Implied gay incest, the network will fucking love that.
He realizes he's carding through Jared's hair with his free hand and bangs his head against the headboard a couple of times. I am so screwed.
Jensen wakes up opposite from the last thing he remembers. He is face down on Jared's abs, pinning him to the bed with one arm, while Jared's enormous hand pets his head, fingers rubbing behind the shell of his ear with a firm touch that makes him want to purr. He blinks sleepily and arches his back, feeling his spine pop. "Timezit?" he mumbles.
"Eleven." Jensen can feel Jared's voice rumbling through his chest, buzzing against Jensen's skin where they touch. "Feel better?"
"Mmmm. What'cha reading?"
"Schedule from the doctors."
Jensen flinches. "What, more appointments?"
"No, no," Jared soothes, stroking the nape of his neck. "Other stuff. How long we can go without contact, without sleep."
"I thought we were supposed to sleep on the same schedule."
"Apparently your love affair with Morpheus trumps that."
"You woke up when I did?"
"Mhmm. It's okay, Jen, I don't need ten hours of sleep."
"You put your head in my lap."
"I was cold when you got up. Besides, you don't have anything I haven't seen-or felt-before."
Okay, fair enough. "What's the schedule say?"
" 'Three or less hours separated, minimum ten minutes skin to skin contact at half a square foot of surface area, e.g. holding hands,' " Jared quotes. " 'Three to six hours separated, minimum twenty minutes skin to skin contact at minimum of two square feet, e.g. embracing with chests bare. Six to nine hours separated, minimum one hour skin to skin contact at minimum of five square feet, e.g. full-body embrace while stripped down to undergarments. Nine to twelve hours separated, minimum five hours skin to skin contact at minimum of five square feet.' The example's the same. Anything over 48 hours may require hospitalization, and is not recommended on a regular basis. It also recommends a minimum of six hours sleep a night, and that we eat at the higher end of the Food Pyramid. Apparently just having Lund's can burn over 1500 excess calories a day, and that's without the insane schedule and stunts we'll have while filming."
Jensen thinks of all the junk food he could sample with fifteen hundred extra calories a day. Most of the reason he's so uninterested in eating is the diet he's been on since his metabolism hit a brick wall at twenty-four. No more counting calories, no more fat-free salad dressing or Coke Zero. Chocolate. Potato chips. Ice cream. Garlic bread. Oh, god, cheesecake. "I want cheesecake," he says before he realizes he's spoken out loud.
"Okay," Jared says, as though there's nothing unusual about his request. "I think I have a turtle cheesecake in the freezer."
Jensen shakes his head. "We can't have cheesecake for breakfast."
"Why not?" Jensen glances up, sees the other man is genuinely puzzled. And it's not a leap to figure out why; Jared eats like someone who's never been on a diet in his life. "I hate you."
"Aw, you love me. Don't deny it."
Jensen closes his eyes, as though that will deny Jared's words, which are clearly meant as a joke. But he can still feel it welling up in him, not love, not yet...but it will be. Too many nights in Jared's arms, too many days with that sunshine grin and it will be.
Jensen's mental flailing is interrupted when Jared's cell phone starts blaring AC/DC. He picks up with a grin. "Hey, Eric! Yeah, they gave us the all-clear for work, but we're supposed to get bracelets before we start filming or the lawyer's heads will explode...yeah, we could do that. Definitely. Cool. Any of the other actors? Okay, but you make a crappy Jessica. We'll be there. What about the direc-seriously? So I can relax-we're definitely getting picked up. See ya. Bye." He hangs up and nudges Jensen with his knee. "Get up, sleeping beauty, we gotta go in for a read-through of the script."
"Right this second?"
"David Nutter was offered the option to back out now that we've been diagnosed. He turned it down. We're green lighted for the pilot, and they want to see us. Now."
Jensen feels like he's a half-step out of sync with the rest of the world, caught between David Nutter, pilot and Jared, stay, my mate my Jared mineminemine. Getting more used to those opposing urges over the last couple of days hasn't made him like them any better.
In the end, Chad does have a bachelor party, Jared does go, and Jensen goes with him. Both because being separated for the evening would be akin to amateur torture, and because, Jared had argued, if they were going to be together for the rest of their lives, Jensen might as well meet his crazy friends now and get it over with.
Jensen immediately resolves never to introduce Chad and Chris. The universe would probably implode. It's bad enough that Chris has met Mike and Tom. By the end of the night, Jensen has discovered that the drunker he gets, the harder it is to force interest in the strippers Chad has hired for the night. He inches closer and closer to Jared, who smells really good, like salt and spice and warm skin, and Jensen would kind of like to bury his face in the curve of Jared's neck and maybe nibble it a bit. After another beer and two more shots of tequila, Jensen can't remember any of the reasons why that would be a bad idea.
"Jen, Jenny, hey," Jared murmurs, squirming away when Jensen brushes open-mouthed kisses along Jared's jaw. He lets out a strangled laugh. "Stop that."
"Sound like you mean it, and maybe I will," Jensen challenges, rucking up the hem of Jared's t-shirt with one hand.
"Jesus, you're killing me," he groans, abs tensing and bunching under Jensen's fingertips.
"Love to see you up there," Jensen murmurs, not even knowing he's going to say it until the words are breathed out. "Better show than any of these girls." He inclines his head to the stage, where a redhead is peeling out of pleather short-shorts to Hawksley Workman. "Striptease for me, baby," he purrs into Jared's ear, feeling his pulse throbbing in his cock and his throat and the soles of his feet, shaking his whole body in the same grinding beat as the song.
"O-kay, no more alcohol for you, pal," Jared manages in a voice that wavers and cracks. "Hey, Jen, seriously." A deep breath, and then he growls, "Back off or I'll fuck you right here. I'll strip you and bend you over the goddamn table in front of everybody and fuck you 'till you beg to come, Jensen."
Mmmm, yes please, Jensen's id replies, and that's freaky enough for him to kick his hind brain out of the driver's seat. "Sorry," he mutters. "Sorry, I, um, yeah. I just thought..." ...with my dick instead of my brain.
"Don't tempt me, okay? Not risking messing things up with you just to get off," Jared murmurs in his ear, husky-sweet. "I have a right hand." And that inspires a technicolor mental movie of Jared sprawled on his bed, acres of smooth golden skin as he arches up into the stroke of his hand on his cock.
I'm doomed.
"I'm sorry about last night." Jensen looks straight ahead; eye contact equals sincerity. "It was out of line and I won't do anything like that again. Not to mention you ended up with half my hangover."
He looks away from the mirror and mutters, "No, that's stupid. Okay. Third time's the charm."
"Jen?" Jared hollers from the kitchen. "What do you want in your eggs?"
"Ahh, fuck." With one last glare at the uncooperative mirror, Jensen storms out of the bathroom and heads downstairs. "If I say, 'whatever you're having in yours,' I'm gonna end up eating a pineapple omlette, aren't I?" he inquires as he pauses in the doorway. The dogs are waiting patiently at Jared's feet for him to drop something.
"Yeah, probably." He turns away from the stove long enough to flash Jensen a grin. "I know you're not usually verbal after only one cup of coffee, so you can just grunt and point." He has the various ingredients chopped up and waiting in little bowls, like he's on a cooking show or something.
Jensen nods, but he uses words anyway. "Mushrooms, ham and cheese is fine."
"Not very adventurous, but okay. I don't really expect adventurous from you before noon."
"Speaking of adventurous." Oh God, lamest segue ever. Jensen turns away under the guise of pouring himself another cup of coffee. "About last night."
"1986. Rob Lowe, Demi Moore, and James Belushi. Directed by Edward Zwick." Jared bounces on his toes. "Is it my turn?"
"Jared."
"Do we seriously have to talk about it?" Jared's flushed pink and won't look up from his feet. "I was kind of hoping you wouldn't remember."
This is not what I was expecting. "Why are you embarassed? I'm the one who couldn't keep his hands to himself."
"You were drunk. I was mostly sober. Dirty talk was probably not the appropriate way to deal with the situation, even if it got you to stop."
"Is that a kink I should know about, Jay?" Oh God that is not anything like helping. Why can't I control my mouth?
"I was hoping not to scare you off within the first week, but yeah, since you asked," Jared's voice is remarkably even, but he still won't look up.
"Eggs are burning," Jensen says the instant the smell hits his nose.
"Crap!" Jared turns back to the stove. "Does this mean we're done talking about it?"
"No. Yes. Fuck."
"Eloquent." He nibbles his bottom lip, shoulders a tense arch, like an annoyed cat. "Stop trying to rush it, okay? I don't like one night stands, so I've done celibacy before. For months, sometimes. It won't kill me."
"Yeah, well."
"Dude, I'm being gracious and understanding here. Would it kill you to smile and nod and drop the subject?"
"Apparently. Sorry. I'm...kind of lacking a brain-mouth filter right now, I think."
"Well, that's allowed. I'm always putting my foot in my mouth, so I can't really hold that against you. Just...try not to ask questions with answers that could potentially freak you out."
"Like your kinks?"
"For instance." Jared dishes up the food and hands Jensen a plate. "No more talking. Chewing."
"I can do that."
They spend the first day of filming doing separate scenes, Jared with the girl playing Jess, Adrianne something, and the guy playing Sam's best friend, while Jensen faces off against R.D. Call. It's a great learning experience-the man is a helluva a character actor-but Jensen's tense and cranky when they break for lunch.
Jared catches up with him at Craft Services, hooking an arm around his waist, thumb nudging up the hem of his t-shirt to palm the skin at his hip, and Jensen barely supresses a shiver. "Mmmm, okay," he murmurs, and just like that, with that little bit of contact, everything's a little bit brighter, better, like the difference between the original Gone With The Wind and the digitally remastered version. He's only realizing how crappy he felt, now that he doesn't anymore.
"Yeah, me too," Jared murmurs into his neck, and a distant part of Jensen is shouting, people are looking, but the rest of him isn't listening and wouldn't care if it was. "I got us some food," and it's only now that Jensen notices the three styrofoam containers stacked on top of each other that Jared is cradling in his free hand. "Trailer?"
"Oh, God, yes please."
The first thing they do once they get behind closed doors is pull off each other's t-shirts, and Jensen is overwhelmed by the comfort of Jared's warm bare skin on his own. He wants to purr, curl up and nap, anything that isn't eating and running lines and preparing for having to go out among other people again.
They've just settled onto the couch, Jensen in between Jared's spread legs so they can sit back-to-chest while they eat, doing their best to run the stairwell scene from memory in between bites, when there's a knock at the door. Jared swears under his breath before calling, "Come in!"
"Jay, wait, don't-" Jensen struggles to get up even though it's the last thing he wants to do, and Jared pins him with a forearm across his chest like a band of steel, adding a casual grope of Jensen's pecs for good measure.
"Oh my God, it's like porn in here," says a voice, and Jensen looks up to see their co-star, Adrianne of the impossible-to-pronounce last name. She's carrying her own carton of food with a script balanced on top.
"Hi, Addie," Jared replies easily, pulling Jensen back into his lap and biting the nape of his neck like a lion pinning its' mate. "Stay there, fucker."
Jensen can feel a red flush starting in his cheeks and ears and sweeping all the way down his chest. He knows from experience that it makes his freckles stand out like they're punctuating his embarassment. "Jay-"
"Are you guys together?" Adrianne asks with a grin so wide and white she looks like a chibi drawing of herself. "That's hot."
Jensen can hear Jared's grin in his voice. "It really is. We're getting in some cuddle time-I'm used to being able to just stay in bed all day."
"Aww. You must be pumped to be able to work together. God knows I'd love being able to be on the same set as Josh all week."
"Yeah, we just hope we get picked up." Jensen manages to say after taking a moment to swallow down his embarassment.
"I think you will. Two hot guys who manage to have sexual tension with inanimate objects going around shooting things? What's not to love? And with Buffy off the air, the network needs a good monster show."
"Too bad you get killed off right away," Jared commiserates.
"Nah, it's okay. My agent has a line on another pilot for me, Friday Night Lights remade for TV? And if that doesn't work out, there's always Smallville."
Jensen groans. "Oh, God, that show just will not die. I think even Tom's getting sick of it."
"Okay, enough small talk." She holds up her script. "Lines."
They run lines for half an hour, while Jared polishes off more food than Jensen and Adrianne combined. When the PA comes to get them for wardrobe, Jensen and Jared don't bother putting their shirts back on for the walk across the lot, Jared aknowledging the crew's catcalls with a model's pout and an exaggerated catwalk strut.
None of them see the glint of the telephoto lens from the high-rise nearby.
Jensen thought seeing Jared and Adrianne fake a relationship would be hard, and okay, it wasn't a picnic, but it has nothing on watching Sarah Shahi writhe in Jared's lap for twenty takes a week later. When David finally sends them all home at dawn, Jensen's pretty sure he could chew nails and spit bullets.
"I gotta take the dogs out, Jen," Jared says as soon as they stumble in the door. "You can go ahead and get in bed if you want, I won't be long."
"Sure. Whatever." Jensen pictures himself in a small windowless room with a steel door-he bolts the door and knows he's safe behind the thought of metal and deadbolts and smooth white walls, his mind his own. He doesn't want Jared in his head right now.
"Jen, you okay?" Jared asks him, cupping the back of Jensen's neck in one warm palm.
"I'm fine," he bites out. "I'm gonna have a shower. Take the dogs out before they piss on the carpet."
"Are you sure you're-"
"Christ, get off me! I'm fine, I'm just sick of being pawed at, okay?" It's so far from the truth Jensen feels like he should have a flashing neon sign over his head, Liar! Liar! Liar!
Jared's lips thin like he wants to spit back something equally cutting, but he doesn't say a word, jerking the dogs' leashes down off their hooks, his body language screaming repressed violence. If it was anyone else Jensen would expect them to take a swing at him; he knows Jared won't, because Jared is always conscious of his size, of the fact that he could hurt someone badly without meaning to. Most of the time it's comforting, that control, but right now Jensen wants to goad Jared into a reaction, into doing something to justify Jensen's petty mood.
"You should have cereal or an apple or something," Jared says in a measured tone as he bends down to clip a lead to Peeka's collar. "You didn't touch your food at the last break, and you can't live off of coffee."
"I'm not a fucking child, Jay," Jensen growls.
"Then stop acting like one," he shoots back, voice still infuriatingly even. "Have something to eat and cool off; I'll be back in half an hour." His advice is punctuated by the fact that he very deliberately does not slam the front door as he leaves.
Jensen paces and swears for at least five minutes before going out onto the back deck with his cell phone and the contraband pack of Marlboros that was hidden in the bottom of his bag. He plans to be in the shower when Jared gets back anyway, so no one has to know, and he needs a fucking smoke, dammit. He waits until the nicotine from the first shaky drag is buzzing through his system before he calls Chris.
"I fucking hate this," he growls the instant his friend picks up.
"What did you do?"
"I picked a fight," Jensen admits with a sigh. "I was such a prick to him, Kane, and it's not his fucking fault."
"Well, the first step is admitting you have a problem," Chris drawls.
"I just...fuck. I can't think clearly when it comes to him! He's not mine yet, not really, and seeing him touch her, even though it's just for a scene...I feel like a jealous asshole."
"You need to get laid."
Jensen snorts. "Yeah, that won't be awkward at all. Still straight, here."
"Straight is relative, son. Could you even stand to sleep with someone else?"
Just the thought is a total turnoff. And if it was okay for him to sleep with someone else, that would mean Jared was free to...and that's not an option. Jensen would not be exaggerating at all to say that situation would end in homicide. "No," he admits.
"No law says you have to get fucked to get off. Boy strikes me as a top, but you can start slow."
I really, really can't, and I can't tell you why, Jensen thinks. It's not the thought of getting off with a guy, with Jared, that's the problem, surprisingly; it's what he'll have to confess beforehand, just in case he flips out halfway through. "Just because he's taller than me doesn't automatically make him a top," Jensen says instead, just for the sake of argument.
"No, but his attitude does," Chris counters, playing devil's advocate. "I've seen the way he looks at you when you're not looking. Boy wants to pin you down and fuck you stupid."
I'll strip you and bend you over the goddamn table in front of everybody and fuck you 'till you beg to come, Jensen. "Yeeahhh," Jensen admits on a shaky exhale. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought of it, reliving the husky purr with one hand on his dick while he's in the shower.
"Dude, if you're getting a hard on I don't want to know."
"Kay, I won't tell you then," Jensen shoots back, grinning because he knows Chris is kidding. Mostly. Something about Chris's stupid Okie drawl always makes Jensen settle, maybe emotional muscle-memory from all the times Chris has talked him off a metaphorical ledge, all the fun they've had together. "I don't want to fuck this up, Chris. We're stuck with each other. I can't afford to fuck this up."
"There's a lot of space between totally FUBAR and bein' a bit of a jerk, maybe saying some stuff you don't mean. Your whole damn problem is that you have impossible expectations of yourself. Relax. First rule of relationships-lasting ones anyway-is mess up, make up, forgive and forget. You don't have to get it right the first time as long as you're tryin, right? You wouldn't kick Jay-red to the curb if he got cranky atcha and called you names, if he apologised after."
"No." Not that he has a choice, in this instance; but even if they'd met that day in Eric's office and become nothing more than co-stars, Jared's a great guy. They'd be friends regardless, Jensen thinks, and you don't ditch your friends because of one stupid fight. Maybe it'll be easier if he thinks of it like that, at least in the front of his brain; they're friends, good friends, who just happen to sleep in the same bed and cuddle a lot. Not mates or star-crossed lovers or some other label that Jensen's not ready for. Just...good friends. "I'm gonna go have something to eat. Thanks, Chris."
"Anytime, darlin."
Jensen nukes a frozen chicken burrito and takes it into the shower with him, because he's not really hungry and all he wants is to get clean and go to sleep. Getting something in his stomach wakes up his appetite, though, and when Jared gets back with the dogs he's in the kitchen working his way through an oversized bowl of that high-protein high-carb meal replacement cereal Jared likes so much. He's having it with whole milk, too, and he savors the indulgence. Not an indulgence anymore, his subconscious pipes up. You can eat like this all the time.
Jared pauses in the kitchen doorway, looking calmer but still wary. "Hi. Feel any better?"
"Lots. 'M sorry I snapped at you, Jay."
" 'S all right."
"No, it isn't. Not if you don't know why." Jensen looks down at his blurred, distorted reflection in the bowl of the spoon. "I was jealous, okay? Even though I have no reason to be, even though it's completely irrational and caveman and stupid...I was jealous."
"Of me and Sarah? Jen, you know I...of course you do," he corrects himself. "You already said it was irrational. Okay. Well. Is there anything I can do to make you feel more secure?"
"I think it's just my own issue, Jay."
"Maybe, but I still want to help you not feel bad. Knowing something's irrational doesn't stop you from feeling that way. Why were you jealous of her, and not Addie?"
"I don't know. Maybe because Addie's a friend, kind of? Or..." Oh fuck fuckfuckfuck why am I a jealous asshole, Christ! "I think it's because she looks kind of like Sandy. Not her features, not really, but...petite, dark eyes and dark hair."
"I didn't know you knew what Sandy looks like. You've never met."
Jensen winces. "I, um...I Google-stalked you."
"When was this?" But Jared doesn't sound mad. In fact, Jensen risks a glance up and can see that he's fighting a grin.
"When I was freaking out, before you came and got me and we went to see Leshawn and Gracie."
"Oh, I Google-stalked you way before that," Jared confesses with an amused noise that Jensen would call a giggle from someone who wasn't six-five. "Before the meeting with Eric. I love the brick pants, by the way. Those were hot. Like a 1980s rent boy."
"Oh, God," Jensen mourns. He hadn't known it was possible to be so completely mortified that it was a physical pain. "How did you find that?"
"Your fans are very devoted, and they keep impeccable photographic records," Jared teases him.
"More like batshit insane," Jensen mutters.
"Now, Jennybean, don't be like that! They looooove you! Because of the brick pants, not in spite of them."
"Oh like there aren't stupid pictures of you on the internet," Jensen mutters. "I'll get Chad to help me find them if I have to."
"Hah! Like I would let Chad have embarassing photos of me. I'm not stupid; that's like giving a chocolate torte to a woman in Jenny Craig. He wouldn't mean to humiliate me, but the temptation would be too much to resist."
"Your mom, then. I bet she's got all kinds of naked pictures. Widdle JT's first bath!"
Jared snickers. "Your mom's got naked pictures. She's kinkier than an S&M convention."
Jensen snorts with laughter. "Dude, no. We are grown ups, I am not starting a 'your mom' war with you."
"She said you'd say that."
"You're such a dork," Jensen observes fondly.
"You say that now. But you haven't seen me dance. I got moves."
"Your moves are white," Jensen scoffs. Chad had told him stories of epic rhythm-challenged flailing.
"White hot, you know it! Don't hate just 'cause I'm awesome, baby."
"Oh, believe me, I won't."
"Well all right then," Jared replies with a decisive nod, completely ignoring the fact that Jensen's words had been dripping in sarcasm. "Now come on, you're gonna fall asleep in your cereal, and I want snuggles before sleep."
"Yeah, you go right ahead and want that," Jensen snarks, even though he knows he'll manage to stay awake for at least a couple of minutes, just to luxuriate in the comfort of Jared's embrace and the knowledge that rather than fucking things up, the stupid fight had maybe brought them a little bit closer than they were before.
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