Big Bang 2012: Love Lies Burning. 8/24
Jensen pets Sadie anxiously. It’s too early for Jared to be in bed but he is and he’s not moving. He hasn't moved in the time it has taken for seven passenger jets to pass over the city and air traffic is light at this time of the evening.
There’s a reason for Jared’s deep sleep, Jensen reminds himself, and a reason why he came. He tightens his grip on his satchel. So many times he’s passed up his chances at the other. Three little words and he couldn't make them happen, he berates himself. He thinks perhaps his failure is no longer relevant for Misha or Jeff but he recognizes the stagnation and canker in Jared. Maybe Jensen didn't want it bad enough for the others but he wants it here and now with Jared and it burns like a fire at the pit of his stomach.
Jensen is startled from his thoughts by movement in Jared’s bedroom. Jared’s arms are flailing, uncoordinated until he grasps something in his hand and puts it to his ear. He is twisting his body to sit at the edge of his bed. Jensen sees him speak then throw the item over his shoulder, back on to the comforter. Jared stretches and his feet touch the floor. He’s wearing soft jogging pants with his tee-shirt and Jensen is confused by it. Jared doesn’t wear bed clothes. They look good on him though, cosy and casual and warm. Maybe Jared’s house is cold today.
Jared shuffles and sways toward the door that leads to the bathroom but his jogging pants catch on the chair next to the bed, Jensen sees the big man swing around as it catches and then crumple to the floor. He thinks his heart may have stopped beating but he puts his hand to his own chest and there’s the familiar pulse so he lets himself gulp air and breathe out.
Jared sits groggily. Puts his hands on his bed and pulls up. He crawls back under the covers and closes his eyes again.
It’s black night and the moon has risen high when Jensen tells Sadie to ‘stay’. His step is light and he’s an expert at keeping to the shadows. He stops by a flowerbed and stoops to take in the heady fragrance of blossom and to touch pale illuminated petals.
Jensen knows every nuance of Jared’s driveway and he’s known his security code from the first weeks that he shadowed him. Jensen thinks that Jared’s security codes are too lax. He never changes them and it is the same numbers that give him passage to the basement of Padalecki Inc and that he presses when he takes money from the ATM. It’s child’s play and Jared, of all people, should know just how simple and how dangerous that is. Jensen works with dextrous, gloved fingers and the utmost concentration, he bites his lip and his eyes shine in the faint lamp of his flashlight. His ears pick up the rush of wind and the creak of a shifting bough. He can hear cars on the highway and is alert for the sound of shift changes that accompany a turn into this exclusive neighbourhood. He’s inside in less than six minutes. His only delay is a result of discovering that the alarm isn’t set. He finds it thoroughly baffling and he checks every step of his process for a flaw or booby trap but there is none. It’s good that he’s here. He can set it when he leaves and Jared will be safe.
Jared.
Jensen’s eyes widen and he clamps a gloved hand over his mouth. He’s never understood why he does that, it is remnant of learned behaviour from a time when his stepfather lauded him for his rapid assimilation of skills but cursed him for his unpredictable mouth. Silence is preferable to discovery, even his Mama taught him that. Over time he mastered the art of silence, too well, yet he still retains this kneejerk reaction.
Discovery, Jared. Jensen suddenly recalls that there was a plan and it didn’t include Jared being in his bed, at home, when it was carried out.
Jared hasn’t noticed Jensen creeping into his home. Jensen is torn between the need to make himself safe and the worry at Jared’s silence. There was many a time when he ghosted through a house while the occupier slept but he knows now that they had been carefully targeted, all of them elderly, with dimmed senses and fearful personalities.
The floor is cool and smooth under his socked feet. He’s following the hallway to the granite and steel fitted kitchen. It’s not how he imagined it would be. He reaches out his arms, stretches them at shoulder height until he can trail fingers along both walls and wishes that he wasn’t wearing gloves. He wants to feel the texture and the temperature. He is observing every detail of Jared’s home, the shade of the paint, the engraved pattern on the hanging glass lamps, the smell of after shave and the faintest whiff of smell that a new carpet gives off. Jared has been living here for three years and it still smells new. There’s another smell that he can’t place, earthy and slightly sweaty, it is unusual and a little addictive and Jensen wants to follow wherever it is strongest but he reins himself in with self discipline.
It’s not cold, his mind unexpectedly blurts out but his voice does not. Jensen frowns and concentrates on his task. He starts in the hall. The kitchen has nothing to interest him. The guest bedroom has a stunning landscape that hangs proudly over a modern faux-fireplace. He reaches his gloved fingers to it and removes it from the wall without a knock or scrape. The living area is huge with sunken seating and a plasma screen movie system. There’s a delicate glass vase with threaded veins of iridescent color winding through its pattern, 8782, 877, 8243. Pretty, his mind shouts and Jensen moves it with absolute care before spinning, slow and open-eyed, absorbing the touch, the taste, the images, the sounds and the scent of the room. It is overwhelming to him in its comfort and expense and yet it isn’t opulent or garish. It is understated and calming, a male domain with a touch of flair. It is an expression of everything that Jared should have become.
Jensen stops abruptly and resumes his task. It’s taking too long because he is tiptoeing with ridiculous caution and that would be because Jared is in the room next to this one.
He checks out the study and for that he needs his lock picks. Who would have thought that Jared could be so careless in other ways, yet seal off a part of his own home?
The study smells of printer ink and sharpies. There’s paperwork and files in neat piles and Jensen itches to grasp at them and flick through the details but he’s not here for that. He doesn’t even think about switching on the laptop.
The last room is Jared’s bedroom and he considers leaving it out, but the plan won’t work without it. There’s a portrait of a naked man which hangs above the bed, a still life on the rear wall and then there’s a magnificent bronze of a wolf that crouches by the window in the shade of a tall rubber plant. Jensen breathes in, as if that makes him smaller. He edges into the shade by the door and listens. There’s just the sound of regular, deep breathing and a clock ticking. Jared hasn’t stirred.
Jensen’s feet move unbidden into the room, sinking into squashy, plush carpet and he’s gazing at the huge form, curled fetal and relaxed with his brunette hair lying unruly over his face and falling soft onto the blue silk sheets. Jensen’s fingers stretch, he aches to know how the tousled strands and fine fabric would feel against his sensitive fingertips but the gloves will prevent it, and Jared may wake up.
He skirts the edge of the room and forces himself to clear his mind of anything but his goal and the sound of Jared breathing, knowing a single deviation in the rhythm could spell Jensen’s downfall.
Jensen only has one item left, and he’s pondering the safest method to unhook the portrait when there’s a loud burst of harsh music and a cell phone lights up, on the bed. “Shit! Fuck! Wrong!” Jensen’s hand flies to cover his ever silent mouth and he thinks about running. He wonders if he should hide, under the bed, or in the shadow behind the lamp. All he succeeds in doing is freezing to the spot, half crouched directly behind the bed, where he can see the back of Jared’s head rising heavy from the pillow and a hand reaching out for the cell-phone that lies to the edge of the bed, on the same side as Jensen. Jensen leans forward slightly and pushes the phone into Jared’s searching fingers. Jared grasps the small object, his palm is huge and his fingers long and for the briefest moment his fingertips brush against Jensen’s gloved hand. A shiver travels Jensen’s spine, and he bites his lip, he thinks his heart must have stopped this time, but no, there’s fast fluttering in the vein at his neck as it speeds in panic and something more, an indefinable sensation. It feels delicious and he wants Jared to touch him again but Jared is pressing buttons and slurring words.
“Goddamn, Mish, mfine, s’dreamin’, Mm.” Jared giggles and Jensen frowns, he sounds like he’s on drugs. Jensen has seen a lot of that, and it isn’t a good thing.
Jared turns his head and his face is illuminated in the lamplight. Jensen gasps at the purpling bruises, and he’s not sure how Jared doesn’t notice the sound but Jared is fumbling with his cell and huffing. The screen light goes off, and Jared falls back onto the pillow, unnaturally relaxed. “Ow, ow, ow.” The big man complains and sits back up. “Pills,” he mutters and feels about on the nightstand nearest to him. They aren’t there and Jensen notes, uncomfortably, that it is because there are caplets, a handwritten note and a glass of water on the nightstand that he is crouching next to. Jared is fidgeting and groaning. Jensen can see the tense lines of pain and hear air drawn through his teeth as he flinches. He squints at the note and studies the clock until he’s certain. The brunette gives a dismal, drawn out whimper and Jensen moves without thought. He peels the glove from one of his hands and with the other he picks up the glass and a single caplet. In a moment he has his naked hand stretched to Jared’s brow and he can feel the, oh so light touch, of warmth and skin under the pads of his fingers. It’s wrong and wonderful, terrifying and tantalizing all at once. He knows Jared must be sore, so he delicately brushes the hair from his eyes, savoring the silky softness.
Jared startles and goes rigid. He pushes himself up on his shoulder and turns awkwardly and slow, so that his fox-like eyes glitter wide and terrified in the lamplight. Jensen proffers the caplet and water and Jared takes them without a murmur, swallows and continues to stare. Jensen stares back, unable to think, let alone move. All he can do is to keep breathing out and in, and with each breath there’s that heady, earthy scent and it’s addictive and strong right here, next to Jared. His mind is shouting random and lustful words and for once he is grateful for his inability to project sound.
Jared blinks a few times and then sinks back into the pillows, his eyes still fixed on Jensen. “Strong meds,” he mumbles and then squeezes his eyes shut for an entire minute before gradually lifting one eyelid and looking again, “Kiss me,” he slurs.
Jensen wonders if he heard correctly but Jared is smiling dreamily and beckoning to him, while making an uncoordinated attempt to hook him in with a hand tangled into his hair. Jensen fights his natural instinct to pull away or hit out. He’s not supposed to be here and he doesn’t want to jolt Jared from his hazy calm. His face is getting ever closer to the smooth skin and chiselled cheek bones. Jared’s pupils are unnaturally dilated but it makes his multi-hued eyes glimmer.
Jensen’s knees hit the bouncy mattress and he goes with it. He crouches over Jared supporting himself with his hands on either side of the brunette’s shoulders, and he can see every wonderful detail of his face. Jared is pinned beneath him and Jensen is undoubtedly in control. He’s never kissed a man. He was kissed by a girl once. Lauren had taken him behind the church hall to teach him to kiss with his mouth, but it tasted of cigarettes and bubblegum and the spit and drool of it was disgusting. Lauren told everyone it was the best kiss she’d ever had, and Jensen had pitied her. Jensen doesn’t think it will be like that with Jared. He hopes not.
Jared’s eyes flutter closed when their lips meet. His eyelashes are thick and long and Jensen would like to kiss them too, but he doesn’t. Jensen licks his lips and they press together, wet skin on soft dry skin. There’s a high pitched moan from Jared, and his mouth falls open for Jensen to lick in experimentally with his tongue. He likes the taste, it is peppermint and aniseed and a little bit stale-sleepy. Jensen isn’t sure what else to do so he slides his lips along the full red mouth and sucks at Jared’s lower lip, taking care to avoid the jagged, sore tear at one side. Jared responds, arching up to him and cups Jensen’s face in his hand, to crush his lips with tight suction, to his own. In the end, the kiss is hot, noisy and a little bit sloppy and it lasts until they are both panting with swollen red lips. It’s the best thing that Jensen has ever experienced, and he’s tingling with excitement, shockingly alive.
“Mmm. Jus’ like I thought,” Jared mumbles sleepily, and yawns. He scoots to one side under Jensen and tries to loop an arm around Jensen’s shoulder with abysmal aim. Jensen lifts his leg and collapses on the bed beside him and Jared buries his head into the down pillows. “Please stay. Don’ ever wan’ wake,” he whispers just before his limbs go limp and heavy, and his breathing slows to a peaceful and even rhythm.
There’s a smear of coppery blood that taints Jensen’s lips, Jared’s blood. Jensen licks it off, revelling in the intimacy of it. He lies on the strange bed, basking in the radiant heat from another man’s body. It feels like a dream or a warped reality, and he doesn’t know whether to be elated or alarmed. He decides not to dwell on it. He watches the hands of the clock and the rise and fall of the broad chest beside him, he lets his fingers trace the angry color that proves the pummelling that Jared has received and rubs soothingly at the unmarked flesh. There’s a content sigh that fills the room as Jared buries himself closer into Jensen’s shoulder. When the big hand touches the twelve on the clock Jensen remembers that Sadie is waiting for him. He disentangles himself with regret, slips his gloves on, snatches the portrait off the wall and completes his mission. He is sure to set the burglar alarm as he exits.
When Lorretta wakes Jared the sun is high in the sky. His mouth feels like it has been stuffed with cotton, his mind is foggy and his vision is giving an alarming tilt and sway to the room. When he moves there is a screeching, tight pain in his chest, he grabs at his ribs as remembers the reason. “Shit,” he says with feeling.
“Mr. P!” Lorretta admonishes with a fond smile. She extends a cup of something to her employer. Jared can tell by the curl of steam that it is hot, but knowing Lorretta the concoction could be anything from lemon and honey to ginger tea (which is vile, but apparently a great cure for a sick stomach.)
“Just give me my goddamn meds and some water,” Jared growls.
Lorretta looks anxious and proffers the cup once more. “I made you coffee Mr. P. I have talked to Mr. Collins and Ms. Tal and they have instructed that you are not to take any more medicine until your regular physician has seen you.”
“What the hell has it to do with them?” It starts as a shout but breaks down into a cough as pain stabs along his diaphragm.
She sets the mug on the nightstand. “I was also told not to let you argue with me.” Lorretta backs out of the room nervously.
Jared groans and looks to his night stand for caplets but they’re not there. He runs his hands through his hair and sits up awkwardly. It’s not that bad really. Nothing he’s not been used to most of his life. He’s no snivelling wimp. He can take it.
There’s a knock on his door “Is it safe to come in?” Alona’s voice is way too cheerful.
“Why not? Why should I care if the U.N. decides to set up a refugee camp in my bedroom?” It’s a sarcastic and snotty reply which Alona chooses to ignore. She’s feeling a new confidence in her position, and Jared isn’t going to ruin it. She is all business, clutching files in her arms.
“Misha thought it best if I come over here with everything that’s urgent. We can work through it, and you can get some more rest before your physician comes.”
Jared has been studying the clock. “More rest! It’s past 10 a.m., Alona.”
“Well, it appears you had a busy night. Misha’s pissed that you reset the alarm. Medical help could have been delayed.”
“I didn’t need any help, and if you hadn’t kept waking me, I’d have been perfectly content with my drug induced hallucinations because they were great.” He has a big dorky smile on his face, and Alona wishes she had a camera to capture it. “Wait! I didn’t reset the alarm. I haven’t gotten out of this bed. Oh Christ! I need to piss. Get out. Leave me alone.”
“Of course, Sir.” She backs out of the room with a wry grin, waiting for him to notice.
Lorretta is counting down with her, her eyes shining with humor. If their employer was less of a grouch then maybe they would have been worried by the drugs’ odd effect on him or at least one of them would have gently broken the news to him, but it is obvious Jared has no memory of what he has done and the outcome is likely to be dangerously hilarious.
They hear the sound of water running as the shower is used. The two girls tiptoe to loiter outside Jared’s bedroom door.
The water is heavenly hot and soothing on his sore flesh. He picks an enlivening shower gel to wake himself up, but he doesn’t want to let go of the dreams he had as he floated on a hazy drug cloud. He thinks of vivid green eyes, long fingers, pale skin and freckles, he re-imagines the kiss, tentative and erotic, sweet and passionate. If he could always have those dreams he’d never want to wake. He could almost smell, touch, taste the man and the comforting bulk by his side had seemed so real. He doesn’t want to know why his mind has fixed on this particular hobo but he is tall, muscular and his pink lips pout obscenely. It’s the tramp’s lips he’s thinking of now. They’re full and hot sucking his cock down with a wet tongue that licks his length and teases the tip. Jared’s hand grasps around his stiff morning wood and the foam in his hand lets his fingers slide easily up its length and around the head, rubbing and dipping into the slit, twisting and pumping again. He tugs himself to the vision, groaning into the patter and gurgle of the shower as he comes fast and hard into the flow of the water. He washes himself off, turns the dial and grabs a towel as the last of the water drips.
It isn’t until he has pulled his soft polo shirt on that he notices the blank wall over his bed. His eyes glance to the empty space where the bronze wolf normally stands and his stomach rolls. He puts a hand to the wall to steady himself. He’s been robbed. What was real? Was the green-eyed man really there? His eyes return back to the space where the portrait should hang. It makes no sense, the painting has no value. It is simply a personal piece. He wonders if that is where its true value lies. He feels sick and it has nothing to do with drugs.
“No! Oh my God! No!” Words finally make it from his lips. He flings open the bedroom door, to the sight of Alona and Lorretta scattering. “I’ve been robbed. You knew. You told me to turn off the alarm system. You…” He’s crimson, and Alona wonders how it is possible to hyperventilate with bruised ribs because Jared is managing it just fine.
The hall walls are as blank as his bedroom walls and he shoves past Lorretta to rush around the rest of his home, his heart sinking more with every exposed space. It’s hard to assimilate the facts. The TV system remains, the ridiculously expensive Bose sound system with DAB stands shiny and present. Everything that is missing is his art and sculptures and it makes no sense because a lot of it has no intrinsic value. It has every indication of a personal attack and he’s trying to wrap a foggy mind around it all when Lorretta grabs him by the waist and orders him to sit down.
“We have to call the cops. Have you called the cops?” his whole body is sagging in despair.
She shoves a cup of coffee into his hand insistently. “Yes, Mr. P. I called the police as soon as I came in this morning, but then they asked me what is missing. Then I go to look, and I think that nothing is gone.”
“Lorretta! Everything is gone!”
“Mr Padalecki, sir. If you can calm down then you should come and see the studio. It is all there. Every piece,” Alona adds.
Jared looks confused. “Drink your coffee and then we can take a look. I’m sure the physician will be able to explain what happened.”
“That’s the thing about these modern drugs,” says Lorretta wisely, “One person will sleep like a baby while another will think they’re navigating an air balloon.” Alona and Jared both look up at her with strange expression, “My nephew took over the counter painkillers, walked all the way to the next town, knocked on a door and asked for Snow White,” she continues.
The assistant and her boss look at each other again and they’re both stifling a laugh. “I’m not sure that was actually a licensed drug, Lorretta,” says Jared, a little calmer now.
“Do you want to go see?” Alona asks kindly. Jared’s reaction isn’t what she expected. Fury and vengeful cursing would have been amusing, but his empty expression isn’t funny.
Jared isn’t sure what to expect but it isn’t this. He takes in the arrangement of objects. There is a crescendo of color and organization of shape. The way that the metal, china and crystal objects shine in the sunlight is deliberate. The easel has been moved and in its focus stands a tall wooden stand with his Venetian glass vase, refracting brilliant silver, purple and green in the sun’s rays. There’s a spray of fragrant blossom that spills tiny delicate leaves, they cluster and drift at its base. Storage boxes have been unlatched and paintbrushes stand ready, next to a blank canvas, with water-colors and oils within reach. All of it has him breathless, but what stands on the easel, over the blank canvas has him thinking his heart will stop. It’s a nude, in pastels, of him.
At first there’s nothing that will come from his throat. He’s speechless and isn’t that just ironic. Then it grates all at once, barking, harsh and loud, “Get out!”
Lorretta and Alona freeze, open mouthed.
“Get out! Get out! Get out!” He takes Alona by the arm and frogmarches the stunned assistant to the door, with Lorretta following in her wake.
“Mr.P?”
“Get out!” he grabs their shoes, coats and bags and throws them onto the drive after them. “Go. Don’t come back today,” he adds as he locks the door and sets the alarm, like that makes a difference. If green-eyes reset Jared’s alarm then he already knows the code.
He makes his way back to his studio and sits by his easel. He surveys the arrangement once more, sweeps his eyes appraisingly over it. He’s seen the general layout before. This room is small, much smaller than his gallery was but the basic concept is there. He’s trying to find reason or meaning or possibly the name of an artist with green eyes and freckles over his nose but he comes up with nothing.
The nude is good. The colors and form flow. It’s not in his hand or style and it’s a notch above his talent. He recognizes the setting, with him by the window, the light cleverly spilling around him, shaded in subtle strokes. It could be crude. He is pictured with his hand wrapped around his erect cock, his head flung back with a blissful expression on his face. It’s not, it’s sympathetic and erotic. He should be freaked out but there is no anger in the way the image was drawn. It is a calm and loving piece. Like the kiss, he thinks and tries to shake it off. It is not natural or healthy to be thinking about your stalker, hell your stalker with housebreaking tendencies, in this way. Perhaps it is all to do with the painkillers he has taken.
Jared doesn’t want to think about it. He studies the blossom in the vase on the stand, puts the nude to one side and picks up his palette and paintbrushes.
Chapter 9
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