with smonsterbite.
When Jared said drunkenly one night after too much tequila and a few too many shouted odes to their motherland, “I wanna go kick up some shit. I wish there were some honky-tonks in Canada,” he’d forgotten the cardinal rule of the Jared-and-Jensen friendship:
Do not state ideas you do not eventually want to take part in.
Of *course* Jensen would find the only honky-tonk in British Columbia. Of *course* he would demand that Jared be held to his word and they go there one night. And of *course* the only honky-tonk in BC would be a gay bar. That’s just the way life worked out for Jared.
“Naw, son,” Jensen said when Jared protested, “you asked for it, and you know how I feel about how people go back on their word.”
Jared takes a good look around, and his first thought is that none of those leather chaps had ever, or would ever, see saddle. His second thought is more a picture than words, contradicting his first thought, and he shakes his head hard to dispel the vision. He doesn’t have time for a third thought before 180 lbs of smiling muscle in artfully ripped jeans steps right into Jared’s personal bubble space and says, “Howdy.”
That’s right, you’re not from Texas.
Suddenly arms come around him from behind and a familiar drawl replies, “Howdy back” and Jensen’s hands are in Jared’s POCKETS and was that a nibble on his ear?
The smile on Ripped Jeans shifts slightly and he shrugs. “Haven’t seen you two before. Welcome to the Double Barrel.” He moves on and Jared unfreezes long enough to yank Jensen’s hands out of his pockets and spin around.
“What in six kinds of hell was THAT?” Jared demands.
“Stakin’ my claim, darlin’,” comes the smug reply.
For a split second Jared thinks about hitting Jensen, or leaving, or possibly both, but the grin on his buddy’s face is infectious and Jared decides to roll with it for just one night. He’s found that to do otherwise with Jensen often results in severe discomfort of the physical and or embarrassment kind.
“Well, who said I was going home with you?” he sasses back. “I wanna see some courtin’.”
One raised eyebrow says that Jensen’s up for the challenge. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Damn sure better.”
They go up to the bar and invest in a bottle of Jack Daniels, because no matter where they are in any part of the world, there will always be JD; and two beers for chasers. Jensen’s eyes are flicking around the room, and Jared feels like everyone is staring at his ass.
When Jen’s eyes lay on him, Jared almost drops the bottle, because he sees interest and it knocks him backwards a little. It’s gone in half a second, like it was never there, and Jensen’s catty smile is back in place. But Jared knows what he saw. The looks Jensen had been sending around the room just a second ago had been checking people out. And then Jen checked *him* out.
Okay, Jared *knows* everyone is staring at his ass now.
It takes a second for Jared to get back into the conversation Jen’s having without him, about playing a round of pool or maybe some darts. Jared just nods and grabs a big scoop of the unshelled peanuts on the table and proceeds to break them, scattering the shells on the floor.
“…and I know I could whup everyone in this room’s ass,” Jensen finished.
Jared snorted, feeling better as his composure was regained. “I think you end a sentence with that at least three out of five times, and I never see you whup anyone’s ass.”
Jensen’s eyes twinkle. But it’s a trouble-twinkle, the kind he’s best at. “You just watch me tonight.”
So it’s like that. Huh.
After a few rounds, Jensen decides that the whisky needs a friend, and orders 4 shots of tequila. Jared groans, remembering how he got into this whole mess.
“Hey now, you’re not questioning my choice of beverage, are ya? Just because we’re in a gay bar don’t mean you get to act like a pussy. C’mon.”
Jensen offers his licked and salted hand to Jared, who decides not to be a pussy. He licks, slams, sucks, and then returns the favor.
“Is this the part where I ask coyly whether you’re trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me?” Jared works the dimples like a cheerleader on Friday night. Jensen nearly spits his second shot all over the bartender’s genuine imitation pearl-buttoned lilac western shirt (Jared’s glad to have skipped the pastels, for once) but recovers nicely.
“I suppose. Which means it’s time for me to declare myself an utter gentleman. Would you prefer that with a leer or a courtly bow?”
“OMIGOD!!!!” Jared and Jensen both wince slightly at the sound of a fanboy in full squee. Looks like they’re a hit with the gay demographic, too.
Jensen and his young blond fan talk urban legends while Jared trades stares with his older companion. How does Jensen do that, he wonders? Usually Jared’s the relaxed one and Jensen’s hiding behind wary eyes, but somehow he manages to be totally unfazed that they’ve been recognized in a gay bar.
Jared, on the other hand, grows increasingly uneasy under the gaze of Blondie’s friend. Uneasy, and to his total shock, slightly… uncomfortable.
“Yeah, we might have done a story about a haunted bathhouse, but now we can’t because you’ll sue us for…” Jared bumps Jensen’s shoulder and says, “Be right back,” stalking toward the men’s room as coolly as he can.
Now, Jared’s from Texas. And, to date, he had managed to *not* frequent establishments frequented primarily by the same-sex lovin’ crowd. But neither of those things mean he’s stupid or naïve.
He feels pretty sure he’s got a stupid look on his face, though, when he’s surprised by the second time in one evening by a pair of arms encircling him from behind just as he’s zipping up.
“Not so fast,” says a voice that definitely does not belong to Jensen, and the hands that aren’t Jensen’s either glide right over his pockets and squeeze his dick through his jeans.
“The FUCK, man?” Jared spins around to face his recent staring partner.
“Thought you’d never ask,” replied the stranger smoothly, and pulls Jared in for a kiss.
This is most definitely not what Jared meant when he said, “kick up some shit.” He had meant more whole-bar-singing-along-to-David-Allen-Coe and less-male-tongue-in-his-mouth stubble-scraping-stubble big-hands-grabbing-his-ass. “He’s taller than Jensen” floats across Jared’s brain as the guy with his tongue in Jared’s mouth walks him backwards across the floor until his back bumps the wall.
It’s not like he doesn’t think about pulling away, about Jensen, about what his mother would think should she walk into the men’s room of a gay Canadian honky-tonk and see her son pressed against the dirty tiles sucking face with another man. He thinks about all of it. It’s just that his brain is running on tequila time and when the message to ‘push’ reaches his hands it’s turned into more of a ‘pull’ and so he does; pulls the stranger in closer and settles down for the long haul. It’s too much at once, the flush on his cheeks, the stranger’s shirt growing damp under Jared’s hands, the jukebox in the bar still playing Garth like Jared hasn’t been in here forever, kissing some random guy.
Except that this guy has more than first base in mind and even on tequila time, Jared’s not ready for that. He breaks it off, gasping slightly, and stares. The man leans one hand on either side of Jared’s head and just blinks at him slowly with a mixture of amusement, impatience, and something that might almost be compassion.
“You can tell me you’re straight, but that’d be bullshit. You can tell me that guy out there is your boyfriend, but I don’t think that’s it either. Not yet, at least. I don’t give a shit anyway – you’re clearly not going to suck my dick so I’ve got better things to do.”
With that, he turns and walks out of the bathroom, stopping at the door to add, “You want him, you better go get him. Things move fast around here, you might have noticed.”
Jared doesn’t know what he wants. He wants more alcohol, definitely. He wants to splash cold water on his face, and so he does. He *doesn’t* want to walk back out there and find Jensen similarly engaged with some Canadian who doesn’t know a longhorn from a damn dairy cow.
Bottom line, he doesn’t want to stay in that bathroom and wait for his next partner in tonsil hockey, so he takes a deep breath and shoves open the double-swinging “Dudes” door.
Well, Jensen isn’t kissing anyone, but everyone sure is kissing his ass. Figures, the fucker has the whole bar laughing at his stories and buying his drinks in the time it takes Jared to take a piss and get molested. The perpetrator has his arms wrapped around the blond now, and whispers something in his ear as Jared approaches. He can feel the red creeping back into his face.
“Hey, baby, where you been? Didja lose your dick or find someone else’s?”
Jared’s already red, but he still summons the best shit-eating grin as possible, and says in a low gravelly voice, like he just fucked in the bathroom stall, “Well, honey, if you hadn’t of been getting a public handjob out here, maybe I wouldn’t’ve had to go lookin’ for someone else.”
Jensen’s eyes darken, just a little, and his entourage twitters around him, looking from Jared to Jensen and back again. But Jensen, consummate fucking actor, just shifts a little and is back to cocky-as-hell in a matter of seconds. He returns Jared’s smile with a cheshire-cat one of his own and gently disentangles himself from the crowd, never taking his eyes off Jared. “Come on, now,” he says just a tetch too softly. To the gathered group, who are watching them like their tongues are going to fall out of their mouths and their tales are going to start wagging any minute, he says, “Well, now, y’all have been real nice, but I think me an’ m’boy here need to have a little discussion.” He turns back to Jared and plants a hand in the middle of his chest, directing him backwards. “On the dance floor,” he finishes, not looking back, and Jared lets himself be pushed.
When they get there, the DJ’s put on what, at any other time in Jared’s life, he would call fuckin’ music, but that hits just a little too close to home right now. The bassline is low, and the voice coming out from the stereo is biting off his words, and the undercurrent of the song has brought more than just them to the dark corners of this honky-tonk.
Jensen gets up in Jared’s space, and Jared stands his ground, ’cause he’s been jerked around all night to the point that he doesn’t know which way is up and which is down. Only Jensen’s eyes are grounding him, keeping him looking only at Jen when Jen twines his hands up Jared’s back, underneath his shirt and one finger teasing, almost accidentally, at the waistband of Jared’s 501’s. Jensen slides a leg between Jared’s, and Jared’s hands come up almost automatically to rest on Jensen’s hips. He thinks, a little past hard and way into I-wanna-fuck, hell, at least my body knows what to do.
Jensen’s mouth comes up next to Jared’s, just the kiss of skin on skin nowhere near hard enough for what Jared’s craving, and says just loud enough to be heard over the music by the person you’re wrapped all around, “How you doin’, son?”
Jared wants to laugh and he wants to press Jensen against the wall he can see out of the corner of his eye and most of all he wants to know what the hell is going on, because they walked in here straight (at least he did, except for that one time that didn’t count) and now they’re a walking gay scandal for InTouch. At least it would get the show some press, he thinks wildly.
“I–” he can’t finish the sentence, but Jensen just presses closer, tugging Jared’s ear between his teeth and moving against Jared. The long course of heat that shocks through his body is more of a surprise than it usually is, and damn that fucker for using Jared’s booty-call stories against him; but fuck it feels good, and Jared melts a little, tightening his hands on Jensen’s hips. He doesn’t realize the rumble coming deep from in his throat until he hears Jensen’s chuckle as he noses his way down to Jared’s collarbone. Jensen’s thumb steals forward to tease at Jared’s bellybutton, and Jared tenses a little; he hates being so fucking unsure. He’s beginning to think this whole thing was a little more planned than fucking Jensen Ackles indicated.
“What now, baby,” Jensen murmurs against his skin. “You ain’t that much of a virgin, I know.”
That just fucking pisses Jared off; Jensen never misses the chance to run off at the mouth about his three years and nine months over Jared. This is the moment, Jared decides, when Jensen stops fucking with him.
He finally does what he’s been wanting to do ever since that guy did it to him. He manhandles Jensen over to the wall, using every bit of his height and weight and bulk to do it. Jensen’s charm can’t beat out Jared’s determination, and Jared sees Jensen’s eyes flicker hot when his shoulders bounce a little against the dark wood paneling. Jared bends down low, runs his nose up Jensen’s neck, forcing him to turn his head up to give Jared better access. Jared’s bracing his hands close against Jensen’s arms, giving Jensen only a little room to move; Jared takes it as an invitation when Jensen’s fingers close in his belt loops to come just that bit closer.
“Did you have a plan, Jen?” Jared asks, with just a little bit of taunt and a whole lot of Texas in his voice. “‘Cause I’m thinking you got me here on more’n just a bet with Chris. I think you wanted to see me here, see what I’d do, turn tail and run or drink it all away or what. But you forget, Jen, that we’re from fuckin’ Texas and we don’t run away from a challenge. You challengin’ me?”
Jensen meets his eyes, square on, and Jared doesn’t need to be psychic to read let’s fuck and you’re not wrong and I’ve wanted you for a long-ass time, you blind fuck in Jensen’s stare. Jared does what he, Jensen, and this entire fucking bar have wanted them to do all night: he kisses Jensen, so hard that his head gets pushed up and titled backwards to give Jared better access; and Jared uses every inch of his height and his strength to keep Jensen pushed up against the wall, grunting into Jared’s mouth, fingers flexing on Jared’s hips. Jared shoves one knee up, just this side of painful, against Jensen’s crotch and grinds with him a little bit, licking the inside of Jensen’s mouth. Half of him is thinking, “you fuckin’ queer,” and the other half is thinking, “you fuck, why did you wait so long,” but he likes the second one better so he pushes away his grandaddy’s voice and his high school best friend’s look of shock and just kisses Jensen like he was made to do it. Which, maybe he was, ’cause this is too good to be anything but sin.
“This is almost as much fun as the time Chris and I crashed that drag king show,” Jensen smirks into Jared’s open mouth.
Oh, now, he’s going to pay for mentioning Chris. And by “pay,” Jared means “I will make you forget your own name, much less that of some pint-sized Oklahoman with delusions of redneck grandeur.” Jared shoves insistently with his hip and leaves off kissing to nip at the place where Jen’s neck meets his shoulder, and how is it the boy still tastes like Texas sunshine in this gray place? Jen chokes off a whimper, and it occurs to Jared that his costar/friend/stop-right-there *wants* this, wants Jared to take control and wants Jared to take control and move him, kiss him into shutting up, fuck him till he can’t walk and still ask to suck Jared’s dick.
Jensen’s not the only one who likes this idea. It suits Jared just fine. But not here. There’s a fine line between plausible deniabilty and a hundred queers watching you fuck on the dance floor, and they are two-stepping way too close to that edge. He reaches down between them to grab Jensen’s crotch and growls, “We’re leaving. Say goodbye to the nice folks.” He tows Jen after him by the Winchester rifle buckle Chris sent when the show got picked up, the crowd making a path strewn with lewd comments and peanut shells. About halfway to the door a skinny guy wearing an orange “Rodeo Queen” T steps in front of them waving a small Ziploc. “Now, now, boys, my Aunt Lula would never forgive me if I let you leave without your party favors!” Jared just smiles and keeps going but he hears Jensen say, “Mighty nice of you” as he grabs the bag of condoms and lube.
I’m going to have to find a new agent, Jared thinks. And possibly a new job.
That can wait, though, because Jared can’t. They tear back to Jensen’s apartment, not touching but the car is crackling with heat. Jensen opens his mouth to make a smart remark so Jared reaches over and squeezes his crotch again to shut him up, he knows this mood is strong and brittle and words could shatter it like a beer bottle knocked just wrong, leaving Jared with bleeding empty hands.
When they walk in, Jared sees a length of rope on the wall, like fuckin’ art or something. He pushes Jensen to the wall, tells him with his eyes to stay put, and goes over to pull it down. Unused or not, it’s strong and softer than he expected it to be. Probably bought it at Urban Outfitters, Jared thinks with an internal eye-roll.
He flexes it, ties an experimental bowline to see how it holds a knot. Perfect.
With nothing more than a nod of his head, he calls Jensen over to him, Jensen who’s panting hard and whose eyes are darting back and forth between the rope and Jared’s face. They go to the bedroom, and Jared lets Jensen walk in front of him. He pushes, not hard, but enough to get Jensen to trip wildly, landing on the bed face first, and Jared’s right there on him, pressing him down into the mattress and putting his mouth right at his ear.
“Now look here son,” he says, just as low as he can manage, letting the rumble vibrate against Jensen’s skin. “I don’t know how long you’ve wanted this, and I don’t know what the hell we’re doing here. But I’ll tell you this–if you want me to stop what we both know I’m gonna do, you better tell me right now before I truss you up so tight you ain’t never getting free.” Jared grinds down, thrilled and scared all at once.
There’s a pause, and for a second Jared’s fear rockets up to terror, that Jensen’s going to freak out, buck him off, never talk to him again. Jensen finally speaks in a voice pitched so low if Jared weren’t plastered right on top, he’d never hear what was being said.
“Since filming the pilot, you asshole. Now get on with it.”
Jared’s been in Hollywood enough to know the next part. “What’s your word?” he murmurs, running his teeth along the back of Jensen’s neck and letting the rope scuff against his arms.
Jensen stiffens beneath him, and Jared feels like he’s ready to push them off the bed to get free, so Jared does what his instinct says and bites the hell out of Jensen’s neck. Jensen goes even tauter, and for five whole seconds Jared thinks I’ve really fucked up now and god, makeup will never get out those marks but then Jensen goes lax and languid, puddling under Jared so much so that Jared has to shift just to keep them on the bed.
Jensen mumbles something into the pillow, and Jared can’t hear him so he pulls Jensen’s head back a little; “Rattlesnake,” he mumbles dreamily.
Jared would be pissed–he *is* pissed–but it’s him Jensen’s beneath tonight, and it’s him Jensen’s gonna be with the next time Chris fuckin’ Kane walks into their lives. Jared’s momma taught him to never let go of something he really wanted. Though he wishes he hadn’t just thought of his momma right then.
Jared climbs off the bed to Jensen’s protest and thwacks him lightly on the ass with a loop of rope. “Undress. Now.”
“Fucker.”
“That’s the plan. Now do it.”
Jensen pulls his t-shirt over his head in one motion and tosses it on a chair. The boots come next, toed off and kicked out of the way. Then he slows down, peeling his belt out of the loops, popping one button as a time. Jared wants to look away, doesn’t want to look away, can’t.
He’s thrown out of the moment, though, because Jensen’s boxerbriefs have damn *carrots* on them.
Jensen catches the smile trying to break free and shoots Jared a glare. “Shut up, man, my sister bought ’em.”
“Whatever, dude, *carrots.* Keep going.”
Jensen undresses quickly, almost too quickly; Jared has never understood how a man so damned cocky could be so insecure about his looks. Jared twitches the rope in his hands, and it feels good; Jensen slows down. But he’s still hesitating, caught in mock anger, so Jared relents and drops to his knees. He slowly eases the carroty boxers over Jensen’s hips, pause to drag his teeth from hipbone down to the top of Jensen’s thigh.
The elastic catches then pops over the head of Jensen’s cock. It’s right there, so Jared sticks out his tongue and just touches the tip, gripping Jensen’s hips with his hands. Jensen gasps sharply, and sways in his sockfeet, jeans puddled around his ankles. But that’s not how this is going to go, so Jared stands back up and undoes his own jeans, shucking them and his manly plaid boxers in one movement.
“You first.”
Jensen steps in for a kiss and Jared lets him, relaxes into the hands on his back, runs his own hands up Jensen’s sides to the back of his head, kneading the tense spot at the base of his skull. Jensen responds by cupping Jared’s ass in his hands and pulling him in closer. Jared can feel his cock bumping Jensen’s, sliding next to each other, and it’s weird that it’s not weird.
Not that he expected sirens or electric shocks, he just didn’t expect the sensation to feel… right. Jared breaks off the kiss, holding Jensen out slightly and studying his face. He sees the hot flush he knows is on his own face, and just an echo of need that doesn’t bear examining at the moment. Jensen’s face rearranges itself into a familiarly impish grin as he brings a hand in between them to tweak Jared’s nipple and push him backwards onto the bed.
“You’ll pay for that one la- mmmphhh-” the rest of Jared’s threat is lost as his dick disappears into Jensen’s mouth. Boy doesn’t mess *around*.
But that’s not how this is going to go, either. Jared musters all his self-control and grabs what he can of Jensen’s close-cropped hair. “Slow. I want it slow.”
Jensen mumbles a string of four letter words as best he can, but obeys, finding a leisurely pace that suits them both. Jared gets lost in the sensation, rocking gently against the cotton sheets, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling. His fingers and lips are tingling, along with the more obvious parts, and Jensen’s found just the right gently twisting grip.
The reverie can’t last, not that Jared wants it to last forever anyway, he has PLANS for Mr. Cockyass who is currently licking and sucking and rubbing *that* spot right there, the one right next to the danger zone, and he means to warn Jensen but crests with only a hollered “JEEE-sus,” jerking half-upright then arching back. Jensen chokes and coughs, half-swallowing half-spitting come, pulling off but still working Jared’s dick with his right hand while he grabs for something to wipe his mouth with the left.
Jared nearly apologizes but bites it off, remembering that tonight he is not that kind of boy. He relaxes back onto the mattress for a moment, letting the tension ease out of him, planning his next move.
Jared rolls onto one side and pushes up, moving deliberately to mask the fact that he can’t move any faster. Jensen’s still sitting on the carpet, naked and hard, looking up with glittering eyes. Jared picks up the rope, and flips it one-handed into an overhand knot. Jensen’s eyes widen slightly; Jared’s gratified to know that all those mosquito-bitten hours spent practicing rope tricks weren’t in vain. “Get on the bed,” he says quietly.
Jensen lies down, watching him the whole time. Jared straddles him and loops the rope around the metal grid of the headboard, dropping the rope as Jensen grinds up. “Quit, now, if I don’t tie this right you might never get loose. And then what will I say at call?”
“Yeah, well, you’d be lonely without me on set to pat your shoulder and tie your shoes.”
Jared finally succeeds in lashing Jensen’s wrists together and to the bed and bends down until they’re nose to nose. “Don’t make me bust out the gag.”
“No gags.”
“Fine, but shut up or I’ll shut you up. Where’d you put the party favors?”
As he reaches to the bedside table Jensen is pointing at, it strikes Jared: things are exactly the same as they are outside of this bed. They’re making fun of each other, roughing each other up a little bit; so Jared has a little more control right now, but that’s nothing too different from the way Jensen fucking *owns* him the rest of the time. Jared tries to cover up this open, raw feeling in his chest by biting Jensen’s shoulder. It feels too big for him, too big for this room and this moment, so he calls on whatever he has inside of him to pull back from it and just be here.
He doesn’t resist the urge, though, to take Jensen back down a little by saying right into his ear, “You make me wanna rip you open so I can see if you’re tore up the way I am over you.” He feels Jensen shudder, and the satisfaction he gets from that overwhelms the unsettled feeling near his heart.
It’s not like being unsettled is new to Jared, and given the circumstances, he’s not about to take some chick time to examine the sensation, so he shoves it aside. His dick is way ahead of him, already hard again with Jensen’s shudder.
He tears into a condom package and rolls it onto his dick, conscious of Jensen’s gaze. The little package of lube is next; the viscous liquid drips on Jensen’s balls, slides down to his asshole, and Jensen jerks just a bit at the coldness. Jared feels a little sorry, but leans down anyway and whispers, “Just because I’m about to fuck you don’t mean you get to act like a pussy.” Jensen’s eyes flash dangerously and he yanks at the ropes, but the knot holds true, doesn’t give or tighten.
Jared kisses him then, licking and sucking and claiming Jensen’s mouth as his, the fierce possession balanced by his hand spread on Jensen’s breastbone, steadying the pounding heart underneath, blunting the scared edge on Jensen’s want. Jared shifts between Jensen’s legs, edging them apart, bringing one knee up. Time to find out how much flexibility this former cheerleader still has, and Jared’s not half dumb enough to voice that thought out loud. He runs his hand down Jen’s body, gives his dick a few strokes, enough that Jensen’s eyes flutter closed and his head drops back. Watching him, Jared’s last ounce of hesitation falls away and his internal monologue shuts the fuck up and he slowly, firmly, glides a lubed finger into Jensen’s ass.
“GodDAMMIT!” Jensen’s head slams back against the mattress in reaction, but not in surprise, and Jared knows it’s not his first time, knew it already, doesn’t care. He adds a second finger, easing and stretching, his other hand on the back of Jensen’s head and his teeth biting their way up Jensen’s neck, over to his ear, back to his mouth. He can feel Jensen’s lips moving against his own, pressing together and parting again and again, rasping into “please please please” and that’s what does it, that cocky sonuvabitch *begging* for it. Jared pulls out his fingers, leaving Jensen gasping, kneels between Jensen’s legs canted apart in a fashion just short of ridiculous, and slides his cock in.
It’s too much all at once and not enough, the tightness around his cock makes the air against his skin unbearable, he wants to be touching Jensen everywhere but the angles won’t work, wants to sprawl but Jensen’s legs can’t wrap around, so he thrusts and they grunt and he leans in to touch his lips to Jensen’s but Jensen bites his mouth, scraping skin as they pull apart again. Jared puts one hand back on Jensen’s chest and his other on Jensen’s dick and he thrusts and he pulls and Jensen shouts, coming over Jared’s fist. The warmth on Jared’s hand and the shout in his ears fan the flames in his face even hotter, and he’s jerking and swearing and hoping his ‘O’ face isn’t dumb enough to be mocked later.
Jared does sprawl, then, one of Jensen’s legs wrapped around his back, and of course they’d figure it out *after* it’s all over. That’s the Texas way, right? Act first, figure it out later.
“Dude. You weigh a fuckin’ ton. Get off me.” Jensen bucks slightly and doesn’t add, “And out of me” but it’s there. Jared rolls to the side, reaches down, grabbing the base of the condom till he’s all the way out, then ties it off and flings it in the general direction of the trashcan. Three points. Not bad in his current state.
He undoes the rope, tosses it to one side, and watches Jensen massage his wrists and groan. Suddenly (how can he still move that fast?) Jen pushes Jared onto his back and rolls on top, staring at him nose to nose, eyes flicking back and forth with the proximity. They’ve sure as hell acted, but Jared’s not sure it’s time for figuring yet, not sure what there is to figure. Jensen’s eyes are searching but sated, and Jared stares back a steady answer.
It must have been the right one, or a right one, or something kin enough to right, because Jensen brings his forehead to touch Jared’s with a gentle bump, then kisses him, then rolls off onto his back. Jared flips to his stomach because he can’t sleep on his back, face turned towards Jensen, shoulder touching shoulder, and instantly passes out.
He wakes to Jensen repeatedly shoving his shoulder, sing-songing “Morning, Sunshine” in time with the jabs. “Fuck you, lemme sleep.”
“Hell, no. I want huevos rancheros and you’ve got two dogs that have probably pissed all over creation by now.”
Jared groans. His poor dogs. “Where the hell are we gonna find huevos rancheros around here?”
“We’re going to your place and you’re gonna make me some, dickwad,” Jensen replies with glee.
It hits him again, the feeling of shifted sameness. Nothing to figure out, nothing to chew on like a busted lip. They’ll go on just as they have been, drinking Coors and playing video games and pranking around on set. And.
He lets the idea settle in while he gathers his clothes from around the room, grimacing slightly at the stale, smoky smell of his jeans, rescuing a crumpled sock from under a chair, shaking out his t-shirt–
Jared stops. “I don’t fucking believe you. Your momma didn’t raise you right.”
Jensen hollers from the bathroom, “Don’t you insult my momma, I’ll tell her and she won’t feed you that pound cake you love no more.”
He steps back into the room, toweling off his head and freshly shaved face, blood welling from a small nick at the corner of his mouth. “What’s your damn problem?”
“You wiped your mouth on my *shirt* last night.”
“Oh. That.” Jensen flashes the grin that melts the hearts of girls and grannies and gay boys and cranky directors everywhere, snakes his tongue out to catch a drop of blood and spins away into the bathroom.
“Just grab one of mine. Sorry, I don’t own any t-shirts in *pink.*”
Yup. Back to the way things have always been, Jensen winding him up and bossing him around, at least for now.
Jared knows lots more knots.