Big Bang 2012: Love Lies Burning. 12/24
It is ebony, moonshine, scudding grey cotton and crystal sparks. Sadie stirs and whimpers, wags her tail and shuffles to lick an outstretched hand. There is the slick splash of tires and tramp of feet through the damp. Umbrella halos and diffuse light break through the black. Behind Jensen are vapid curls of steam from an open door and bright light pools over the grey he sits upon. He is aware of bumpy flesh and clinging clothes. Jensen knows that he lost himself, not for the first time, and he’s come-to with a hot-cold shiver, a razor hot rasp in his throat and a frustration that threatens to burst and spill in anger or tears. He digs nails into his flesh and bangs his head on the wall beside him, he chooses pain instead. Hands reach firmly to his shoulders and stop his motion and a voice cuts into his reality, “Hey there Jen. You wanted to see me?” It’s the Texan drawl of a friend and he remembers not to hit out.
Christian opens a room near the entrance, lugs in some comfortable chairs and turns on the heater. He lets Sadie in, this one time, and fixes her leash to a chair leg. Katie finds dry clothes from the charity box and Jensen changes into them behind a curtain while Christian makes phone calls. The shelter manager returns and fixes Jen with a reassuring smile and pulls up a chair close, directly in eye contact. “You feelin’ better, dude? There’s a detective coming to see you this evening and I’ve met him before, he’s a nice man. He doesn’t want you to worry. He will have somebody to translate your sign language. If you want it to be me, then I’m willing to do that.”
Jensen is listening to every word. ‘Yes, please stay,’ he signs.
“Detective Pearson would like you to have somebody else with you, someone who you trust. He doesn’t have to know them but he will be allocated a social worker or nurse if you haven’t got anybody.”
Christian can see fear at the suggestion of a nurse and is quick to jump in, “I don’t think he needs to find anybody. You have friends and Katie would do it, if you asked. Everyone just wants to make sure that you’re not frightened or uncomfortable with anything and that you have somebody to speak on your behalf.”
‘Do I need a lawyer?’ his fingers move over his palms.
“No. Only a friend. Somebody to stand up for you. Do you have anyone you want me to call?”
Jen spells something out with his fingers and Chris grabs a pen and paper, J-A-R-E-D.
“Jared? Do you have his number?”
Jen frowns. He grabs at his journal and flicks through the pages. He’s looking at every page and he’s getting agitated. He’s starting to rock and the chair leg thumps the floor.
“Jen, you know what? If you don’t have his number, maybe Sophia will come. I have her contact details.”
The rocking slows with Jen’s breathing and he looks relieved. He nods again. He seems to think of something happy and a sudden smile crosses his face. ‘Sophia knows Jared. They eat cakes,’ his expressive hands are working again.
It might be small talk but it’s a big deal for the quiet man, and Chris is grateful to find a distraction while they wait.
“Is Jared on the streets? Does he come here?”
Jen looks aghast, ‘No. Goes home. Is normal’
“Is he good looking? Will he ruin my chances with Sophia?”
The tramp shakes his head, his fingers bend and his right hand moves across his open mouth, ‘Sexy.’ Then he grins wide and cheesy and shakes his head again, ‘Likes men.’
Christian notices the way that Jen unwinds every time Jared’s name is mentioned and he wonders about the relationship. He recalls that Jared was not a name on Jen’s friends list. The Texan knows he worries too much. He sees enough sadness to break his heart on a daily basis and it is unprofessional to get emotionally involved. With Jen he’s already in too far. Some people simply don’t belong on the streets. The man is ridiculously handsome and shockingly innocent. Chris assumes it is only his age that has kept him from the clutches of the more persistent pimps. He feels compelled to ask, “Does he like you?”
Jen’s head drops to his chest as he attempts to hide his flaming cheeks. Christian is relieved to have the tension broken by Katie bringing Detective Pearson into the room. Sophia bustles in a few minutes later.
Misha bounces on the balls of his feet. He takes his serve and slams it into the corner of the court to win the game. He punches his hand into the air with the Wii controller wrapped in his finger. “You suck! You suck. It’s official!”
He does a victory dance and Jared groans and tosses his controller to the sofa and sinks into the seat next to it. “Tell me again why Alona can’t come over to take your annoying ass away.”
“She has a girls’ night out and you, you my friend, have a can’t-go-home-if-I-wanted- to-because-there’s-reporters-camped-on-my-doorstep, night in with me.”
Jared groans, “Will they ever give up?”
“Not until you give them blood.” Misha crashes next to him, pressing his side up to Jared’s, no personal space. It isn’t unusual. Misha has never understood the concept. “Dude, you’re sweaty.” Misha scrunches his nose as he says it.
“You keep this place too hot.”
“Your freaky gay body has its own furnace.” Misha hands him another beer and Jared takes a swig. The liquid slides cool and refreshing down his throat. He's not sure how many bottles he's had and he's feeling pleasantly buzzed, but Misha is talking shop again, “You will have to speak to them eventually, and our employees.”
“Why? Why is it any of their business? I don’t ask if Claire in accounts is cheating on her husband or having threesomes with the mailman.”
“Wow, is she?” Misha sits up straight and looks at him. “I didn’t think you even knew anyone’s names.”
Jared rolls his eyes, “My point exactly. I don’t know. Why would I even ask? It isn’t relevant.” He takes another gulp from the cold bottle. “It could be a good thing. I can be out and proud. Maybe I can get some action at last. No reason to hide at home with my left hand.”
His friend is suddenly attentive. He slams his bottle on the table, “No, you can’t be out and proud until the company is yours and even then you might want to cool it. We’ve worked too hard at this to let it go now. We’ve made the profit. Don’t lose it on share price. You have to deny it. Tell the press it was an experimental phase, that Matt took advantage of you.”
“Why would I do that? I was hardly innocent, you know that. He may have been older, but I did the chasing and I don’t want him dealing with shit he doesn’t deserve.”
“Do you have to come over all goody two shoes? Talk to the press officer tomorrow. She’ll have a plan.”
“If it involves an uncomfortable press conference then I swear I will misbehave.”
“I have a pink satin blouse if you want to sing I Will Survive to them.”
“You don’t still have that? I would have to practise.”
“I do have it,” Misha wiggles his eyebrows and rushes to scavenge in his storage cupboard. They haven’t relaxed together like this in years and Jared really needs to unwind.
An hour later Misha is in a green and pink skirt with a low cut pink top and Jared is wailing in an undignified flat tone, to Gloria Gaynor’s epic, while wearing the shortest black spandex skirt with a sparkly purple top. They are both breathless with laughter. Jared feels lighter than he has in years. “These heels are killing me,” he finally announces, collapsing back onto the couch to lean against Misha, grab at his foot and slide off the killer black stilettos. “I can’t believe you kept these things.”
“Hey, this is the stuff of my youth and I will be young forever. At eighty I will have these clothes and I will still be a better drag queen than my gay friend is.”
Jared bats long, glittery, fake eyelashes at him, “I am not a stereotype.”
“No. Now be a darling and cook us some dinner.”
“I only cook take out, Dah-ling. I pay, you collect.” Jared has a thread of an idea. It is snagging on vague intentions and forming a crazy rebellious plan. In this adrenalin inebriated state it is an AWESOME plan. “I need you to go to the grocery store.”
“Jared, I have a spare toothbrush.”
“No. I want you to buy cookie mix or cupcake mix. Even better, both.”
“Jared you own a whole business that produces that, but the good stuff comes from the bakery and is in my pantry.”
“We should bake. The convenience store on the corner does our premium range. Get ten boxes.” Jared licks his lips as he thinks about it. “Oh, and get some of that Nana’s special edition frosting.”
“You want to buy the competition’s frosting?”
“Someone said it was yummy. I could be missing out.” He pouts prettily with lipstick smeared lips.
“Are you mad? It’s late.”
“Chinese and cookies or I sulk. I have a sweet tooth. You know that. C’mon it’s not like I’ll be able to sleep.” The pout deepens.
“I am not staying up all night baking.”
“I never said you had to. You trust me not to set fire to your kitchen, right?”
“No, and I'm not having you feed cake to my babies either.” Misha scowls and hooks a thumb toward the softly lit and impressive aquarium.
"Once, I gave them bread, once and only one of them died. I promise I won't feed them any cake, or frosting." He gives Misha his puppy dog look and Misha rolls his eyes. Jared knows he's won. “Get changed before you go. We can do without another scandal today.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Bitch”
At one in the morning Jared is scraping at the mixing bowl and Misha is daintily dropping spoonfuls of mix onto a baking tray. He has given up asking why. Jared has stopped smiling, the rush has worn off and now he’s anxious and thinking too hard.
“What do you think everyone else is doing?” Jared’s voice is a soft query, but it cuts through the quiet kitchen with the metallic scrape of the spoon and the whirr of the oven fan.
Misha startles from his own thoughts, “Who?”
“The kids we went to school with.”
“Dead end jobs in a dead end town,” Misha is quick to reply.
“Do you think that’s what working for us is?”
His friend shrugs, “All factories are. You know as well as I do. They’re necessary and we pay a fair wage. People want those jobs.”
“Do you ever wonder what Cindy and Josh would be doing now? They should be at the peak of their lives, husband, wife, kids. The whole nine yards.”
“Shit!” Misha drops his spoon in to the mix and it sinks with a wet blub. “Why would you torture yourself with that?” He dips a whole hand into the thick liquid and digs the utensil out before sucking the creamy fluid off his fingers with a moan. “It actually tastes great.”
“Do you have to? That is so not hygienic.”
“Admit it, you’re turned on.” Misha swipes his tongue around his lips, gathering every last drop.
Jared whacks him with a wooden spoon. “Seriously buddy. No. You’re disgusting.”
“I’m offended. You must have someone special lined up. Who is he?”
There’s a slight turn to Jared’s lip and a downturn of his eyes and Misha is on it in a moment. “Oh. God! I was joking, but you do.”
Jared shakes his head and however hard Misha pushes he’s not admitting to a stupid crush on the stalker who might be obsessed with taking revenge on him. In the time he’s been baking he’s silently reviewed all the reasons why the attraction is both futile and dangerous but his heart won’t hear the arguments, even while his anger rages. He tries to change the subject but for some reason a question emerges from his disobedient, painted lips. “Do you remember Josh Ackles’ brother, Jensen? He was in our Kindergarten class? Do you think the compensation made a difference to him?”
Misha’s lips press together in a thin line and for a moment there is tension, “The weird one? He’ll be in a cosy little box house with his Ma.”
“Maybe,” Jared stares at the Mexican-pattern wall tiles, “What if all he ever wanted was his brother? Money can never bring him back. He must hate us.”
“It was an accident, Jared.”
“It never felt that way. We would deserve it.”
“Deserve what?”
“Retribution, revenge. To be outed in the papers.”
“Dude, you are sleep deprived. You threw Jeff to the media hounds and he repaid the favor in the hope it would take you down with the share prices. It isn’t rocket science. I am officially closing my kitchen after this batch is cooked.”
They continue in silence and if Jared sees Misha’s sideways glance, full of worry, it is nothing new.
Jensen is too hot and too cold here. It is too confined, too quiet and too loud. There is an uncomfortable feeling of not belonging, of charity and awkwardness. He coughs until he retches and then sits up on the long couch. He breathes in cloying perfume and fresh laundry and it makes his chest constrict. It is still dark and the clacking, fluorescent clock has a big hand at five and a little hand on four.
Jensen doesn’t know why the detective asked him the same questions several times. He had been told there were no wrong answers, and he didn’t have any other replies to give. The man was similarly disappointed with his journal. Jensen hadn’t wanted him to look. It is his journal and it is private but the man had insisted, quoted law that Jensen remembers from the online courses he studied after Josh was killed. He had reluctantly released his hold on it and the man had flipped through the pages, finding little of interest. It was all pointless and tiring. He’d wanted to sleep and his hands stopped talking. He’s forgotten how to be with other people, if he ever knew it.
He had seen them discuss him. Detective Pearson, Chris and Sophia had gone back to Chris’ office after all the questions were asked. He had altered the angle of his seat to see a sliver of what took place. They had looked toward him as they talked about his cough and his safety and the detective had forgotten that mute doesn’t necessarily mean deaf. He heard that his testimony would be found unreliable, that there was gratitude but there would be no further demands on him. Jensen is happy about that. There had been mention of Jared and he gathered that the cop doesn’t like or trust the youngest Padalecki. There was a heated debate about Jensen’s right to live his own life and then a conversation about the shelter’s policy on pets. Eventually, Sophia and Chris had returned with an insistent proposal and Jensen had allowed himself to be swept up in their kindness and placed in a cab with the meter maid.
He was shivering and uncommunicative when Sophia brought him here. He should have refused but he was exhausted, all out of argument and ready to sleep in the coldest of doorways rather than walk to his squat. He had looked at the ‘No Pets’ sign on the lobby wall and she had scrunched her nose and told him that it was just for the night. If the neighbours complained, she would mention the cannabis plants in their living room.
She had fed Sadie biscuits and milk and found Jensen pillows and blankets to make a bed on her couch. She sat with him as they sipped hot chocolate and Jensen had wanted to know if the hot chocolate was a 'proud to be Padalecki brand' but he didn't ask. It was odd, they claim each other’s friendship and yet they know little about each other. When Sophia went to bed he heard the click of a lock on her bedroom door. Jensen lay in the dark staring at the ceiling knowing that Sophia was uncomfortable in her bed, worried about the stranger on her couch. If she really knew him, she wouldn't have let him in.
It is five o’clock when Jensen closes Sophia’s front door, making sure the lock catches before dropping a note of thanks into her mailbox. There’s the promise of light in the sky, Jensen whistles to Sadie and takes a walk through the park. His legs feel shaky and reality won’t focus. He stops, too often, to sit and rest on benches, sweat pouring from his brow and into his eyes. It’s okay though, he has a cold. He knows about colds. A cold is a virus. It passes after several days. Until then he doesn’t have to rush anywhere.
Jared gives up trying to sleep in the big squishy bed with the silk covers. He tosses and turns and then sits on the edge and runs his hands through his hair. He tiptoes to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and sips at it. It’s five o’clock and there’s no hope of him getting back to sleep. He stays in Misha’s spare room often enough to have a full set of clothes hanging in the wardrobe so he dresses in sweats and a hoodie, leaves a note for Misha and shuts the door on his way out.
There are a few hours to fill. Jared jogs slowly and stops to look in shop windows and appreciate well-kept lawns. He pulls up his hood and wanders aimlessly for an hour, fading to anonymity on a sidewalk dotted with early risers, night workers and dog walkers.
He groans in exasperation when he reaches the sports center. There are journalists and photographers attempting to blend in with the regular morning pedestrians outside the main doors. He makes sure his hood is pulled forward to cover his profile and he casually alters his pace and direction, heading for the outer door of the swimming pool pump room, which is slightly ajar. Just as his hand touches metal there’s a shout and two of the gossip fiends run in his direction. He swears as he leaps inside and swings the door shut with a clang. The locking mechanism clicks and Jared blows breath. It was too close.
“Hey you can’t …” Chad Murray’s objection fades as Jared tilts his hood back.
“Please tell me you haven’t opened up yet.” Jared seems uncharacteristically normal in an out-of-breath, panicking as if there’s hellhounds on his heels, sort of way. “Press. Photographers,” he adds, as if it makes perfect sense and he isn’t the CEO of Padalecki Inc., stepping around filter pumps and over pipes to get swimming pool side.
Chad looks at his watch. “I was checking the filters, my assistant has the keys.”
Jared catches a leg against a piece of equipment and mutters “Damn!” at the tear in his jogging pants.
“I won’t take any responsibility for any injuries you sustain in this room. You shouldn’t be here.” Chad points out.
The tall man scowls, “Well I can’t be out there. There’s media everywhere and they won’t leave me alone.” Jared’s arms are flailing in his effort to express himself and it reminds Chad of a windmill. Inside he’s delighted to see Padalecki in this sort of distress, but it’s more than his job is worth to be obvious about his mirth or refuse help. He reaches a hand to Jared and helps him to the inner door that leads to the pool.
“I’ll go and make sure that it’s under control in the lobby. Do you know how to get to the gym from here?”
“Yeah, I can do that.” Jared waves him away.
He’s almost at the gym when Chad barrels down the corridor at him. “The fortress is breached,” the blond dramatically announces, and grabs his arm to herd him through a set of doors that lead to the swimming pool changing rooms. “You hide here while we mount a defensive strike.” Chad looks over his shoulder as he’s dashing back to help his colleagues, “Wouldn’t it be easier to talk to them?” he suggests. A murderous glare flickers in hazel eyes and Chad doesn’t stick around for an answer.
Jared paces the empty area with its blue lockers and wooden benches. It’s hot and he strips off his hoodie. His steps echo on the tiled floor and he has time to muse over the fast demise of his relatively sheltered life. To be precise, everything has gone to shit since the first day he spotted fucking Jensen fucking Ackles in a crowd of reporters. Fucking Jensen fucking Ackles has somehow been involved in every step of his downfall and he had sat with the guy. He had defended him, or at least chosen to leave him safe. He had trusted him, and there was more if he could ever admit it. He’s angry with the mute man. He’s not entirely sure what he’s angry about, but he knows there’s good reason. He hits out at a locker door, and the tinny racket of it whacking against the next locker is unholy. When it fades, Jared hears a deep chesty cough and he follows the sound to the showers where fucking Jensen fucking Ackles ceases shining the metalwork with his rag to smile at him. Fucking Jensen fucking Ackles is goddamn smiling at him. Jared sees red and there’s an outlet for his frustration standing there, right in front of him.
“Why?” he grinds out and without waiting for an answer he bears down on the smaller man. “Why wait? Why not take what you want? You want to destroy me? Here I am you fucker.” He spreads his arms wide in offering but he is tense.
He doesn’t notice when it is that he gets up close and personal, breathing in Jensen’s chlorine and soap scent, crowding him aggressively. Jensen’s eyes are wide with fear, he’s flushed pink and sweaty and he’s too beautiful that way. His plump lips are open, with his tongue darting nervously between them. Jared is shouting but Jensen isn’t making a sound except for a breathy squeak when he’s backed up as far as he can go and his shoulder hits the tiles with a dull thud. “You think I don’t know who you are? We are settled. You were paid compensation. There’s nothing more to give. What do you want from me Jensen Ackles?” Jared is clenching and unclenching his fist. This is the first time he’s ever wanted to hit somebody but he can imagine how the sharp crack would feel. The backlash of Jensen’s head on the tiles would crack his skull and the blood would trickle and smear obscenely. He won’t punch him. It has never been what Jared does in a crisis. He’s crimson with temper and yet close to tears. His emotions are in turmoil and he’s near enough to feel the shiver of Jensen’s flesh against him. He can hear the hitch in his noisy breath and feel the hot exhalation of air that whispers deliciously against the skin of Jared’s neck, “Josh is dead. I can’t give him back. What do you want?” he spits the words venomously into Jensen’s ear.
There is a sudden stillness in Jensen, then the mute squares his shoulders and Jared sees rage reflected in their gold-green depths. The man’s jaw is set, and his teeth gritted. In an instant Jared realizes that he doesn’t know anything about Jensen, including how dangerous he might be. Jared isn’t a fighter. He bitches and argues, is underhanded and devious but despite his size he isn’t going to win a fist fight any time soon. Jensen is 6’1” well built and determined. When he flexes his arms and pushes into Jared’s chest, it forces a whumpf of air from his lungs and the larger man falls back, off balance. He doesn’t hit the floor, strong hands grip the top of his arms and whirl him about, until his back meets the jut of the shower button, and he cries out with the sharp pain of it. There’s the patter and splash of cold water raining down on them and he squirms in Jensen’s grasp under the shock of the deluge, until he is off the jutting metal with his back to the icy wall. Water drips down his neck and over his aching chest, making his tee-shirt cling. Jensen is leaning into him, all hard planes and muscular bulk. He is the only warmth in this fall of now nearly-lukewarm water. There are droplets tracking from Jensen’s hair and he is blinking them from his eyes with his thick long lashes. They continue on over his freckled cheeks and he licks them from his upper lip.
“I hate you,” Jared grinds out, “You’ve ruined my f ..”
Jensen tightens his grip and Jared can feel fingertips digging bruises into his flesh, and then there’s a hot wet mouth silencing him with forceful lips mashing against his. His mind is taking time to catch up but his body is already with the program, there’s a moan from somewhere that sounds suspiciously like his own throat and his hips are swinging to gain friction against the soggy jeans that cling to Jensen’s tight form. His lips part to the prompt of Jensen’s tongue and let it fuck into his mouth.
The steady raining water is nothing but a distraction, providing a beat to match the thrumming of his blood through his veins. This is every wet dream he’s ever had and more because the gaze that burns into him is passionate and full of possession. No one has ever wanted him like this. Jared’s losing his mind and control and his cock is throbbing at attention. When Jensen loosens his grip on Jared’s arms he doesn’t move or push him away, “Still hate you,” he insists as he writhes into the man’s heat, with a silent beg. When Jensen coughs he simply waits for him to finish and remains flat to the wall, waiting to be molded any way the other man wants. Jensen grabs both of his wrists into one hand and pushes Jared’s arms over his head. Jared whimpers a quiet “please” but he doesn’t know what he’s asking for. He should make it stop but the vision of Jensen is too intense. He never wants it to end. Jensen is soaking wet, every ripple of his muscles accentuated, the droplets sparkle against his pale skin and drip from the hair plastered to his head. His sinful lips are swollen and bitten red, his eyes are dark and he is practically vibrating with lust. Fuck, shit, Christ, they are in a public place making out like insatiable teenagers with the press waiting outside. A slight giggle bubbles to his lips and is kissed away by a greedy, hot mouth.
Jensen’s free hand tracks down Jared’s chest, circles around the erect nipples that push at the tee-shirt, then continue over the sodden fabric, and he grasps the bottom of it, starting to push it up. He pauses for a moment to look directly at Jared with a quizzical expression.
“Yes! Hell, yeah!”
They are both panting, and Jared can feel Jensen’s diamond-hard cock straining against the dripping denim as they bump their hips together in an increasing rhythm. Jared squirms in Jensen’s hold but there’s no real attempt to free his hands. Teeth nip at the pink nubs of his chest then Jensen sucks hard and worries at them with his tongue. There are throaty little whimpers that resonate from the green-eyed man and Jared finds himself thinking, I’m doing that, he’s making that sound for me. It’s been forever since Jared has had anything intimate and it’s never been this intense. “Touch me. I want to touch you,” he’s pleading. They’re struggling to stay upright in the wet of the cubicle but the water has automatically ceased.
Jensen releases just one of Jared’s wrists, leans in to pin him with his chest and kiss at his neck, sucking a purple bruise that feels like a claim, under the lobe of his ear. He snatches at Jared’s sweat pants, pulling them down with his underwear. Jared’s cock is erect and proud, there’s pre-come shining at the tip. Jensen’s touch is tentative and it surprises Jared. He studies the silent man and he’s biting his lip. There’s a mixture of terror and fascination in his face but he grips more firmly and swipes a thumb experimentally to collect a bead of clear fluid from the tip. Jensen brings it to his full pink lips and sticks his tongue out to taste it and Jared can see his curiosity. He screws his eyes and nose at the taste and then relaxes and dips his hand back down to fist at Jared’s eager erection. It is inexpert but enthusiastic and Jared’s mind is short circuiting because it can’t be. Jensen can’t possibly be as inexperienced as this suggests.
Right now Jared wants to give him everything. He would beg on his knees to please him if that was what he asked. He drops his free arm slowly to reach for the zipper on Jensen’s denims and slides it open, slowly. When Jensen makes no move to stop him he flips the button to release his cock. It’s huge and magnificent and he takes it in hand without pause, cupping his balls and stroking the pattern of his vein until he’s teasing the tip and then tugging downwards again. They can’t last. Jensen is bucking up into Jared’s hand. His whimpers are raw and animal. The pressure has reduced on his wrist but Jared keeps one arm in place above his head. Jensen is still in a powerful position but he’s incapable with pleasure, head thrown back revealing acres of pale kissable skin. Jared lifts his head from the wall to pepper kisses up his neck, and then capture the delectable lips, kissing him deep and thorough. Jared can’t contain himself any longer, he orgasms with a cry, spilling come over Jensen’s long fingers.
“Oh my God!”
Jared hears the exclamation through the grunt of Jensen’s climax, while there’s a warm splash of come on his hand. He sees movement over Jensen’s shoulder and freezes in horror. Chad is staring, mouth gaping and eyes bugging. His gaze is directed at the wrist pinned to the wall by Jensen’s hand and he’s turning an interesting shade of green.
Jensen is still gasping through the aftershocks of orgasm. Jared can feel the racing thump of Jensen’s heart against his own chest, and his hand drops away to release his hold on Jared. Jensen pulls back from him in pure, feral panic. He takes barely a moment to tuck his sticky, spent dick into his tightening wet jeans and force the zip up. Then he’s skidding on the wet floor, past Chad, to grab his backpack and run from the building. Jared wants to call him back but words aren’t possible. He’s trying to catch his breath and his mouth is opening and shutting, without sound. He grabs at the rag Jensen was using to shine the metal and wipes himself before pulling up his soaking sweatpants for cover. He’s a brilliant shade of beetroot but the glow of sexual gratification (and how fucking amazing that gratification was) is giving him a dopey acceptance of the situation.
Chad is looking everywhere but directly at Jared. He appears as though he’s about to be sick. “Did he ..? Was that ..? I didn’t know he would do that. Do you want me to call someone? The cops? I should … Oh shit! I’m sorry. I am so sorry Mr Padalecki.”
It takes a little while to realize what he looked like, backed against the wall, held and debauched, and what it is that Chad thinks happened. He rouses himself to ask for a towel and the bag of clothes that his note had asked Misha to leave at reception. He pulls himself to full height with his most intimidating pose, ignoring the stickiness at his crotch, “You don’t tell anyone what happened here. Not a word, not a hint, or I swear you will never work again.” He waves Chad away before undressing, switching the shower to hot and soaping the evidence of the morning’s encounter off his skin. It seems unreal but his dirty, wet running garments prove otherwise. He towels himself dry and dresses. Fresh boxers, suit pants, starched shirt with cufflinks, tie, tie pin, jacket, cotton socks, leather shoes. Just like any other morning except it isn’t any other morning, not at all. He combs his hair and stuffs his dirty clothes into a bag before turning to Chad who has been discreetly reading the swimming posters while he was waiting. “You are going to destroy every security image that was taken this morning and I am going to watch you do it.”
Chad is quick to point out, “There isn’t a camera in the showers,”
Jared doesn’t care. He wants every possible trace of his insanity erased.
Chad continues speaking, using a syrupy voice, aimed to reassure. “Are you sure? What if you want to report it?”
“I don’t want to report it.” Jared’s reply is weary.
“He might do it again.”
Jared is unsure how he feels about Jensen. He still feels a simmering anger, but the man isn’t a rapist and doesn’t deserve to be labelled as one. He blushes as he speaks, “It was consensual,” he mutters rapidly. He thinks that Mr Murray’s eyebrows may lift off his face in response to the simple statement.
“O-kay.”
Jared insists on rewinding the security footage to see snippets of Jensen’s escape through the corridor and out of the lobby. The press had surged forward until it was obvious it wasn’t Jared and then they had lost interest in the wet, running man. Jensen had dashed into the morning crush of people on the sidewalk and disappeared. There’s a tightness around his heart as he notices that he has left Sadie behind, still leashed to the shrubbery. “Do you think he’ll be alright?”
“I don’t know. You must know him better than me,” Chad’s reply has an edge to it. Normally Jared would snap at him but he can’t be bothered.
“I don’t really.”
“Wait! Did you pay him?” Chad blurts out, “Because that is absolutely not allowed on the premises,” and then adds “Actually, neither is the other.”
“There was no payment. He’s not a whore.” Defending Jensen is peculiarly natural to him. “It just happened.”
Jared knows that the dynamic between him and the center manager is changed forever. Chad knows he has a secret that puts Jared in his debt. Chad bounces on his chair and asks another question and he doesn’t bother to hide his sarcastic tone, “Does that just happened, happen a lot to you?”
“No!”
“You let him just run off. Is that it? The sum total of your care for an easy fuck,” Chad sounds pissed, “He’s ill. He shouldn’t be out there wet.”
“It’s not like I can find him, and I’ve got half the state’s gossip journalists on my case. If he wants to find me, he knows where I am.”
“Well you’re positively cuddly after sex, aren’t you?” Chad sneers.
The businessman decides it’s time to utilise his carefully nurtured reputation with this snarky fitness freak. “You think you have something on me, Mr Murray. You do. I’m satisfied that you’ll keep your mouth shut but if you make any more remarks I might assume that you need some help to seal your goddamn lips.”
Jared destroys every disk in the security system and wipes the memory, before running the gauntlet to a pre-booked taxi while the center employees restrain the press.
Part 13
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