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Cruel as the grave
Dec. 4th, 2009 12:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Pairing: Jensen/Jared, Jared/Genevieve, mention of Jensen/Danneel
Table: A Picture is worth a thousand words
rating: ADULT
Prompt: 20
It ends as it begins: outside a bar in Vancouver.
Now
Jensen swings wildly, aiming for Jared's jaw, but misjudging distance and height, ends up pivoting on his left foot and stumbling for balance when his fist connects with nothing. He can hear Jared's derisive snort even as he wills the world to slow its bobbling spin so he can stand up straight again.
"Come on Jackles, you can do better than that." It's said fondly, teasing, but Jensen misses the gentle tone and only hears the biting words. He grits his teeth, bends slightly, tilts his shoulder and careens forward into the stomach of his co-star.
Jared's back slams heavily against the shiny black of Jensen's truck, a low metal pop combining with his gutteral yelp from Jensen's impact.
Jensen smiles for the first time that night.
Then
Jared's fingers tighten around the cool glass cylinder, squeaking slightly as they slide through condensation.
He'd agreed to come hear Jensen's friends Chris and Steve, and he was glad he had. They had good, bluesy country rhythms, and catchy lyrics that had the dance floor filled and a low thrum of energy pulsing through the bar. Girls were mooning and squealy, men were grinning and thumping tables appreciatively, and Jared could get behind anything that brought a group of strangers together.
And he'd enjoyed it too. Until Steve had called Jensen out--Jensen demurring, blush spreading up his neck, head down, bashful and wagging in denial. Then Chris had come down and physically man-handled him to the stage to sing back-up.
Jared knew that Jensen sang. He hummed when he was in a good mood, and sang short bursts of random lyrics when he thought no one was listening. Sometimes, after a long day on set when they crashed at Jensen's (because it was closest) he'd drag out his guitar and strum chords, pluck out melodies and sing softly to unwind while Jared watched Sports Center through half-lidded eyes.
But there's something different about seeing Jensen on stage, hands stuffed in his pockets, sideways grin on his face, toe tapping to the beat while he waits until his part comes. When he does lean into the mike, his eyes close and his throat lengthens while his body loosens to let out the notes in a silky tenor counterpoint to Steve's raspy baritone.
Eyes narrowing, Jared grips the bottle tighter even as he raises it and drains it dry, gaze never moving from Jensen's face while he sings about some chick named “Alabama.”
Now
Jensen's breath is whistling sharply in and out as he straddles the inhumanly large frame of his supposed best-friend, straining to pin muscled shoulders to the ground even as Jared struggles beneath him, trying to buck him off. But Jensen’s determined and has his knees tucked in tight, thighs working overtime while he uses every ounce of strength he has to keep Jared’s back to the ground. Unfortunately, this also means that Jared is twisting and grinding up into Jensen’s exposed groin, and his already stretched jeans are getting even more of a work-out as his cock wakes up and takes interest in the proceedings.
“Get off me, Jensen,” Jared’s voice is taut and warning.
“Or what?”
Still laboring to move Jensen off him, Jared strains, “Or I’ll do something we’ll both regret.”
Fighting through the dual fogs of alcohol and desire, Jensen smirks, “I’d like to see you try.”
That’s all it takes and Jared’s flipping them both and Jensen finds himself pinned to the asphalt at the edge of the parking lot beside his truck. “Fuck.”
Then
After three or so songs, Jensen makes his way of the stage, head bowed modestly, arm raised in acknowledgment to the cheers of the crowd as he makes his way through the clutch of people and back to Jared and the booth. Jared watches him carefully, notes the bright shine of his eyes, the faint sheen of sweat that makes him nearly glow, and the bright color in his cheeks. Jensen Ackles apparently loves that shit, humble or not. And damn if that doesn’t gaul Jared in some small way.
Not the fact that Jensen likes it--he’d never begrudge Jackles an ounce of pleasure—but that there’s something that makes Jensen shine and—goddamnit, sparkle, and it’s got nothing to do with Jared. It’s not even something Jared could offer him or be a part of. Jared can’t sing or play an instrument worth shit. Anyone who saw the episode where Sam and Dean sing to Bon Jovi is more than aware of that. There were catcalls and hisses from the crew on more than one take that day.
Jared likes Steve. He likes Chris. But now he knows that they share a part of Jensen that Jared will never be able to and that? Well, that sets Jared’s teeth on edge.
“’nother beer?”
Jensen downs the rest from the bottle in his hand and grins broadly at Jared, “Yeah.”
Something low and hot twists in Jared's gut, even as his throat burns with the jealously stuck in his craw.
Now
“Seriously, Jensen. What the fuck has gotten into you?” Jared’s shifting his weight off of Jensen and pulling him to his feet at the same time. “Someone slip you a mickey while I was in the john, or what?”
Jensen could barely restrain himself from taking another swing at the solid wall of man in front of him. Someone slipping him something? As if.
“Fuck you, Jared.” It’s as venomous as he can make it, but it comes out soft and half-slurred.
He tries to ignore the shudder of heat that rolls through his body as Jared moves beside him and engulfs him with one arm, supporting his weight as he manhandles him to the side of truck. Jensen leans into the earlier dent and heaves a sigh of frustration and exhaustion. Staring down at his well-worn boots, he bites out, “I know, Jared. So you can just stop with the innocent act.”
“Know what, man? Because right now, there are any number of things that you seem to know that I don’t.”
When he raises his head to look at Jared, he’s ignoring the burn in his throat and the sting in his eyes when he says, “I saw you.”
Jared shakes his head and furrows his brow, spreading his hands in a silent gesture of confusion.
“I saw you and Misha. I saw you, motherfucker.” Jensen wants the words to sound angrier than they do, but they come out broken and beaten, just like he feels.
Then
It's not until much later, when the barkeep has rolled up the floor and sent them all out to where they will be from that Jensen bumps him with his shoulder and says, "What's up man? You been quiet all night, and that's just...weird."
Jared's not sure what to say. He's aware that "I saw you sing and I wanted to snatch you off the stage and put you in a cage and keep you there to sing just for me," is no where near a rational response, so he grits his teeth and shakes his head slightly.
Jensen stops in the middle of the parking lot. "See, that. That right there. That shit ain't normal. Not for you. Your mouth usually runs away with the spoon before the fucking knife even knows there's a race on. What the fuck is going on?"
Jared turns and looks at Jensen, weighing the situation. His addled mind tries to sort through the alcoholic haze, but only has the small, sturdy knot of envious want to grab onto for support. Jensen's green eyes are glinting gold in the harsh light of the parking lot, stubbled jaw set, one hip tilted slightly forward even as he leans sideways into the cross of his arms. Stubborn. Waiting.
Maybe it's the booze. Maybe it's because they're the only ones left in the parking lot. Maybe it's a lot of things that have been building up for more than three years of spending nearly every waking hour together.
Whatever the reason, Jared doesn't answer Jensen. Instead, he closes the gap between them in two swift strides and presses his lips to Jensen's, hands cupping his co-star's nape while his thumbs stroke solidly over his jaw. When Jensen opens his mouth and a warm, wet tongue darts out to tangle with Jared's own, reality crashes down demolishing Jared from the inside out and he's bolting backward and blindly towards the only vehicle left in the lot.
Now
Jared stands gaping at air like a fish out of water. And for a split second, Jensen thinks maybe he's gotten it wrong. That he didn't see Misha follow Jared into the restroom and then see them appear one after the other 10 minutes or so later, flushed and bleary-eyed. No. He knows what he saw. That blissed-out look can only mean one thing. He knows that look.
Molars grinding, Jensen dares Jared to deny it, "You fucked or blew Misha in the bathroom. Or he fucked or blew you. I saw you after. I saw you."
Sighing heavily, Jared says, "Shit," and runs long fingers through the tangle of his hair. "It's not what you think Jensen. It's nowhere near what you think."
Jensen cocks an eyebrow, "Oh? And what is it then?"
Looking a bit like the kid who got caught with his hand in his mom's wallet, Jared says, "We got high," before Jensen can interrupt him he tumbles on, "I swear I just went in to piss, but then Misha came in when I was washing up and he pulled out the biggest blunt I've ever seen and, well...I may have had a toke...or five. I know how you feel about weed since Chad got that laced stuff and you ended up under the kitchen table with a baseball bat, but..." he gives a helpless shrug.
Now it's Jensen's turn to be at a loss. He's been so sure, so positive, and now? Jensen's glad for the support of the truck as he sags into it, "Fuck."
Jared moves to face him, "Now you want to tell me why you care who is or isn't blowing me in the bathroom?"
Then
Jared's grateful for Jensen's ability to sleep like a man who's been dead for six months the next morning as he gets up, runs the dogs, throws some stuff into a duffle and then drops Sadie and Harley off at the boarding facility before heading to the airport. The congestion and blare of LAX is a welcome distraction from the flight-long tangle of Jared's self-recriminations and agonizing 'what-ifs'.
He kisses Genevieve possessively when she meets him, licking inside every crevice of her mouth, leaving her breathless and dazed.
She grins at him mouth swollen and sultry, "Goddamn, baby, I missed you too."
He keeps one hand on her all through the drive back to her apartment, coasting over the swell of her breast, dipping under the hem of her shirt, flicking open the button on her jeans until smacks him and accuses him of trying to make her get into an accident.
They barely make it in the door before he's pushing her up against the nearest surface, mouths fused together, hands pushing clothes down, up and out of the way. He slides into her fast and hard, Gen cursing and digging her short nails into his shoulders as her ankles lock tight around his back. It's over almost before it begins, Jared's thumb frigging her clit until she's keening and snapping her hips furiously to his, her cunt wringing his orgasm from him. She collapses back onto the dining table, hair framing her flushed face as her full breasts rise and fall with the gasps of her breath. Jared follows her down, mouthing at the soft nook of her neck.
He's not thinking about Jensen as his cock slides free of her slick walls. He's not.
Now
It's been 8 months, 3 weeks and 1 day since that kiss. The kiss that Jared has apparently forgotten all about. The kiss that Jensen hasn't been able to stop thinking about. He's beat off in the shower thinking about that kiss. He's fucked Danneel through the mattress more than once thinking about that kiss. He's become pre-occupied with Jared's stupid fucking mouth and every other bit of him because of that kiss.
Between the physical exhaustion of trying to take out some of his jealousy and pent-up sexual frustration on Jared tonight and the alcohol sloshing it's way through his system, he feels paralyzed and incapable of answering Jared. Minutes pass, and Jensen reflects that this may be the longest amount of time Jared's ever gone without rubbing two words together. He looks up.
Jared's just standing there in front of him, placid, looking for all the world like he's got patience to spare and nothing but Jensen's response on his mind. Except Jensen doesn't have any words for Jared.
Instead he steps forward, raises one hand to the back of Jared's head and pulls him down to give him the only answer he has. When Jared opens his arms and presses Jensen to him, he knows it's enough.
spn_30snapshotsPairing: Jensen/Jared, Jared/Genevieve, mention of Jensen/Danneel
Table: A Picture is worth a thousand words
rating: ADULT
Prompt: 20
It ends as it begins: outside a bar in Vancouver.
Now
Jensen swings wildly, aiming for Jared's jaw, but misjudging distance and height, ends up pivoting on his left foot and stumbling for balance when his fist connects with nothing. He can hear Jared's derisive snort even as he wills the world to slow its bobbling spin so he can stand up straight again.
"Come on Jackles, you can do better than that." It's said fondly, teasing, but Jensen misses the gentle tone and only hears the biting words. He grits his teeth, bends slightly, tilts his shoulder and careens forward into the stomach of his co-star.
Jared's back slams heavily against the shiny black of Jensen's truck, a low metal pop combining with his gutteral yelp from Jensen's impact.
Jensen smiles for the first time that night.
Then
Jared's fingers tighten around the cool glass cylinder, squeaking slightly as they slide through condensation.
He'd agreed to come hear Jensen's friends Chris and Steve, and he was glad he had. They had good, bluesy country rhythms, and catchy lyrics that had the dance floor filled and a low thrum of energy pulsing through the bar. Girls were mooning and squealy, men were grinning and thumping tables appreciatively, and Jared could get behind anything that brought a group of strangers together.
And he'd enjoyed it too. Until Steve had called Jensen out--Jensen demurring, blush spreading up his neck, head down, bashful and wagging in denial. Then Chris had come down and physically man-handled him to the stage to sing back-up.
Jared knew that Jensen sang. He hummed when he was in a good mood, and sang short bursts of random lyrics when he thought no one was listening. Sometimes, after a long day on set when they crashed at Jensen's (because it was closest) he'd drag out his guitar and strum chords, pluck out melodies and sing softly to unwind while Jared watched Sports Center through half-lidded eyes.
But there's something different about seeing Jensen on stage, hands stuffed in his pockets, sideways grin on his face, toe tapping to the beat while he waits until his part comes. When he does lean into the mike, his eyes close and his throat lengthens while his body loosens to let out the notes in a silky tenor counterpoint to Steve's raspy baritone.
Eyes narrowing, Jared grips the bottle tighter even as he raises it and drains it dry, gaze never moving from Jensen's face while he sings about some chick named “Alabama.”
Now
Jensen's breath is whistling sharply in and out as he straddles the inhumanly large frame of his supposed best-friend, straining to pin muscled shoulders to the ground even as Jared struggles beneath him, trying to buck him off. But Jensen’s determined and has his knees tucked in tight, thighs working overtime while he uses every ounce of strength he has to keep Jared’s back to the ground. Unfortunately, this also means that Jared is twisting and grinding up into Jensen’s exposed groin, and his already stretched jeans are getting even more of a work-out as his cock wakes up and takes interest in the proceedings.
“Get off me, Jensen,” Jared’s voice is taut and warning.
“Or what?”
Still laboring to move Jensen off him, Jared strains, “Or I’ll do something we’ll both regret.”
Fighting through the dual fogs of alcohol and desire, Jensen smirks, “I’d like to see you try.”
That’s all it takes and Jared’s flipping them both and Jensen finds himself pinned to the asphalt at the edge of the parking lot beside his truck. “Fuck.”
Then
After three or so songs, Jensen makes his way of the stage, head bowed modestly, arm raised in acknowledgment to the cheers of the crowd as he makes his way through the clutch of people and back to Jared and the booth. Jared watches him carefully, notes the bright shine of his eyes, the faint sheen of sweat that makes him nearly glow, and the bright color in his cheeks. Jensen Ackles apparently loves that shit, humble or not. And damn if that doesn’t gaul Jared in some small way.
Not the fact that Jensen likes it--he’d never begrudge Jackles an ounce of pleasure—but that there’s something that makes Jensen shine and—goddamnit, sparkle, and it’s got nothing to do with Jared. It’s not even something Jared could offer him or be a part of. Jared can’t sing or play an instrument worth shit. Anyone who saw the episode where Sam and Dean sing to Bon Jovi is more than aware of that. There were catcalls and hisses from the crew on more than one take that day.
Jared likes Steve. He likes Chris. But now he knows that they share a part of Jensen that Jared will never be able to and that? Well, that sets Jared’s teeth on edge.
“’nother beer?”
Jensen downs the rest from the bottle in his hand and grins broadly at Jared, “Yeah.”
Something low and hot twists in Jared's gut, even as his throat burns with the jealously stuck in his craw.
Now
“Seriously, Jensen. What the fuck has gotten into you?” Jared’s shifting his weight off of Jensen and pulling him to his feet at the same time. “Someone slip you a mickey while I was in the john, or what?”
Jensen could barely restrain himself from taking another swing at the solid wall of man in front of him. Someone slipping him something? As if.
“Fuck you, Jared.” It’s as venomous as he can make it, but it comes out soft and half-slurred.
He tries to ignore the shudder of heat that rolls through his body as Jared moves beside him and engulfs him with one arm, supporting his weight as he manhandles him to the side of truck. Jensen leans into the earlier dent and heaves a sigh of frustration and exhaustion. Staring down at his well-worn boots, he bites out, “I know, Jared. So you can just stop with the innocent act.”
“Know what, man? Because right now, there are any number of things that you seem to know that I don’t.”
When he raises his head to look at Jared, he’s ignoring the burn in his throat and the sting in his eyes when he says, “I saw you.”
Jared shakes his head and furrows his brow, spreading his hands in a silent gesture of confusion.
“I saw you and Misha. I saw you, motherfucker.” Jensen wants the words to sound angrier than they do, but they come out broken and beaten, just like he feels.
Then
It's not until much later, when the barkeep has rolled up the floor and sent them all out to where they will be from that Jensen bumps him with his shoulder and says, "What's up man? You been quiet all night, and that's just...weird."
Jared's not sure what to say. He's aware that "I saw you sing and I wanted to snatch you off the stage and put you in a cage and keep you there to sing just for me," is no where near a rational response, so he grits his teeth and shakes his head slightly.
Jensen stops in the middle of the parking lot. "See, that. That right there. That shit ain't normal. Not for you. Your mouth usually runs away with the spoon before the fucking knife even knows there's a race on. What the fuck is going on?"
Jared turns and looks at Jensen, weighing the situation. His addled mind tries to sort through the alcoholic haze, but only has the small, sturdy knot of envious want to grab onto for support. Jensen's green eyes are glinting gold in the harsh light of the parking lot, stubbled jaw set, one hip tilted slightly forward even as he leans sideways into the cross of his arms. Stubborn. Waiting.
Maybe it's the booze. Maybe it's because they're the only ones left in the parking lot. Maybe it's a lot of things that have been building up for more than three years of spending nearly every waking hour together.
Whatever the reason, Jared doesn't answer Jensen. Instead, he closes the gap between them in two swift strides and presses his lips to Jensen's, hands cupping his co-star's nape while his thumbs stroke solidly over his jaw. When Jensen opens his mouth and a warm, wet tongue darts out to tangle with Jared's own, reality crashes down demolishing Jared from the inside out and he's bolting backward and blindly towards the only vehicle left in the lot.
Now
Jared stands gaping at air like a fish out of water. And for a split second, Jensen thinks maybe he's gotten it wrong. That he didn't see Misha follow Jared into the restroom and then see them appear one after the other 10 minutes or so later, flushed and bleary-eyed. No. He knows what he saw. That blissed-out look can only mean one thing. He knows that look.
Molars grinding, Jensen dares Jared to deny it, "You fucked or blew Misha in the bathroom. Or he fucked or blew you. I saw you after. I saw you."
Sighing heavily, Jared says, "Shit," and runs long fingers through the tangle of his hair. "It's not what you think Jensen. It's nowhere near what you think."
Jensen cocks an eyebrow, "Oh? And what is it then?"
Looking a bit like the kid who got caught with his hand in his mom's wallet, Jared says, "We got high," before Jensen can interrupt him he tumbles on, "I swear I just went in to piss, but then Misha came in when I was washing up and he pulled out the biggest blunt I've ever seen and, well...I may have had a toke...or five. I know how you feel about weed since Chad got that laced stuff and you ended up under the kitchen table with a baseball bat, but..." he gives a helpless shrug.
Now it's Jensen's turn to be at a loss. He's been so sure, so positive, and now? Jensen's glad for the support of the truck as he sags into it, "Fuck."
Jared moves to face him, "Now you want to tell me why you care who is or isn't blowing me in the bathroom?"
Then
Jared's grateful for Jensen's ability to sleep like a man who's been dead for six months the next morning as he gets up, runs the dogs, throws some stuff into a duffle and then drops Sadie and Harley off at the boarding facility before heading to the airport. The congestion and blare of LAX is a welcome distraction from the flight-long tangle of Jared's self-recriminations and agonizing 'what-ifs'.
He kisses Genevieve possessively when she meets him, licking inside every crevice of her mouth, leaving her breathless and dazed.
She grins at him mouth swollen and sultry, "Goddamn, baby, I missed you too."
He keeps one hand on her all through the drive back to her apartment, coasting over the swell of her breast, dipping under the hem of her shirt, flicking open the button on her jeans until smacks him and accuses him of trying to make her get into an accident.
They barely make it in the door before he's pushing her up against the nearest surface, mouths fused together, hands pushing clothes down, up and out of the way. He slides into her fast and hard, Gen cursing and digging her short nails into his shoulders as her ankles lock tight around his back. It's over almost before it begins, Jared's thumb frigging her clit until she's keening and snapping her hips furiously to his, her cunt wringing his orgasm from him. She collapses back onto the dining table, hair framing her flushed face as her full breasts rise and fall with the gasps of her breath. Jared follows her down, mouthing at the soft nook of her neck.
He's not thinking about Jensen as his cock slides free of her slick walls. He's not.
Now
It's been 8 months, 3 weeks and 1 day since that kiss. The kiss that Jared has apparently forgotten all about. The kiss that Jensen hasn't been able to stop thinking about. He's beat off in the shower thinking about that kiss. He's fucked Danneel through the mattress more than once thinking about that kiss. He's become pre-occupied with Jared's stupid fucking mouth and every other bit of him because of that kiss.
Between the physical exhaustion of trying to take out some of his jealousy and pent-up sexual frustration on Jared tonight and the alcohol sloshing it's way through his system, he feels paralyzed and incapable of answering Jared. Minutes pass, and Jensen reflects that this may be the longest amount of time Jared's ever gone without rubbing two words together. He looks up.
Jared's just standing there in front of him, placid, looking for all the world like he's got patience to spare and nothing but Jensen's response on his mind. Except Jensen doesn't have any words for Jared.
Instead he steps forward, raises one hand to the back of Jared's head and pulls him down to give him the only answer he has. When Jared opens his arms and presses Jensen to him, he knows it's enough.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-04 08:44 pm (UTC)