Genre: Jared/Jensen RPS
Word Count: ~6,000
Disclaimer: This is fiction, no more, no less.
Summary: A series of nighttime encounters between them leads to something they never expected but always hoped for.
Warnings: . More angst than you can shake a stick at, perhaps a little dub-con but not really, and take note of the rating. Not beta'd, so feel free to point out any errors, it is appreciated.
A/N : This is built upon a very short drabble I wrote a while ago entitled "Unbidden," the premise grabbed ahold of me and wouldn't let go. That story is included within this one with a few changes, so it is not necessary to read it separately.
A/N: Thanks be to cowboyangel for reading this over for me in it's incomplete state, and for her comment on it which turned into the best line in the entire story.
Feedback: Any and all comments and constructive criticisms are welcome and more than appreciated, tell me what you liked, tell me what you did not like, and make me a better writer!
When Morning Comes
“I miss her.” It was Jared, standing in his doorway, his silhouette a blacker form against the 3 a.m. darkness of the hallway. Jensen was awake, unable to sleep in an unfamiliar house that was so newly his own, newly shared.
“I know.” Jensen replied, not wondering how Jared had known he was awake. If anyone knew him, it was Jared.
Recognizing Jensen’s response as the invitation that it was, Jared entered Jensen’s bedroom and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.
Jensen sat up, the thin sheet dropping to his waist, lifted an arm to turn on the lamp on the bedside table when Jared said, “No, don’t.”
Jensen’s hand dropped back into his lap. Memories of similar scenes between he and his brother and sister floated into his mind.The many times he had sat at his brother’s side, sharing whispered, after-midnight confessions of obsessions, always believed to be love, confessions of losses, of parents and school, the tiny world of teenagers that at the time had seemed so huge.
There were sets of words a person was supposed to offer up in situations such as these, premade speeches that every person either had delivered or had heard before. Jensen ran through this series in his head before finding them all inadequate, instead he opted to reach out and briefly squeeze Jared’s shoulder.
The features of Jared’s profile were obscured by the shadows of the room. Jensen painted a mental picture of him instead, Jared’s head tilted in thought, a thumbnail worrying at his slightly crooked tooth, an old nervous tic that Jared was well aware of, hated, but it still crept up when he was tired or thinking too much.
Jared was silent for a long time, an obscure form, elbow propped on his knee, his chin resting on his knuckles. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick. “I went into my closet, and I saw this shirt, just a stupid fucking t-shirt, and I said to myself, ‘I can’t wear that anymore,’ because it is going to remind me of the time that she and I went…you know, never mind, I don’t want to think about that. So, I was going to throw it out, but then I didn’t, I couldn’t. I still want to. But it’s still hanging up in there. It’s just…there are all these thoughts that I am not allowed to think anymore, you know?”
“I’m not going say that I understand,” Jensen replied after a minute’s worth of comfortable silence. “Because people always say that, and they never really do.”
“For what?” Jensen asked.
“For not pretending to understand.” Jared breathed a deep long sigh. “And for understanding. For moving here, and for staying with me.”
Jensen scoffed, “I should be the one thanking you. Without you I would be homeless right now, living out of a backpack, sleeping on people’s couches.”
“No, you’d be sleeping on my couch.” There was a smile in Jared’s voice. Jensen added that to his mental picture. Jared continued, “But you and I both know that the reason you are here has nothing to do with the fact that you ran out of time to find a place, and everything to do with the fact that this is just too much for one person.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Jensen said, wondering if Jared was referring to the house, or maybe something else, or both.
“So, thank you.” Jared repeated.
Jared turned and grabbed Jensen in a bone-crunching hug before getting up and leaving the room without another word.
At that moment, sitting in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, Jensen felt more at home than he had in years.
Jared stood before the kitchen sink, looking out the window, unable to sleep. The night was rainy, the streetlights making halos in the foggy darkness. In spite of the fact that he and Jensen had a long day behind them, and another ahead of them, he still found himself full of nervous energy. Maybe he would go and keep Jensen company, Jared knew he was awake. Somehow he always knew.
As if the thought had conjured him, Jared heard the telltale creak of the hardwood floor, a sign that Jensen was moving around. The sound of bare feet shuffling along the tile told him Jensen had made his way into the kitchen. Without turning around, Jared heard the sound of the refrigerator opening behind him, watched the reflection of Jensen’s silhouette appear and then disappear in the window. The familiar sound of footsteps getting closer brought with them the eventual slight traces of warmth radiating off of Jensen as he came to a stop close beside him. He leaned over, elbows propped on the counter, a bottle of water held loosely between his hands.
Turning slightly to Jensen, Jared said, “Can’t sleep.” It was both a statement and a question.
“Naw, man, sleep is for the weak.” Jensen joked, the hint of a half-smile forming on his lips.
“Or the very tired.” Jared replied sagely.
“Well, good thing I’m neither.”
“You bet.” Jensen said, grabbing the deck of cards that were in the drawer beside him.
It was a habit they had formed at some point, Jared couldn’t remember when exactly. On long nights when neither of them could unwind, they would sit at the kitchen table, playing game after game and never really talking much. They didn’t need to. Working together and now living together had completely absolved them from the need to make small talk to fill in the gaps.
Sitting at the table, Jared stole surreptitious glances at Jensen as he studied his cards. He wondered what his life was going to be like five years from now. If someone had asked him the question six months ago, he would have been able to spell out his trajectory; his plans back then had seemed so clear cut. Not any more.
Throughout the tailspin that Jared’s life had turned into Jensen had been his one constant. Jensen, never complaining about the late night phone calls, when Jared did not realize the time or the time zone. Never offering advice or excuses. He was just there, always.
At some point everything in Jared’s life had shifted. Because sometimes, no often, Jared wished that he’d known Jensen forever.Stories that Jensen told of his life before they met filled Jared with irrational twinges of jealousy. He wished he had been a part of those memories, it felt like those were times Jared had wasted.
He felt like he’d lived his life in slow motion before meeting Jensen, and now with maybe only a with a year left to go before they inevitably parted ways, he realized he never wanted to let go of any of it.
Because it was quiet moments like these that Jared thrived on. Times when they were not trying to make their way though a maze of meetings, filming, agents, and everything else that went along with the life of a young actor stuck in the rat race of Hollywood show business. It was during these times that it was possible for them to be just two boys from Texas, and all was right in the world.
Jensen, feeling Jared’s eyes on him, glanced up, a small smile curling on his lips, faint wrinkles appearing on his forehead. “Your turn, Jared.” He pointed out.
Jared picked up the card Jensen had thrown down, “Gin,” he said, tossing his cards on the table, returning the smile.
That was the thing, with Jensen close by things were always just right, and everything just seemed to fall in to place.
A smell that Jensen associated with bright, sunny Fourth of July holidays drifted in through his open bedroom window, wrestling him out of a much deserved and awaited night’s sleep. The two bottles of Merlot that were part of his Saturday night ritual were still working their way through his system, his mouth tasted bitter in their wake, his head foggy, pounding in concert with his heartbeat.
The air smelled of lighter fluid and charcoal, and Jensen made his way to the window in search of its source. His blurry eyes caught sight of the vague form of Jared, leaning over a small grill in the back yard, his skin reflecting red in the light of the fire before him.
Jensen’s body begged for sleep, his mind was too curious to listen. His bare feet worked their way down the hall, out the back door to the flagstone patio. Crossing his arms against the chill, he came to a stop a few inches away from Jared’s side.
“What time is it?” Jensen asked by way of greeting, his voice husky and hoarse.
“Late.” Jared answered without looking up from the small fire, lighter fluid in hand.
“Since when do we have a hibachi?” Jensen nodded toward the small grill before them.
“Since this morning.”
“Okay.” Jensen noted with a nod.
“I’m putting demons to rest,” Jared stated, as he kneeled in front of the glowing embers, and grabbed the box beside him that Jensen’s tired eyes had missed before.
“Want me to grab the salt?” Jensen joked, wishing a second later that he hadn’t, when Jared turned to look up at him seriously.“Sorry,” Jensen said quickly, rubbing his upper arms to warm them, the heat of the small charcoal fire did not quite reach that far.
“It was a good try.” Jared said with a slight shrug as he grabbed a thin pile of photographs, started placing them on the fire one by one, his eyes fixed on them as their edges began to curl.
Jensen averted his eyes, not wanting to see the images that were bubbling up and growing indistinct in the fire. Not a superstition really. But the implication had him feeling a little wrong, somehow unsettled. This was the end of something, and for that reason should not be witnessed by anyone. He stood watching Jared, who sat still, kneeling with ankles crossed beneath him, the fire reflecting off a bottom row of slightly crooked white teeth, reflecting in narrowed down eyes.
Jensen was reminded of some sort of sacrificial rite. It could have been a cloudy memory from some late night horror movie. Jensen did not want to witness this, whatever it was, it seemed too private, even for them.
Clearing his throat, Jensen said, “I should go back in, leave you to this.” He started toward the door.
“No,” Jared said, and reached up to grab his wrist, his eyes seeking out Jensen’s. “I mean, you can stay if you want. Your house, your backyard. Truth is, I think I could use the company.” His grasp on Jensen’s wrist loosened, Jared’s hand moved down to squeeze his fingers briefly before dropping to his bent knee. He took the final thing out of the box, a t-shirt, and placed it on the fire, pouring more accelerant over it, making sure that it did not smother the flames.
Jared stood up, the ritual finished. The two men stood in quietness for long minutes, watching the cotton fibers turn to ashes.
“That’s it.” Jared said after a while, turning to face Jensen.
“Are you sure?” Jensen asked, reaching across to touch his palm flat to Jared’s chest, a subconscious motion. It was something comforting, familiar for both of them.
Jared seemed to understand that question had nothing at all to do with whether or not the box was empty. “I don’t know, but, yeah, I’m pretty sure.” Jared pulled him close then, an encompassing arm stretched around his shoulders, Jensen’s hand, still resting on Jared’s chest was now trapped between them. “Thank you,” Jared said quietly into Jensen’s ear.
“You always say that.” Jensen said, relaxing into the hold.
“You always deserve it.”
A silent communication, the result of countless hours spent in each other’s company, eventually passed between them and they parted, both dropping contact, hands falling to their sides as Jared led them back toward the house. The lazy smoke from the dying fire rose behind them.
Jensen walked through the dimly lit living room, pretending to not see the empty picture frames piled on the table behind the sofa, following Jared as he made his way toward the staircase. He would find a place for them tomorrow, someplace out of sight, if they were still there.
Jared awoke to a familiar presence in his bedroom, the sound of slow moving footsteps across the hardwood floor, the padded sound as they reached the rug beside his bed. Jensen was a slightly darker form against the inky shadows of his room. There was a chilly breath of air as the blanket was lifted, and the vacant side of the bed dipped under Jensen’s weight. Jared began to sit up.
‘Everything alright? You can’t sleep?” He began.
“Shhh,” was Jensen’s whispered reply as he pressed a hand against the center of Jared’s bare chest, urging him to lay back down, and Jared responded docilely to Jensen’s silent command, completely trusting.
Jensen rested his body beside his, and Jared felt Jensen’s leg curl around his own, the places where their skin touched felt fever sensitive, the sensation of nerve endings misfiring.
Jared felt Jensen’s surprisingly soft hands move along his lower stomach, pictured the even white teeth that were grazing along the ridge of his collarbone.
“What are you doing, what’s going on?” Jared asked between gasping draws of air, trying to make sense of a situation that was rapidly starting to defy any sort of sensibility.
“Do you want me to stop? If you do, just say so now, otherwise, just don’t speak.” Jared could see the faint wet glint of Jensen’s eyes, feel his lips against his chest as he spoke, sucking, biting. “Please,” Jensen added, and Jared could now feel the ridge of Jensen’s cock as he pressed his groin against Jared’s thigh.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jared realized that none of this needed to make sense, he found he could not care less about logic and reality and consequences. He just wanted to feel. “No, don’t stop…just…don’t stop.” Jared was almost surprised to hear himself utter the words.
“Thank god.” Jensen said, his voice coming forth in a low growl as he worked his way down Jared’s prone form, his tongue working along the taut muscles of Jared’s abdomen, blunt nails following the same path his mouth had mapped out, taking the heavy blanket down with him.
Jared arched up into the sensation, hips moving mindlessly as his blood rushed to his groin. He drew in a sharp breath when Jensen pressed his mouth against the hard line of his cock, the cotton of his boxers forming an unbearable barrier between the two of them.
Jensen ran his hands along Jared’s hipbones, curling his fingers along the waistband of his boxers, and pulled downward, freeing Jared’s swollen cock. Jared felt Jensen’s hand wrap around him, thumb swiping over the head, felt as it moved down to grasp him loosely at the base. Jensen’s hand was large, not unlike his own, sure and familiar in a way that a woman’s never was.
His eyes slid closed as Jared felt Jensen’s tongue lightly play along the slit, tasting, experimenting, felt it move to press against the sensitive bundle of nerves below the crown before Jensen’s mouth surrounded him. Jared fought the urge to press up into the warmth of Jensen’s mouth, and instead lived in the sensation of Jensen’s tongue as it made tantalizing circles around the head, driving him to distraction.
Jensen worked his way down Jared’s length, mouth wet, lips tight. Jared felt Jensen’s throat clench as Jensen took him down to the root, a fight against a gag reflex that nonetheless felt miraculous, dragging Jared closer to the edge. He pulled off, a string of saliva glistening in the dim light, catching his breath before starting again, his mouth establishing a blissful rhythm, taking Jared deeper and deeper each time.
Jared felt his orgasm building, placed a hand on the soft spikes of Jensen’s hair, and tried to utter a warning. Jensen only hummed around him, the added vibration tipping Jared over the edge, spilling hot inside Jensen’s mouth as Jared cut off a yell.
As Jared tried to even out his breathing, Jensen reached up, pressed two fingers inside Jared’s mouth, getting them spit slick as Jared sucked on them. Jensen’s hand snaked down, his fingers running along the crease of his ass, finding the clench of muscle there, a finger circling around it before slowly pressing in, gentle, tentative.
His body reacted before his foggy mind caught up, Jared tried to move away, urgently hissing Jensen’s name.
Jensen said softly, “Want me to stop?” punctuating the words with a whisper light press of his lips on the sensitive flesh of Jared’s inner thigh.
Before Jared could answer, Jensen crooked his finger, reached that bundle of nerves within him, a shockwave of ecstasy raced lightning fast throughout Jared’s body, his over-sensitive cock hardening, his toes curling and hands clamping into the sheets of the now ruined bed.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” Jensen said, nipping at Jared’s flesh as he added a second finger. Jared gasped against the burn, tried not to go rigid, and rode out a wave of pleasure that was tinged with a pain that felt so wonderful, a mixture of so very wrong and so very right.
“God, I want you,” Jared was shocked by the sound of his own voice, hoarse, rough and low with lust, words stated before they could be rationalized, before the thought could be regretted and dismissed.
Quickly, the fingers were withdrawn from him, and Jared was again surprised at being easily turned to lay face down. On shaky limbs Jared drew his knees up beneath him. He heard the drawer in the bedside table open, a shuffling noise and the sound of tearing foil, followed by the sound of a plastic cap.
Seconds later, Jensen was draped over his back, his mouth playing across Jared’s shoulder blade, the short hairs on Jensen’s chin scratching deliciously along his back, their bodies sealed together with sweat. The blunt pressure at his entrance was unmistakable, frightening, tantalizing.
“Just relax, I won’t hurt you.” Jensen said, his breath coming ragged and uneven against Jared’s ear, his voice taking on a more gentle tone. Jared felt himself stretch, felt an incredible fullness as Jensen pushed in implacably and slowly and finally bottomed out, Jensen’s hips flush against him. He heard a noise from Jensen’s throat, a sort of half moan, before he pulled back, only to slam in more forcefully, their flesh slapping together. It almost stung, almost.
Jensen set an even rhythm, his cock stroking against Jared’s prostate with every motion. Jared reached down, grabbed his own leaking cock, desperate for more friction. Jensen moved his hand away, replacing it with his own, his tugs matching his own movement, his other hand biting into the skin of Jared’s hip, fingernails leaving half moon marks.
Jared came with a shout, his knees giving out as he collapsed on his stomach, Jensen following him down, hips stuttering as he chased his orgasm. He bit down hard on the base of Jared’s neck, the slight pain only intensifying the sensation of Jared’s orgasm.Pulling out with a small groan, Jensen landed heavily on his back beside Jared, his chest heaving.
Looking toward him, Jared could barely make out Jensen’s profile, see the sheen of sweat covering his face. Propping himself up on arms that still trembled, he leaned toward Jensen, placed a soft kiss on the shell of his ear, and moved toward his mouth. Jensen turned his head away, quickly moving to a sitting position, legs hanging over the edge of the bed. The motion sent a cold wave of confusion and disappointment through Jared. He didn’t know why.
“Are you alright?” Jensen said, and Jared had never before heard this sound in his voice. Completely devoid of confidence, not regretful, but something else that Jared could not put his finger on.
“I’d say that I am a little more than alright.” Jared said, giving into his old defense mechanism of joking his way though an unsure situation.
“Yeah, me too.” Then Jensen was up, walking across the room toward the door.
Jared shifted to his back, his muscles tender and sore, listening to the sound of water running in the bathroom downstairs. He wasn’t sure what just happened, or if he should even question it, or if it would happen again. What’s more, he really wasn’t sure what the morning would look like.
Jared had stopped shutting his bedroom door at night a while ago. It was something that Jensen viewed as an invitation. In all likelihood it was.
Jensen would make his way up the stairs and into the room three, four nights in a week, sometimes, no, often more. Jared would wake; he was the lighter sleeper of the two. Sometimes they lay side by side, together. Other times it was all small groans, heavy breath, a struggle for power and for pleasure. To give and to receive it. Every bite, push, pull, squeeze, tug, burn felt like a dream created by skin tinted blue by the dark.
They never did make love, or it might have turned into that once, twice. Jensen wasn’t too sure. They would tangle together, long limbs, strong muscles, in a huge bed that was never meant for the two of them, it was meant for someone, but not ever him.
These nocturnal visits were taking their toll. Increasingly dark circles that had to be covered up for the camera could be explained away, labeled method acting or some such nonsense. After all, Dean was tired, pent up. Only Jared knew the truth of it, and he was not talking. For that Jensen was thankful.
Well before the time the morning light crept its way through the sheer curtains at the window he would always be gone, back to his own room, before the world awoke. Jensen always left ahead of questions that needed answering, before whatever on earth this was somehow became real.
Standing here in the dark of night, when the real world was all but invisible, it momentarily seemed possible to invent a different one. One where Jensen could have what was already partially his, and not have to answer for it, explain it, make any excuses.
Is this what obsession felt like? These minutes spent quietly watching the huddled, curled and covered form of his best friend--almost nearly his brother--told Jensen that it was. But love? That was a thought that was always too quickly pushed to the background. That was not possible, not for him, not this way. It was impossible to have.
But, God, how he wished it was different.
Perhaps feeling Jensen’s gaze on him, Jared stirred, uncoiled, stretched out, long, and so incredibly beautiful to Jensen’s eyes.Jensen watched as Jared turned over to face him, the feeling in his stomach told him that he’d been caught red-handed at something. What he’d been caught at he was not sure.
Jensen stood still, leaning against the doorway, as Jared pulled back the blanket, an invitation as obvious as the open door. In the dark, Jensen could feel more than see Jared’s stare on him, waiting.
“Sorry,” Jensen said quietly, with a small shake of his head. He turned around, rushed to the lower level of the house, passed through his doorway, closing his bedroom door with a small click. His mouth was dry, his heart was pounding, and he knew exactlywhy.
This thing with Jared was an infatuation; Jensen knew that now. It was an addiction of sorts, and one that he resolved to kick. It was bad for both of them.
That did not stop Jensen from laying awake for a long while, ears straining in the quiet, wishing and hoping that the floor would creak above his bed, listening for the sound of his bedroom door opening. He may have closed it, but he definitely did not lock it. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, not ever.
The damp chilly air of a September night in Vancouver caused pebbles to rise on the skin of Jensen’s bare chest. Leaning over the railing of the porch, the house was clothed in sleepy silence behind him. He thought about darkness, and how he never really had the chance to see it. He thought of the constant nighttime glow of big cities, Dallas, Los Angeles, Vancouver, and how it robbed the sky of its stars. It was never quite dark enough to see.
He took a long drag on his cigarette, watched the smoke hang in the humid air, slowly drifting upward. He had given them up, he had given up a lot. Maybe too much.
The springs on the screen door made a wiry sound behind him as it opened and shut again.
Familiar arms, still sleepy warm, crept low around his waist, as hands clasped together loosely before him. He straightened up, resisting the urge to cover those hands with one of his own, forcing himself to not lean his head back against the tall shoulder behind him. Jared often sought him out in the night, often it was the other way around. It was expected, welcomed, unjustifiably wished for.
“How did this start?” Jared asked, his lips brushing the shell of Jensen’s ear. So close. It was a simple question with no easy answer. Jensen wasn’t sure if he meant the beginning or the end. It could be either, both. Not waiting for an answer, Jared continued, “I’ve lost track of that. I can’t figure it out. I don’t want to have to figure this out.”
“Then don’t. Don’t think. You don’t have to.” His voice was rough and gravelly in his ears, sounded like Dean. With one last drag, he flicked his cigarette out over the railing, promised himself that he would pick it up tomorrow.
“What are we doing?” Jared was full of questions tonight, skimming closer to a subject that they never discussed.
“I don’t know.”
“It is not real.” Jared sounded defeated, just a little, maybe resigned. “This can’t be real. I want it to be real.”
“It’s what you make of it. That’s all. Nothing more. It’s not something to think about. ” There was no coldness in Jensen’s voice, nor anger. It was a movement away from the topic. It was a mere statement of fact, slightly dismissive.
Behind him, Jared bent his knees slightly. The arms around Jensen became tighter, pulling him flush against Jared’s body, trying to completely surround him. His jaw felt like warm sandpaper roughness against the softer, chilly skin of Jensen’s shoulder.
Jensen closed his eyes as Jared’s hand moved up along his chest, shuddered as blunt fingernails scraped whisper light against a nipple already hard and sensitive from the cold. His other hand moved lower, fingers following the trail of light hair that led down into the waistband of Jensen’s thin cotton pajama bottoms.
He felt like they were a hair’s breadth away from crossing some sort of invisible line. It was not the act itself, nor the intent, they were millions of miles beyond that. But somehow it was the reality of this thing that was now different.
“What are you doing?” Jensen breathed. He wanted to know, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to stop. Far from it.
“I’m not thinking.” Jared answered with a low voice, before capturing Jensen’s earlobe between his teeth, moving his hand down and quickly grasping Jensen’s rapidly hardening cock.
Jared’s movements were teasing, achingly slow, a twist of his wrist, a flick of his thumb over the head. Jensen’s hips began to move of their own volition, his body trying to increase the pace. A strong arm wrapped tight around his waist, skin tanned dark and in contrast to the pale color of Jensen’s stomach, fingernails leaving pale marks where they grasped his side.
Pressed up so close behind him, the bare skin of Jared’s chest chased away the clammy coldness of Jensen’s back. Jared’s cock was a hard line that moved along Jensen’s crease as he rocked his hips in tandem with the movement of his hand.
Jensen leaned forward as he came, eyes squeezed shut, small lines furrowed his brow, hands gripping tight to the railing before him. His lower lip was trapped between teeth clenched so hard they almost drew blood, almost.
Jared removed his hand, fingers leaving a shiny trail along Jensen’s abdomen, stepped back. The too sudden absence left the flesh of Jensen’s back colder even than before, bringing with it a small shiver.
Jensen turned to the sound of backward moving steps, watched as Jared lifted his hand to his mouth, as he licked his fingers, nearly invisible hazel eyes fixed on his. The retreat was somehow an unnecessary apology, the stare perhaps a challenge. Neither made any sense.
There was only one thing that Jensen was sure of. This thing with Jared, what ever it was, was something that he was never going to be able to quit.
Jensen took a step toward him, but Jared only dropped his eyes, turned on a heel and headed toward the door.
Facing the rail once more, Jensen jumped slightly at the closing bang of the screen door, lit another cigarette. It was a habit.
Jared stared at the ceiling, shadows in the room telling him that he had awoken in the murky pre-dawn hours. The cold empty space beside him was an unfamiliar reality in a bed that had once been an indulgent extravagance, but now felt too large for one person.
Walking down the stairs, Jared’s feet led him unbidden to the slightly cracked door. He pushed it slowly open.
Jared watched for uncounted minutes, breath coming slow and silent, in rebellion against the rapid rush of blood in his veins, its movement sounding loud and intrusive in his ears. Jensen was asleep on his stomach, blankets pooled around his waist, his face buried in the crook of an elbow. Jared stared at Jensen as he slept--his eyes slip sliding across the muscular planes of strong shoulders, his back tapering in a ‘V’ down to his waist. The line of his spine, the projection of his shoulder blades, every tendon was as familiar to Jared as his own. Jared knew intimately how each ridge and dip felt under his curious fingers; he remembered the vibrant feeling of smooth skin and muscles, remembered their movement under his hands.
He questioned why things had gone so far and wondered how everything had unraveled. Perhaps because of proximity, or familiarity, or shared experience. Jared mused that these were the possible answers to both questions, the how and why not. There had been no misunderstandings, no fights, and no blame, nothing but an indistinctly understood necessity, a reality. Not a requirement, only a necessity. There was somehow a difference.
Staring at Jensen, Jared could no longer resist the pull; it felt like a sort of imperative born of some instinct push away this feeling of aloneness. He walked silently on bare feet toward a bed that was too small for both of them. Lifting the blankets, he slipped in, and lay down on his side, placing a hand on Jensen’s back as it moved up and down in the constant rhythm of breathing.
He listened as Jensen breathed in, a heavy rush of air through his nose, and Jared read the signs of Jensen’s emergence from sleep. Without a word, Jensen turned to his side, facing Jared with eyes still closed. He slipped a leg between Jared’s, as Jared wrapped his around Jensen’s hip. It was a familiar movement, a habit that had been repeated a hundred times on a hundred nights.A habit that had not yet been broken.
Jensen placed Jared’s hand to his chest, covering Jared’s hand with his own, tangling their fingers loosely.
After several long minutes, Jared whispered, “I love you. I wanted you to know, before… you should know that.” He was sure that Jensen has slipped back into sleep.
“I love you more, Jared.” Jensen replied, and Jared was surprised at how lucid, how awake he sounded.
“Thank you.” It was all Jared could think to say.
In the darkness, things could be confessed in a way that the reality of daylight never allowed.
Jensen sat in his favorite chair in the living room, the one that Jared preferred, but the one that Jensen always snuck into whenever the opportunity allowed. At some point all of Jared’s favorite things had become his as well. It was the product of two lives shared completely, or nearly completely.
He listened to the sound of Jared’s nighttime routine on the floor above. The groan of pipes filling with water, the slam of the toilet seat as Jared dropped it down, the creak of bedsprings under Jared’s tall form. Every sound predictable and expected, always in the same order. How well they knew each other, their patterns, and their habits.
I love you…I love you more
The words repeated endlessly in his mind, like some sort of mantra. Jensen wondered exactly when they had become truth.Perhaps it happened the moment he’d said them, or maybe it was the moment he’d first laid eyes on Jared, tall, beautiful, with a generous, thousand-watt smile that could brighten even the dreariest day. Either way, it did not matter, they were the truth, pure and simple, and for some reason, a little astonishing.
For what seemed like hours, Jensen sat there, his script held loosely in his hands, long forgotten. He was biding his time, for what, he was unsure. Realizing that he was going to get no work accomplished tonight, Jensen clicked the lamp off and stood up, stretching out aching back muscles, joints popping. He made his way toward his room.
I love you…I love you more
Jensen was partially up the stairs before he was completely aware of what he was doing, his footsteps slowed, avoiding the well-known creaks in the floor, not wanting to rouse Jared from sleep. Jensen needed a few undisturbed moments.
Jared was a huddled form, curled in his large bed, his back to the open doorway, only a messy shock of dark hair visible above the heavy blanket. Jensen inched closer to him, his steps silent, breath held, eyes straining in the dark for any signs that Jared was waking up.
Reaching the far side of the bed, Jensen crouched before Jared, silently cursing the pop of his knee joints. They sounded louder than thunderclaps in the quiet room. Jared slept, his mouth slightly open, breaths coming deep and even. Jensen wondered if he was dreaming, hoped selfishly that Jared sometimes dreamed of him.
Impulsively, Jensen leaned forward, placed a soft kiss on the mole beside Jared’s nose. It was one of his favorite spots, a small imperfection that made the rest that much more perfect. It was the closest he had ever come to an actual kiss with Jared. With all of the indulgent ecstasy they had shared, a kiss had always felt too close, somehow too intimate.
I love you…I love you more
Jensen thought about time now wasted, how if those few simple words had been stated months before, everything would now be so very different.
It was as if they had been moving through the same space, always just a hair’s breadth away from each other, and if they shifted just right they would be able to tell the whole story.
Jensen stood up, moved to the other side of the bed, lifted the covers and eased in beside Jared, wrapping an arm around his narrow waist. He waited for a movement, or a change in breath from Jared that never came.
In the stillness of night, with his forehead pressed in the space between Jared’s shoulders, Jensen felt a shift, it was small, and it was bigger than the world.
The morning sunlight snuck in through the partially open bedroom curtains as Jared awoke. It took a few moments for his groggy sleep-filled mind to recognize the hand laying warm on his hipbone, the press of a forehead on his back between his shoulders, and ankle hooked alongside his own.
He slowly turned over, relishing in the newness of this, it was disconcerting but nonetheless welcomed. Before, Jensen had always left before sunlight could fall on the two of them, lending its reality to the situation. Perhaps this morning was a mistake on Jensen’s part, caused by exhaustion, but somehow Jared did not think so.
Jared’s movement caused Jensen to pull his hand back in his sleep, curling it beneath his chin. In that moment, Jared thought he looked so young. There was a vulnerability that the world was never permitted to see, one that Jared had never been able to see before now.
Jared marveled at how the sunlight kissed Jensen’s hair, shiny strands that reflected a little red. He stared at the freckles smattered across the pale skin of Jensen’s nose and cheekbones, the small indentations in his full lips. Those lips that Jared had never been allowed to touch.
He reached out now, pressed a thumb against Jensen’s bottom lip, rubbed the finger along it gently. Jensen’s eyes fluttered open at the touch, and Jared watched them shift from the fogginess of sleep to certain awareness as they fixed on his own, brilliant, clear, pupils contracting in the light of the morning sun, tiny pinprick flecks of gold mixed in with the green.
Jensen moved his own hand to grasp Jared’s, holding his thumb in place as Jensen kissed it, ran his teeth for a second along the fleshy pad, and then moved it to place his lips on Jared’s palm.
Jared’s eyes followed Jensen as he shifted his weight to rest on his elbow, leaned his head in close, his expression serious, almost solemn.
“I trust you.” Jensen said, his voice low.
An almost indescribable feeling twisted in Jared’s stomach, a feeling of relief, of gratitude, mixed with a desperate longing to make everything alright, to deserve this.
“Thank you.” Jared stated, simply.
Jared kept his eyes locked on him as Jensen leaned forward further, cupping his head, weaving his fingers into Jared’s tangled hair.
A warm, dry press of lips together. Simple, easy, trusting, Jared thought, and perfect.