RPS Fic: "Seeing Stars" (J-squared, R)
Fandom: CW RPS
Title: Seeing Stars
Author: arby_m
Pairing: J², Wellingbaum, a little JAckling thrown in for good measure
Rating: R (cussin', drugs, sex)
Spoilers: Minor for the Pilot and Wendigo.
Warnings: None.
Length: ~6000 words
Disclaimer: In case it isn't obvious, I don't pretend to know these fine young actors. I just think they're hot and like to play with them like toys. Please don't sue, Mary- or otherwise.
Summary: Mike & Tom think since Jared and Jensen are inexplicably NOT doing it, they might need a little help from a good friend whose name begins with E.
Note: RPS, why not? I'm going to Hell anyway. Also, the WB ref is deliberate, since this takes place early in S1 shooting.
xposted to padacklesrps here
By the time they get to the scene in the pilot where Dean slams Sam up against the side of the bridge and gets up in his face for what seems like an eternity before gritting, “Don’t talk about Mom like that”, Mike and Tom are convinced that Jared and Jensen are doing it. They just have way too much chemistry. It’s so obvious that if one of them were female, the tabloids would be all over it. As it is, it’s already being repeated as fact all over Hollywood - or at least that segment of Hollywood that gossips about WB stars - but apparently no one bothered to ask them.
So Mike calls up Jenny. He’s a good guy, very Texan and polite under all the hot-young-stud network hype (read: Mama’s boy), and he and Mikey had hung out a bit while Jen was on Smallville. They hadn’t done anything really fun, like smoke out, play video games and suck each other’s cocks - but then again Mike had a more-than-willing partner for that in Tom.
“Hey Mike, how are you?” Jensen sounds wary, as well he should.
“Not bad, not bad. Hey - congrats on the show. We just finished watching the pilot, it’s really kick-ass,” Mike knows how to butter ‘em up, all right. Tom kicks him half-heartedly with those ridiculous fuzzy bunny slippers and makes a ‘gag me’ face. Mike manages to keep his voice from cracking and himself from breaking out into hysterical laughter by sheer force of will.
“Hey thanks man, thank you so much Mike, that’s really nice of you,” Jenny is saying on the other end of the line, sounding relieved and sincere, probably thinking he’s safe. Mike grins and springs the trap.
“So, you and Jared, what’s up with that, huh?”
Silence on the other end of the line.
“Helloooo, yoo hoo, earth to Jenny. You still there?”
“What do you mean?” Jensen’s voice has dropped half an octave. Sure sounds like lust to Mike - either that or he just hit a second puberty.
“Are you hitting that or not? And if not, why not?”
“Oh my God. What is the matter with you?? He’s got a girlfriend.” Whining.
Interesting choice of rationalization.
“Please. You guys have the most insane chemistry of anyone on TV since… David and Gillian, hell, or me and Tom. If you’re not fucking off-screen, you damn well ought to be.”
“Dude - you’re sick. Obviously hanging out with Welling too much has completely warped your brain. For one thing, we play brothers. For another thing, Jared’s straight.” The fact that Jensen didn’t seize this opportunity to protest his own sexual orientation spoke volumes.
“Whatever, dude. Can you see the pyramids from there? I hear Egypt is lovely this time of year.”
“Ha ha, very funny. Shut up. Is that all you got to say for yourself?”
“Actually, no. We’re coming back to Vancouver next weekend, wanna get together? You can invite your co-worker.” Mike manages to make the word sound completely leering and nasty, as if it means twinkie.
“I guess, if you promise to behave yourself and not act like a total douchebag. Who’s ‘we’?”
“Duh - who’d you think? You know I never go anywhere without my Tommy boy.” He smirks at Tom, who’s lounging on the floor at his feet playing Warriors. Tom looks up and purses his lips at him, sticks his tongue in his cheek obscenely, then rolls his eyes.
“Hm. I’m a little scared of what might happen if I get you, Welling and Padalecki in the same room, but I guess I’ll risk it.”
Nice, now he was referring to Jared by his last name. What a tough guy.
“All right loser, we’ll see you next Friday. I’ll call you when we’re on our way in, ‘kay?”
“Sure, whatever Mike.”
“Bye Jenny, “ he can’t resist. “Give Jared our love.”
Jensen hangs up on him. As soon as the phone clicks off, Mike’s dying with laughter. Tom grins and says without pausing his game, “So what’s the plan?”
Mike flops down on the shag carpet next to him, picks up the other controller. “My plan is not only evil and devious, but also happens to be totally brilliant. What’s the name of that guy that sold us the E again?”
* * * * *
Jensen can’t look at Jared the next day. He tries, but his eyes just keep sliding off as if his co-worker (and friend, he could now say with some certainty) were greased. He tells himself it’s that they’re both so psyched about the show getting picked up, just a giddy, nervous feeling, like being on a date with a girl you’d had a crush on for a long time. It makes Jensen want to go out and get plastered. But they have a serious schedule for the next 5 weeks, and most nights they’re on set til after midnight, sometimes 2, 3, 4 in the morning. Or if they get out early, at most they have a beer or two, then pass out from exhaustion. They work so much there’s no time to think about anything else, but that nervous tension doesn’t dissipate, if anything it just gets stronger. It’s been a few months since they shot the pilot, but Jen finds it easy to get back in character; Dean slips right back over him like a second skin.
They’re shooting the scene in the second ep where Dean is supposed to rush into the Wendigo’s cave and save Sam, who’s hanging by his wrists about to become Wendigo chow. Jensen flubs the take over and over. Jared’s shirt is riding up and his stomach is showing, and his jeans low-slung around his hips, boxers peeking out, and the way his arms are bound makes his chest thrust out in this way, and something about it is making Jen feel decidedly weird. He’s never felt like this on set before, even on DA when he had a pretty serious crush on Jessica and her saying hi to him on Friday made him happy all weekend. Jared’s looking at him like he’s insane, barely holding back his laughter, and Jen says to the AD, “Any way we can lower the light in here, it’s like broad daylight.” Being a professional, she doesn’t look askance at him but says smoothly, “We should be able to do something about that, sure Jensen,” and he wills the blood back out of his cheeks where he can feel it starting to burn.
They turn the lights down and David says, “Good call on the lights, that looks so much more atmospheric,” and Jensen can’t tell if they’re making fun of him or not but thank God, because now he can run in and do it, untie Jared and grab him and pull him down from the ceiling as if there’s nothing weird going on at all. Jared smells like Old Spice today; Jen makes a mental note to tease him about that later. It’s a smell Jensen associates with his uncle, a strangely old-fashioned, square choice of aftershave. He’s surprisingly heavy for such a skinny guy, and more built than he looks under all those clothes both Sam and Jared seem to feel compelled to wear. Jared huffs lightly in Jen’s ear as Jen sets him down none too gently. He can see Jared’s absurdly white teeth gleaming in the semi-darkness as he gives Jen that smile that lights up a room, and Jensen grins back at him automatically, he can’t help himself, and David says, “Cut!” and then “Missed your last line, Ackles, but that’s okay, we can leave that one out and wrap it up for today. That was a cute little moment there between the boys.” Then the lights come up and Jensen has to take off; he makes for his trailer without saying a word to anyone.
“Hey Jen!” Jared’s following him. Of course he is. Jensen rolls his eyes before Jared catches up.
“What?” Jen doesn’t stop, doesn’t even look over.
“Where are you going? Why are you booking off like that?”
“I’m going to my trailer, what do you think?”
The tone of Jensen’s voice seems to gives Jared pause; he slows his pace a little and Jensen keeps going. He almost feels bad, until he remembers the reason he suddenly finds himself needing some space. Goddamn Rosenbaum. Just because he and Welling are hot for each other doesn’t mean Jared and I… He can’t even finish the sentence as he reaches the blessed sanctuary of his trailer.
Yeah, right. His ‘sanctuary’ is instantly disturbed by a knock.
“Dude. Open up.”
“Now what?”
“Come on, man. Let me in.”
Jesus, he’s so not going away, is he? Jensen hasn’t had a cigarette in over 2 years, but he feels the need for one now.
“Fine, come in then,” yelling over his shoulder, rummaging in a box for the emergency pack.
Jared comes in and stands in the middle of the room, looking at Jensen. He can feel that hazel stare burning holes in the back of his head. Finally he finds his smokes and pops one out of the pack. Shit, he doesn’t even have a book of matches.
He risks a glance over at Jared, who’s staring at him like he’s sprouted a second head.
“Since when do you smoke?” Accusatory - like it’s any of his business.
“None of your beeswax. Got a light?”
Jared digs in his pocket and produces one. Jensen thinks about asking him why he carries around a lighter, then reconsiders. It's probably just for picking up chicks anyway. Jared strikes the light and stands there expectantly. Jen sighs and comes over, forced to cup his hand over Jared’s - though there isn’t a noticeable breeze in the trailer, the flame is flickering. The intimacy of it disturbs him far more than it should, and it takes a minute to get the cherry going. He feels Jared’s gaze but refuses to look up.
“Dude - what’s up with you? You’ve been acting mega-weird lately.”
Jensen pretends not to have been paying attention. “Huh? Nothing. I’m fine.” But he can’t meet Jared’s eyes.
“What, so we’re not friends anymore? Is that what you’re trying to tell me in some passive-aggressive way? Why else would you be avoiding me like this?”
“Dude, stop being such a chick. Everything’s fine, I just…got some things on my mind, okay?” Pause. If their conversation had been scripted, it would say ‘beat’ here. Jensen looks around for somewhere to ash and finally settles on a nasty can half-full of last night’s beer.
“Look, Rosenbaum and Welling are coming into town this weekend - wanna get together with them?”
Jared’s tense posture relaxes slightly, though the suspicious, almost hurt look in his eyes is still there.
“Sure, that’s cool. I hear Mike is totally insane.”
Jensen smiles, and it almost feels natural.
“Yeah, he totally is. You’d better get ready for some serious partying.” God, what a dorky thing to say - his hand goes up, then hangs in the air weirdly as he realizes with horror that he’d been about to ruffle Jared’s hair, a gesture more appropriate to Dean.
He manages to shrug it off because Jared didn’t see the full bizarreness of it, but Jen’s face is flushing hotly and he turns away, clearing his throat and feeling like Dean again.
Jared seems to pick up something of the incredible awkwardness permeating the air, because he says hesitantly, “Um, okay then, I guess… See you tomorrow?”
Jen hates himself for putting that tone in Jared’s voice, that fear of rejection. He looks Jared in the eye and uses all his acting skills to give him a realistic facsimile of his ol’ buddy smile.
“Yeah,” and he claps Jared on the shoulder heartily, feeling like an imposter of a frat boy, “See you tomorrow, man.”
Jared gives him a total Sam look, and Jen thinks that if they knew each other even a little bit better, Jared would call him on his bullshit. As it is, he opens his mouth, closes it again, then turns on his heel and walks out.
* * * * *
The rest of the week is… strange. Jensen tries to act natural, both on and off set, but it’s difficult. He doesn’t think his work will win him any Emmys, that’s for sure. (When Rob sees the Wendigo cave scene, he “rewrites” it so Sam's the one saving Dean.) In the non-Sam scenes he’s okay, but when they’re together there’s something missing, that indefinable snap-crackle chemistry that made their scenes so fun before fucking Rosenbaum opened his big fat mouth. Off-set he’s still uncomfortable around Jared, as much as he tries to deny it, and Jared for his part has stopped complaining about it but is definitely subdued and seems unsure of himself. They aren’t hanging out like they’d been doing, at most they have an awkward beer before one of them claims exhaustion and begs off to go to bed.
Finally Friday rolls around. Jensen feels an increase in the tension at the thought of partying with Rosenbaum and Welling all weekend. God only knows what kind of innuendos those two’d be slinging. All day he waits for the dreaded call. At 8pm it comes. They’ve just wrapped the day’s shoot (in some bizarre coincidence, being let out incredibly early due to some bureaucratic difficulty with the location permit) when his cell rings. He catches Jared’s eye and nods, then answers it.
“Wassup, BITCHES!!” Mike screams. Jen has to hold the phone a foot away from his ear, it’s so loud. He can hear Tom laughing hysterically in the background.
“Jesus, sounds like the party’s already started,” Jen grumps, knowing he sounds like a total wet blanket.
“Damn straight - where you at?”
“We just got out of shooting. Where you wanna meet?”
“We’ll pick you up - gimme the address.”
He gives it to him, hangs up and says to Jared, “The madness has begun. My trailer in 10?”
Jared smiles, but for him it’s almost a sad smile.
“Dude, cheer up - it’ll be a blast. We might end up in jail, but it’ll totally be worth it.”
Jared’s mouth quirks at that and he raises an eyebrow.
“Go get ready!” He feels like a cheerleader again, trying to scare up some school spirit.
“Okay, okay. I’ll be by in a few.”
Jen goes to his trailer, changes his shirt three times before settling on his first choice, grabs his cigs, debates whether to put on some kind of aftershave or cologne or shit like that, but ends up washing his face instead.
This is ridiculous. We’re certainly not going to be picking up chicks with these fools, more like getting completely stoned and passing out on the couch in their hotel room. Suddenly he wishes he’d had time to take a shower. He judiciously chooses not to examine the correlation between the two thoughts.
A knock on the door, way too hesitant to be Mike.
“Come in!” Jen shouts from the bedroom, feeling unaccountably cheery all of a sudden.
Jared walks in and peers through the door at Jen.
Jen notes with a kind of petty satisfaction that Jared a) has also changed, and b) looks a little nervous.
Jensen grabs his leather jacket - well, technically it’s Dean’s leather jacket, but Jen wears it home now and again and no one makes a fuss - and grins at Jared. After a minute Jared returns it.
At that moment an unholy racket sounds outside.
“Oh, Jenny… where are youuuu?”
“Mike, you asshole - drunk already, or just stoned to the gills as usual?”
Fumbling at the door and Welling waltzes in, followed closely by Rosenbaum. They aren’t quite as fucked-up as they sound - but that’s not saying much.
Tom looks over and gives them the full wattage of his ridiculously gorgeous male model smile. It takes Jen’s breath away despite himself. He’d forgotten the guy’s absurd good looks - every time he sees Tom in person he thinks all over again that it makes perfect sense that he would play Superman, because he’s just that preternaturally attractive.
Mike’s chortling to himself.
“Stop leering, boys, he’s all mine!”
Welling blushes like a girl, all rosy cheeks and long lashes fluttering. “Will you shut the fuck up? You’re embarrassing me.”
“Oh, don’t be such a pussy.” He turns to Jensen. “Wassup bitch?”
“Nothin’, dickwad. This’s Jared.”
Jared’s smiling good-naturedly, like he’s met Mike’s type and knows how to handle him. “Hey Mike.” He nods at Tom, “Hey Tom.” They’d met on CBTD, Jensen belatedly remembers, feeling dickish.
“So what, you guys have a head start, we gotta catch up. Where’re we going?”
“I thought I’d show you kids a real good time and hit iDime.”
Jensen keeps his face immobile. Jared doesn’t know about this place - it’s notorious among Vancouver club kids for being completely balls-out insane.
“’Kay, let’s hit the road.”
They turn en masse and head outside, Mike and Jensen jostling playfully for the door. They’ve rented a giant SUV, natch - Jen calls shotgun and Tom’s driving. Somehow this surprises Jen, he’d always thought Mike was the brains of the operation and Tom just tagged along in his footsteps. On further consideration Jen decides that this makes Tom perfectly suited to play chauffeur.
No sooner are they out the driveway than Tom reaches across Jen to open the glove box, takes out an Altoids tin, and hands it back to Mike. Mike responds by smacking him upside the head.
“Thomas John Patrick Welling, where are your manners?” He says in a creditable Mom impersonation. “Guests first - you know that! Jenny, fire this puppy up for us, wouldya?”
He hands the tin to Jen, who’s laughing despite himself. Jensen opens it, takes out the expected joint and lighter, lights up and takes a decent-sized hit. He sees Jared smiling in the rearview mirror, and Jen can’t help himself, he takes one more before passing it to Tom, who gives him a mock-reproachful look.
“What? We’re so far behind you guys, c’mon, it’s only fair.”
Welling cracks that smile again, wryer this time, and takes a truly massive drag, filling the car with smoke. He looks at Jared in the rearview as well.
“Tell the truth, JT - you smoked out every day in high school, didn’t you?”
“Senior year, hell, yeah!”
Mike high-fives Jared like a total geek.
Ha, ha, hippie, Jen thinks, and then like an echo comes Dean’s voice in his head, college boy. Which is ridiculous, Jared didn’t even go to college. This would be a lot more disturbing to Jen if everything weren’t so deliciously furry right now. Damn, that came on fast.
“You wouldn’t be lying about that to try to look cool, would you now?” Tom says sternly, mock father. “Do you have any proof of this supposed mar-iju-ana smoking?”
Faintly Jen can hear Jared protesting Jesus, can’t you guys afford better weed than this? This is one step above skunk, but the sensation of his forehead against the cold window is way more interesting and relevant.
The next thing he knows, they’ve arrived. Like all really good clubs, it’s hidden away in a dingy-looking warehouse, and the line to get in stretches around the block. But “Roseybottom” knows the bouncer, of course, and gets them in in minutes.
Inside is a strange combination of diner booths and blacklighting. They crowd into a corner booth and order a pitcher of sangria, of all things. The music is appropriately trippy, some kind of swirling ambient stuff that Jen imagines Jared might like. He feels completely out of place and wishes they’d gone to a dive bar with a game on the crappy old TV and $2 CN domestic beers, the kind of place Dean and Sam frequent on the show.
* * * *
Two rounds later, things have started looking up. Jared’s nattering on the way he does, Tom’s pounding his drinks and ruining his manly image with fits of high-pitched giggling, and Jensen’s managing to hold his own by telling a few stories that make them cry with laughter. A hipster guy with Buddy Holly glasses comes over to talk to Rosenbaum and they go to the next table. A bit later Mike’s pouring another round.
Some chick comes over and Jared starts half-heartedly trying to make time with her. She’s completely oblivious to the death-stares from the Smallville contingent. Jared’s in full babble mode and Jensen doesn’t even bother trying to get a word in edgewise. His throat closes and he stands up suddenly.
“Gotta take a leak,” he mutters, to no one in particular. Making his way through the crush to the john, there are eyes on the back of his head the entire time, but he fights the urge to turn and look. It’s your imagination, dude. Either that or someone's recognized him.
The bathroom is unexpectedly empty. Thank God for small favors. Staring at the wall scrawled with the usual taunts and boasts, he feels his little emo cloud beginning to lift. Jen’s mood is like a ball, he thinks nonsensically, no sooner does it hit bottom (where dark things crawl) than it bounces back up into the light.
He’s still pissing when the door swings open and someone busts in and does that thing where they hit the backs of your knees with the front of their own, trying to make your legs bend unexpectedly. It works.
“Hey, what the...”
Totally caught off guard, Jen looks in the mirror and catches Tom’s gaze. Dude scares him sometimes. It’s like there’s no one home. He’s smarter than Clark, but not much. Definitely funnier - his impersonations were hysterical - but sometimes he just went blank and there was a creepy, almost psychotic look in his eyes. But with a face like Tom’s, no one was paying him for his brain. Or his social skills, for that matter.
Tom’s still pressed up against him and Jensen can feel the proof positive of something he’s long wondered in an offhand way, if the rumors were true that Welling was hung like a fucking horse.
Tom smiles lazily, beautiful and knowing it, wielding that beauty like a weapon, like a chick would do. And you want to hate them for it but you can’t quite do it, because they’re just that fucking beautiful. He slurs in Jen’s ear, “What’s the matter Jenny, don’t you like me?”
His voice buzzes and tickles all the way down Jen's spine; Jen gives an unwilling shiver in response. “Dude, I can’t go there. You know Rosenbaum’d hurt me if I even thought about it.”
Tom frowns and pouts, again just like a girl.
“What’s Mikey got to do with anything? Even my wife doesn’t have anything to do with it. I can fuck whoever I want.” His voice gets quieter, confidential. Something about it is very childlike and reminds Jen suddenly and bizarrely of Pee-Wee Herman, of all people. “And guess what?” Stage-whispering: “I do.”
He peers over Jen’s shoulder, at his cock which is just sort of hanging out there. Jen shakes off quickly, embarrassed, and tucks himself back in his pants. Tom gives a little “ohh” of disappointment.
“Look, man, I’m really… flattered, but you’re not my type.”
Tom scoffs. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. Hell I’ve seen the way you look at that Padalecki kid, like you’d just eat him up if you could get away with it.”
Jensen has nothing to say to this. His mouth dries up, and he busies himself with washing his hands, refusing to look in the mirror to meet the mocking gaze he knows is fixed on him.
Welling takes out a marker - Jen wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if he carried it with him especially for this purpose - and writes, “For a blow job call” thinks for a second “JT - 347-555-7672” then cackles his way out of the head and back to the booth. Jen gives him a minute’s head start - for appearances’ sake if nothing else - then follows suit.
They’ve put some kind of pseudo-disco ball lighting on - starshaped blobs of light swim steadily up the walls and over everyone’s faces. Jen’s eyes are drawn inexorably by the trail of stars crawling up Jared’s body, then stop with an almost physical thud when they meet Jared’s gaze. Jared’s smiling almost to himself, a private smile that makes Jen feel like he’s intruding on a moment of some kind. He slides into the booth, frowns, picks up the glass in front of him and drains it in three swallows. Only after slamming it back down does the taste register.
“Jesus Christ, what was that?”
Jared’s guffawing. “What’s the matter, don’t you like your sidecar?”
“What the…that was disgusting!”
“We asked the waitress to bring you the most disgusting drink she’d ever had, and she came back with that. It’s got, like, all the different kinds of liquor mixed together.”
“All of them nasty, apparently,” Jen says, without any real rancor. The foul concoction is hitting him like a punch to the gut. Jared’s still chuckling to himself.
“Tell the truth Jared,” Tom cuts in. “She actually said the most disgusting drink she’d ever had was a Tom & Jerry, but it’s seasonal. It, like, requires egg nog or something.”
“Yeah, he’s right,” Mike says solemnly. “So this is only second-most vomitous.”
Suddenly a wave of sleepiness sweeps over Jen. God, but he loved to sleep. Sometimes he thought almost more than anything - food, sex, even acting. Sleep was his drug, and he was totally hooked on it. In the mornings he would pimp out his own mama to get a few more minutes.
* * * *
Some time passes unawares. Jen finds himself moving towards the bar without any conscious effort. Everything in the room is flowing through him like milk and honey - the deep soft aura of blacklight over the bar, the ghostly glow of bottles beckoning, the electric pulse of a disembodied white shirt walking into view, the whites of everyone’s teeth flashing excellently as they talk and smile, each caught up in his or her own meaningless little world. Jen observes the pretty but does not interact with it, like a play staged especially for him. He is swaddled in velvety black cotton wool. Even the music is somehow less annoying now, it lingers like a flavor in the back of his mind, an aftertaste of soft narcotic throbbing.
Then he’s back at the table, not knowing how he got there. His skin is zinging, conducting electricity, drinking in the sound and the smoke-hazed air and the shockingly delicious sensation of the slightest movement, which makes it bloom and creep gently, thrillingly, and sets him to moving again for the sheer pleasure of it. Jen shifts restlessly on the booth to keep the electricity flowing and says to no one in particular, “God, I feel so delicious!”
Jared laughs, takes Jen’s hand in his bigger one (Jen feels the disparity acutely - like a delicate dainty girl), licks Jen’s palm in one long sloppy swipe like a dog and says, “Not bad. Kinda salty though.” It tickles; Jen can’t help but laugh. Jared smiles sideways, lazy, lips stained wine-red, and suddenly something has to be found interesting on the other side of the room or he will give in to the urge to touch Jared’s face and then it will be all over.
* * * *
Sometimes Jen finds himself wishing Sam and Dean are real. As Dean, he knows who he is. There’s no doubt in Dean’s mind what his purpose in life is - to take care of Sammy. And Dean would never take advantage of that trust, that love. He envies Dean’s purity, his force of conviction. Jensen’s own character is more vague, nebulous. He’s along for the ride, he wants the show to have a good run and hopes to be able to do some decent work. And working with Jared - hell,just being around Jared - brings something out in Jensen that he doesn’t know what to do with. Everything would just be so much simpler if he were Dean.
* * * *
Jared’s shirt is missing a button. The little gap fascinates Jen; it begs for something to fill the hole. He feels his hand moving towards it without conscious volition until suddenly poke, and amazingly Jared giggles and squirms slightly in his chair and says, “Quit tickling me,” but his skin is so wonderfully textured that Jen’s finger can’t help coming back for more. Jared can’t stop laughing, and it’s contagious; Jen finds himself joining in. There’s a pause and Jensen sags against Jared, unable to move. His bones are molten, liquefied; if they cut him open they’d find a gelatin skeleton. This strikes him as utterly hysterical. He laughs until he cries. Jared’s saying, “What? What?” and poking him in the ribs, which just makes him laugh harder.
Finally the avalanche of laughter trickles to a stop. Jared’s sprawled out loose-limbed like a puppy, all over his side of the booth; Jen’s leaning all his weight on him like a pillow. Mike and Tom are making out with a teenaged intensity Jen envies. They come up for air and Tom blinks at them, all mussed and flushed, eyes half-shut in the low light, lips pouty from kissing. He looks edible, a candy-cane replica of a person. Jen frowns, thinking. Something’s not right here. It takes him forever to figure out what it could be.
“Dude, either that weed was laced or you dosed me with something, I am totally tripping.”
Mike and Tom crack up. After what seems like an eternity they finally manage to choke out, “Yeah, enjoy the ride, boys!”
Tom’s smile is sly, teeth gleaming in the low light like Chiclets. “We’re on a roll.”
“Well, shit.” Jared’s drawl is thicker and more Texan than ever. “I know I should be pissed at y’all for doing this, but I’m way too happy to give a fuck.”
Jen says, “What he said. The only reason I’m not kicking your ass right now is that I’m too melted.”
This is the funniest thing ever spoken - all four of them die laughing. Even the laughter feels so extraordinarily good, the sweet tension of muscles is like a little orgasm or a sneeze. It’s like the first time I smoked pot, Jen realizes. Most people don’t even get high their first time, but he was the exception. God, it was so great. He remembers making out with Alicia for hours, how each kiss felt better than the one before, in an endless haze of slow time. He wants to do that again.
* * * *
“God, Dean’s jacket smells amazing.” Jared buries his face in Jen’s chest.
Jen shakes his head. “Not his jacket,” he says solemnly, “mine.”
Jared raises his head and looks at him for what feels like an eternity. His hazel gaze goes on forever, like a hall of amber mirrors, pupils dilated but steady.
“We’re not really related. You know that, right?”
What’s he playing at?
“You’re my brother.”
“No. I’m not.”
What does he want me to say? Somewhere in Jen’s brain, a thought is fighting to emerge. Finally he finds it:
“Okay, so you’re like a brother to me.”
Jared (Sam) smiles, slow and blinding, and says, “Ah, but ‘like’ does not equal ‘is’.”
Jensen (Dean) bursts out laughing.
“Wise words, Sensei! They teach you that in college?” (he didn’t go to college)
“Dean.” Suddenly he’s completely serious. “Sam wants you to.”
“Wants me to do what?”
“This,” and Jared/Sam leans over and kisses Jensen/Dean, and he’s seeing stars flowering behind his eyelids and his cells know that it’s all right, everything makes sense and it’s probably the X talking but suddenly he wants to take back every moment in his whole life that wasn’t spent doing this.
The tip of Jared’s tongue traces a line up Jen’s soft palate, and Jensen’s hips arch up to chase the motion, making him whimper into Jared’s mouth despite himself. That hot tongue is heavy and thick inside his mouth, filling him with a wet, breathless rush. He sucks it until it’s Jared’s turn to moan. Jen’s half-hard, throbbing in his pants like a teenager at the first mention of sex, and he’s torn between wanting to go somewhere more private (balls tightening at the mere thought of it), and the heavy, honey-laziness that makes everything so perfect, he couldn’t possibly move. Jared’s lips are too perfect, just the right size and shape, like they were designed to fit Jen’s, and he tastes…
“You taste smart.”
Mike, next to them on the booth (suspiciously flushed and Tom nowhere to be seen) howls with laughter at that. They hear a thump from under the table and Tom’s head appears, his hand rubbing it. “Ow,” he complains. Jen chuckles despite himself.
Jared’s looking at him, smiling slightly, and Jen feels it in his blood, how much he wants this. It fills him with sudden fear, and Jared seems to read it on his face; he leans forward and whispers in Jen's ear, “Worry about it tomorrow.” His huge hand is so warm on Jen’s back beneath his shirt, and Jen gives in, closes his eyes and lets it be.
His entire body is humming, skin singing like a tuning fork, resonating to Jared’s hands - everywhere they go, a slow trail of muted ecstasy follows, sparkling and golden, and echoes out across him like ripples on the surface of a pond, rolling back over and over and bouncing off each other. Here there is no want, no need, only pure pleasure - need implies a lack, and everything he could ask for is right here, awkwardly, perfectly wrapped in this gangly frame. No peaks of orgasm, no cessation of joy or pain of separation, only bliss everlastingly plateaued. He doesn’t need to strive for the white-hot, barely bearable shocks of le petit mort because he’s already achieved a long slow burn of pleasure, as if he were a candle, steady melting bliss.
Something is buzzing between them, trapped like a fly in the cracks of the seat cushion; it’s Jared’s phone vibrating away like a nun’s best friend, and after three thrilling rings it’s extracted and answered. Jared hangs up just before busting out laughing.
“OK, which one of you assholes was it?”
“I don’t know what you could possibly be referring to,” Mike, blurring elaborately.
“Someone obviously put my number on the bathroom wall.”
“Dude, good job!” Hi-fiving ensues.
“Whatever, Rosendork, now I’m going to have to change my number!”
“So? You could make it a better number, like maybe one spelling ‘BLOW-ME?”
Jensen is just still. The whirlwind goes on around him and he sits self-contained in the eye like a buoy. He feels hot and sweet pouring up his chest, a dry column of hot air like a chimney, sweeping from the banked coal in his gut. He is content in this moment and somehow that's enough.
Title: Seeing Stars
Author: arby_m
Pairing: J², Wellingbaum, a little JAckling thrown in for good measure
Rating: R (cussin', drugs, sex)
Spoilers: Minor for the Pilot and Wendigo.
Warnings: None.
Length: ~6000 words
Disclaimer: In case it isn't obvious, I don't pretend to know these fine young actors. I just think they're hot and like to play with them like toys. Please don't sue, Mary- or otherwise.
Summary: Mike & Tom think since Jared and Jensen are inexplicably NOT doing it, they might need a little help from a good friend whose name begins with E.
Note: RPS, why not? I'm going to Hell anyway. Also, the WB ref is deliberate, since this takes place early in S1 shooting.
xposted to padacklesrps here
By the time they get to the scene in the pilot where Dean slams Sam up against the side of the bridge and gets up in his face for what seems like an eternity before gritting, “Don’t talk about Mom like that”, Mike and Tom are convinced that Jared and Jensen are doing it. They just have way too much chemistry. It’s so obvious that if one of them were female, the tabloids would be all over it. As it is, it’s already being repeated as fact all over Hollywood - or at least that segment of Hollywood that gossips about WB stars - but apparently no one bothered to ask them.
So Mike calls up Jenny. He’s a good guy, very Texan and polite under all the hot-young-stud network hype (read: Mama’s boy), and he and Mikey had hung out a bit while Jen was on Smallville. They hadn’t done anything really fun, like smoke out, play video games and suck each other’s cocks - but then again Mike had a more-than-willing partner for that in Tom.
“Hey Mike, how are you?” Jensen sounds wary, as well he should.
“Not bad, not bad. Hey - congrats on the show. We just finished watching the pilot, it’s really kick-ass,” Mike knows how to butter ‘em up, all right. Tom kicks him half-heartedly with those ridiculous fuzzy bunny slippers and makes a ‘gag me’ face. Mike manages to keep his voice from cracking and himself from breaking out into hysterical laughter by sheer force of will.
“Hey thanks man, thank you so much Mike, that’s really nice of you,” Jenny is saying on the other end of the line, sounding relieved and sincere, probably thinking he’s safe. Mike grins and springs the trap.
“So, you and Jared, what’s up with that, huh?”
Silence on the other end of the line.
“Helloooo, yoo hoo, earth to Jenny. You still there?”
“What do you mean?” Jensen’s voice has dropped half an octave. Sure sounds like lust to Mike - either that or he just hit a second puberty.
“Are you hitting that or not? And if not, why not?”
“Oh my God. What is the matter with you?? He’s got a girlfriend.” Whining.
Interesting choice of rationalization.
“Please. You guys have the most insane chemistry of anyone on TV since… David and Gillian, hell, or me and Tom. If you’re not fucking off-screen, you damn well ought to be.”
“Dude - you’re sick. Obviously hanging out with Welling too much has completely warped your brain. For one thing, we play brothers. For another thing, Jared’s straight.” The fact that Jensen didn’t seize this opportunity to protest his own sexual orientation spoke volumes.
“Whatever, dude. Can you see the pyramids from there? I hear Egypt is lovely this time of year.”
“Ha ha, very funny. Shut up. Is that all you got to say for yourself?”
“Actually, no. We’re coming back to Vancouver next weekend, wanna get together? You can invite your co-worker.” Mike manages to make the word sound completely leering and nasty, as if it means twinkie.
“I guess, if you promise to behave yourself and not act like a total douchebag. Who’s ‘we’?”
“Duh - who’d you think? You know I never go anywhere without my Tommy boy.” He smirks at Tom, who’s lounging on the floor at his feet playing Warriors. Tom looks up and purses his lips at him, sticks his tongue in his cheek obscenely, then rolls his eyes.
“Hm. I’m a little scared of what might happen if I get you, Welling and Padalecki in the same room, but I guess I’ll risk it.”
Nice, now he was referring to Jared by his last name. What a tough guy.
“All right loser, we’ll see you next Friday. I’ll call you when we’re on our way in, ‘kay?”
“Sure, whatever Mike.”
“Bye Jenny, “ he can’t resist. “Give Jared our love.”
Jensen hangs up on him. As soon as the phone clicks off, Mike’s dying with laughter. Tom grins and says without pausing his game, “So what’s the plan?”
Mike flops down on the shag carpet next to him, picks up the other controller. “My plan is not only evil and devious, but also happens to be totally brilliant. What’s the name of that guy that sold us the E again?”
* * * * *
Jensen can’t look at Jared the next day. He tries, but his eyes just keep sliding off as if his co-worker (and friend, he could now say with some certainty) were greased. He tells himself it’s that they’re both so psyched about the show getting picked up, just a giddy, nervous feeling, like being on a date with a girl you’d had a crush on for a long time. It makes Jensen want to go out and get plastered. But they have a serious schedule for the next 5 weeks, and most nights they’re on set til after midnight, sometimes 2, 3, 4 in the morning. Or if they get out early, at most they have a beer or two, then pass out from exhaustion. They work so much there’s no time to think about anything else, but that nervous tension doesn’t dissipate, if anything it just gets stronger. It’s been a few months since they shot the pilot, but Jen finds it easy to get back in character; Dean slips right back over him like a second skin.
They’re shooting the scene in the second ep where Dean is supposed to rush into the Wendigo’s cave and save Sam, who’s hanging by his wrists about to become Wendigo chow. Jensen flubs the take over and over. Jared’s shirt is riding up and his stomach is showing, and his jeans low-slung around his hips, boxers peeking out, and the way his arms are bound makes his chest thrust out in this way, and something about it is making Jen feel decidedly weird. He’s never felt like this on set before, even on DA when he had a pretty serious crush on Jessica and her saying hi to him on Friday made him happy all weekend. Jared’s looking at him like he’s insane, barely holding back his laughter, and Jen says to the AD, “Any way we can lower the light in here, it’s like broad daylight.” Being a professional, she doesn’t look askance at him but says smoothly, “We should be able to do something about that, sure Jensen,” and he wills the blood back out of his cheeks where he can feel it starting to burn.
They turn the lights down and David says, “Good call on the lights, that looks so much more atmospheric,” and Jensen can’t tell if they’re making fun of him or not but thank God, because now he can run in and do it, untie Jared and grab him and pull him down from the ceiling as if there’s nothing weird going on at all. Jared smells like Old Spice today; Jen makes a mental note to tease him about that later. It’s a smell Jensen associates with his uncle, a strangely old-fashioned, square choice of aftershave. He’s surprisingly heavy for such a skinny guy, and more built than he looks under all those clothes both Sam and Jared seem to feel compelled to wear. Jared huffs lightly in Jen’s ear as Jen sets him down none too gently. He can see Jared’s absurdly white teeth gleaming in the semi-darkness as he gives Jen that smile that lights up a room, and Jensen grins back at him automatically, he can’t help himself, and David says, “Cut!” and then “Missed your last line, Ackles, but that’s okay, we can leave that one out and wrap it up for today. That was a cute little moment there between the boys.” Then the lights come up and Jensen has to take off; he makes for his trailer without saying a word to anyone.
“Hey Jen!” Jared’s following him. Of course he is. Jensen rolls his eyes before Jared catches up.
“What?” Jen doesn’t stop, doesn’t even look over.
“Where are you going? Why are you booking off like that?”
“I’m going to my trailer, what do you think?”
The tone of Jensen’s voice seems to gives Jared pause; he slows his pace a little and Jensen keeps going. He almost feels bad, until he remembers the reason he suddenly finds himself needing some space. Goddamn Rosenbaum. Just because he and Welling are hot for each other doesn’t mean Jared and I… He can’t even finish the sentence as he reaches the blessed sanctuary of his trailer.
Yeah, right. His ‘sanctuary’ is instantly disturbed by a knock.
“Dude. Open up.”
“Now what?”
“Come on, man. Let me in.”
Jesus, he’s so not going away, is he? Jensen hasn’t had a cigarette in over 2 years, but he feels the need for one now.
“Fine, come in then,” yelling over his shoulder, rummaging in a box for the emergency pack.
Jared comes in and stands in the middle of the room, looking at Jensen. He can feel that hazel stare burning holes in the back of his head. Finally he finds his smokes and pops one out of the pack. Shit, he doesn’t even have a book of matches.
He risks a glance over at Jared, who’s staring at him like he’s sprouted a second head.
“Since when do you smoke?” Accusatory - like it’s any of his business.
“None of your beeswax. Got a light?”
Jared digs in his pocket and produces one. Jensen thinks about asking him why he carries around a lighter, then reconsiders. It's probably just for picking up chicks anyway. Jared strikes the light and stands there expectantly. Jen sighs and comes over, forced to cup his hand over Jared’s - though there isn’t a noticeable breeze in the trailer, the flame is flickering. The intimacy of it disturbs him far more than it should, and it takes a minute to get the cherry going. He feels Jared’s gaze but refuses to look up.
“Dude - what’s up with you? You’ve been acting mega-weird lately.”
Jensen pretends not to have been paying attention. “Huh? Nothing. I’m fine.” But he can’t meet Jared’s eyes.
“What, so we’re not friends anymore? Is that what you’re trying to tell me in some passive-aggressive way? Why else would you be avoiding me like this?”
“Dude, stop being such a chick. Everything’s fine, I just…got some things on my mind, okay?” Pause. If their conversation had been scripted, it would say ‘beat’ here. Jensen looks around for somewhere to ash and finally settles on a nasty can half-full of last night’s beer.
“Look, Rosenbaum and Welling are coming into town this weekend - wanna get together with them?”
Jared’s tense posture relaxes slightly, though the suspicious, almost hurt look in his eyes is still there.
“Sure, that’s cool. I hear Mike is totally insane.”
Jensen smiles, and it almost feels natural.
“Yeah, he totally is. You’d better get ready for some serious partying.” God, what a dorky thing to say - his hand goes up, then hangs in the air weirdly as he realizes with horror that he’d been about to ruffle Jared’s hair, a gesture more appropriate to Dean.
He manages to shrug it off because Jared didn’t see the full bizarreness of it, but Jen’s face is flushing hotly and he turns away, clearing his throat and feeling like Dean again.
Jared seems to pick up something of the incredible awkwardness permeating the air, because he says hesitantly, “Um, okay then, I guess… See you tomorrow?”
Jen hates himself for putting that tone in Jared’s voice, that fear of rejection. He looks Jared in the eye and uses all his acting skills to give him a realistic facsimile of his ol’ buddy smile.
“Yeah,” and he claps Jared on the shoulder heartily, feeling like an imposter of a frat boy, “See you tomorrow, man.”
Jared gives him a total Sam look, and Jen thinks that if they knew each other even a little bit better, Jared would call him on his bullshit. As it is, he opens his mouth, closes it again, then turns on his heel and walks out.
* * * * *
The rest of the week is… strange. Jensen tries to act natural, both on and off set, but it’s difficult. He doesn’t think his work will win him any Emmys, that’s for sure. (When Rob sees the Wendigo cave scene, he “rewrites” it so Sam's the one saving Dean.) In the non-Sam scenes he’s okay, but when they’re together there’s something missing, that indefinable snap-crackle chemistry that made their scenes so fun before fucking Rosenbaum opened his big fat mouth. Off-set he’s still uncomfortable around Jared, as much as he tries to deny it, and Jared for his part has stopped complaining about it but is definitely subdued and seems unsure of himself. They aren’t hanging out like they’d been doing, at most they have an awkward beer before one of them claims exhaustion and begs off to go to bed.
Finally Friday rolls around. Jensen feels an increase in the tension at the thought of partying with Rosenbaum and Welling all weekend. God only knows what kind of innuendos those two’d be slinging. All day he waits for the dreaded call. At 8pm it comes. They’ve just wrapped the day’s shoot (in some bizarre coincidence, being let out incredibly early due to some bureaucratic difficulty with the location permit) when his cell rings. He catches Jared’s eye and nods, then answers it.
“Wassup, BITCHES!!” Mike screams. Jen has to hold the phone a foot away from his ear, it’s so loud. He can hear Tom laughing hysterically in the background.
“Jesus, sounds like the party’s already started,” Jen grumps, knowing he sounds like a total wet blanket.
“Damn straight - where you at?”
“We just got out of shooting. Where you wanna meet?”
“We’ll pick you up - gimme the address.”
He gives it to him, hangs up and says to Jared, “The madness has begun. My trailer in 10?”
Jared smiles, but for him it’s almost a sad smile.
“Dude, cheer up - it’ll be a blast. We might end up in jail, but it’ll totally be worth it.”
Jared’s mouth quirks at that and he raises an eyebrow.
“Go get ready!” He feels like a cheerleader again, trying to scare up some school spirit.
“Okay, okay. I’ll be by in a few.”
Jen goes to his trailer, changes his shirt three times before settling on his first choice, grabs his cigs, debates whether to put on some kind of aftershave or cologne or shit like that, but ends up washing his face instead.
This is ridiculous. We’re certainly not going to be picking up chicks with these fools, more like getting completely stoned and passing out on the couch in their hotel room. Suddenly he wishes he’d had time to take a shower. He judiciously chooses not to examine the correlation between the two thoughts.
A knock on the door, way too hesitant to be Mike.
“Come in!” Jen shouts from the bedroom, feeling unaccountably cheery all of a sudden.
Jared walks in and peers through the door at Jen.
Jen notes with a kind of petty satisfaction that Jared a) has also changed, and b) looks a little nervous.
Jensen grabs his leather jacket - well, technically it’s Dean’s leather jacket, but Jen wears it home now and again and no one makes a fuss - and grins at Jared. After a minute Jared returns it.
At that moment an unholy racket sounds outside.
“Oh, Jenny… where are youuuu?”
“Mike, you asshole - drunk already, or just stoned to the gills as usual?”
Fumbling at the door and Welling waltzes in, followed closely by Rosenbaum. They aren’t quite as fucked-up as they sound - but that’s not saying much.
Tom looks over and gives them the full wattage of his ridiculously gorgeous male model smile. It takes Jen’s breath away despite himself. He’d forgotten the guy’s absurd good looks - every time he sees Tom in person he thinks all over again that it makes perfect sense that he would play Superman, because he’s just that preternaturally attractive.
Mike’s chortling to himself.
“Stop leering, boys, he’s all mine!”
Welling blushes like a girl, all rosy cheeks and long lashes fluttering. “Will you shut the fuck up? You’re embarrassing me.”
“Oh, don’t be such a pussy.” He turns to Jensen. “Wassup bitch?”
“Nothin’, dickwad. This’s Jared.”
Jared’s smiling good-naturedly, like he’s met Mike’s type and knows how to handle him. “Hey Mike.” He nods at Tom, “Hey Tom.” They’d met on CBTD, Jensen belatedly remembers, feeling dickish.
“So what, you guys have a head start, we gotta catch up. Where’re we going?”
“I thought I’d show you kids a real good time and hit iDime.”
Jensen keeps his face immobile. Jared doesn’t know about this place - it’s notorious among Vancouver club kids for being completely balls-out insane.
“’Kay, let’s hit the road.”
They turn en masse and head outside, Mike and Jensen jostling playfully for the door. They’ve rented a giant SUV, natch - Jen calls shotgun and Tom’s driving. Somehow this surprises Jen, he’d always thought Mike was the brains of the operation and Tom just tagged along in his footsteps. On further consideration Jen decides that this makes Tom perfectly suited to play chauffeur.
No sooner are they out the driveway than Tom reaches across Jen to open the glove box, takes out an Altoids tin, and hands it back to Mike. Mike responds by smacking him upside the head.
“Thomas John Patrick Welling, where are your manners?” He says in a creditable Mom impersonation. “Guests first - you know that! Jenny, fire this puppy up for us, wouldya?”
He hands the tin to Jen, who’s laughing despite himself. Jensen opens it, takes out the expected joint and lighter, lights up and takes a decent-sized hit. He sees Jared smiling in the rearview mirror, and Jen can’t help himself, he takes one more before passing it to Tom, who gives him a mock-reproachful look.
“What? We’re so far behind you guys, c’mon, it’s only fair.”
Welling cracks that smile again, wryer this time, and takes a truly massive drag, filling the car with smoke. He looks at Jared in the rearview as well.
“Tell the truth, JT - you smoked out every day in high school, didn’t you?”
“Senior year, hell, yeah!”
Mike high-fives Jared like a total geek.
Ha, ha, hippie, Jen thinks, and then like an echo comes Dean’s voice in his head, college boy. Which is ridiculous, Jared didn’t even go to college. This would be a lot more disturbing to Jen if everything weren’t so deliciously furry right now. Damn, that came on fast.
“You wouldn’t be lying about that to try to look cool, would you now?” Tom says sternly, mock father. “Do you have any proof of this supposed mar-iju-ana smoking?”
Faintly Jen can hear Jared protesting Jesus, can’t you guys afford better weed than this? This is one step above skunk, but the sensation of his forehead against the cold window is way more interesting and relevant.
The next thing he knows, they’ve arrived. Like all really good clubs, it’s hidden away in a dingy-looking warehouse, and the line to get in stretches around the block. But “Roseybottom” knows the bouncer, of course, and gets them in in minutes.
Inside is a strange combination of diner booths and blacklighting. They crowd into a corner booth and order a pitcher of sangria, of all things. The music is appropriately trippy, some kind of swirling ambient stuff that Jen imagines Jared might like. He feels completely out of place and wishes they’d gone to a dive bar with a game on the crappy old TV and $2 CN domestic beers, the kind of place Dean and Sam frequent on the show.
* * * *
Two rounds later, things have started looking up. Jared’s nattering on the way he does, Tom’s pounding his drinks and ruining his manly image with fits of high-pitched giggling, and Jensen’s managing to hold his own by telling a few stories that make them cry with laughter. A hipster guy with Buddy Holly glasses comes over to talk to Rosenbaum and they go to the next table. A bit later Mike’s pouring another round.
Some chick comes over and Jared starts half-heartedly trying to make time with her. She’s completely oblivious to the death-stares from the Smallville contingent. Jared’s in full babble mode and Jensen doesn’t even bother trying to get a word in edgewise. His throat closes and he stands up suddenly.
“Gotta take a leak,” he mutters, to no one in particular. Making his way through the crush to the john, there are eyes on the back of his head the entire time, but he fights the urge to turn and look. It’s your imagination, dude. Either that or someone's recognized him.
The bathroom is unexpectedly empty. Thank God for small favors. Staring at the wall scrawled with the usual taunts and boasts, he feels his little emo cloud beginning to lift. Jen’s mood is like a ball, he thinks nonsensically, no sooner does it hit bottom (where dark things crawl) than it bounces back up into the light.
He’s still pissing when the door swings open and someone busts in and does that thing where they hit the backs of your knees with the front of their own, trying to make your legs bend unexpectedly. It works.
“Hey, what the...”
Totally caught off guard, Jen looks in the mirror and catches Tom’s gaze. Dude scares him sometimes. It’s like there’s no one home. He’s smarter than Clark, but not much. Definitely funnier - his impersonations were hysterical - but sometimes he just went blank and there was a creepy, almost psychotic look in his eyes. But with a face like Tom’s, no one was paying him for his brain. Or his social skills, for that matter.
Tom’s still pressed up against him and Jensen can feel the proof positive of something he’s long wondered in an offhand way, if the rumors were true that Welling was hung like a fucking horse.
Tom smiles lazily, beautiful and knowing it, wielding that beauty like a weapon, like a chick would do. And you want to hate them for it but you can’t quite do it, because they’re just that fucking beautiful. He slurs in Jen’s ear, “What’s the matter Jenny, don’t you like me?”
His voice buzzes and tickles all the way down Jen's spine; Jen gives an unwilling shiver in response. “Dude, I can’t go there. You know Rosenbaum’d hurt me if I even thought about it.”
Tom frowns and pouts, again just like a girl.
“What’s Mikey got to do with anything? Even my wife doesn’t have anything to do with it. I can fuck whoever I want.” His voice gets quieter, confidential. Something about it is very childlike and reminds Jen suddenly and bizarrely of Pee-Wee Herman, of all people. “And guess what?” Stage-whispering: “I do.”
He peers over Jen’s shoulder, at his cock which is just sort of hanging out there. Jen shakes off quickly, embarrassed, and tucks himself back in his pants. Tom gives a little “ohh” of disappointment.
“Look, man, I’m really… flattered, but you’re not my type.”
Tom scoffs. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. Hell I’ve seen the way you look at that Padalecki kid, like you’d just eat him up if you could get away with it.”
Jensen has nothing to say to this. His mouth dries up, and he busies himself with washing his hands, refusing to look in the mirror to meet the mocking gaze he knows is fixed on him.
Welling takes out a marker - Jen wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if he carried it with him especially for this purpose - and writes, “For a blow job call” thinks for a second “JT - 347-555-7672” then cackles his way out of the head and back to the booth. Jen gives him a minute’s head start - for appearances’ sake if nothing else - then follows suit.
They’ve put some kind of pseudo-disco ball lighting on - starshaped blobs of light swim steadily up the walls and over everyone’s faces. Jen’s eyes are drawn inexorably by the trail of stars crawling up Jared’s body, then stop with an almost physical thud when they meet Jared’s gaze. Jared’s smiling almost to himself, a private smile that makes Jen feel like he’s intruding on a moment of some kind. He slides into the booth, frowns, picks up the glass in front of him and drains it in three swallows. Only after slamming it back down does the taste register.
“Jesus Christ, what was that?”
Jared’s guffawing. “What’s the matter, don’t you like your sidecar?”
“What the…that was disgusting!”
“We asked the waitress to bring you the most disgusting drink she’d ever had, and she came back with that. It’s got, like, all the different kinds of liquor mixed together.”
“All of them nasty, apparently,” Jen says, without any real rancor. The foul concoction is hitting him like a punch to the gut. Jared’s still chuckling to himself.
“Tell the truth Jared,” Tom cuts in. “She actually said the most disgusting drink she’d ever had was a Tom & Jerry, but it’s seasonal. It, like, requires egg nog or something.”
“Yeah, he’s right,” Mike says solemnly. “So this is only second-most vomitous.”
Suddenly a wave of sleepiness sweeps over Jen. God, but he loved to sleep. Sometimes he thought almost more than anything - food, sex, even acting. Sleep was his drug, and he was totally hooked on it. In the mornings he would pimp out his own mama to get a few more minutes.
* * * *
Some time passes unawares. Jen finds himself moving towards the bar without any conscious effort. Everything in the room is flowing through him like milk and honey - the deep soft aura of blacklight over the bar, the ghostly glow of bottles beckoning, the electric pulse of a disembodied white shirt walking into view, the whites of everyone’s teeth flashing excellently as they talk and smile, each caught up in his or her own meaningless little world. Jen observes the pretty but does not interact with it, like a play staged especially for him. He is swaddled in velvety black cotton wool. Even the music is somehow less annoying now, it lingers like a flavor in the back of his mind, an aftertaste of soft narcotic throbbing.
Then he’s back at the table, not knowing how he got there. His skin is zinging, conducting electricity, drinking in the sound and the smoke-hazed air and the shockingly delicious sensation of the slightest movement, which makes it bloom and creep gently, thrillingly, and sets him to moving again for the sheer pleasure of it. Jen shifts restlessly on the booth to keep the electricity flowing and says to no one in particular, “God, I feel so delicious!”
Jared laughs, takes Jen’s hand in his bigger one (Jen feels the disparity acutely - like a delicate dainty girl), licks Jen’s palm in one long sloppy swipe like a dog and says, “Not bad. Kinda salty though.” It tickles; Jen can’t help but laugh. Jared smiles sideways, lazy, lips stained wine-red, and suddenly something has to be found interesting on the other side of the room or he will give in to the urge to touch Jared’s face and then it will be all over.
* * * *
Sometimes Jen finds himself wishing Sam and Dean are real. As Dean, he knows who he is. There’s no doubt in Dean’s mind what his purpose in life is - to take care of Sammy. And Dean would never take advantage of that trust, that love. He envies Dean’s purity, his force of conviction. Jensen’s own character is more vague, nebulous. He’s along for the ride, he wants the show to have a good run and hopes to be able to do some decent work. And working with Jared - hell,just being around Jared - brings something out in Jensen that he doesn’t know what to do with. Everything would just be so much simpler if he were Dean.
* * * *
Jared’s shirt is missing a button. The little gap fascinates Jen; it begs for something to fill the hole. He feels his hand moving towards it without conscious volition until suddenly poke, and amazingly Jared giggles and squirms slightly in his chair and says, “Quit tickling me,” but his skin is so wonderfully textured that Jen’s finger can’t help coming back for more. Jared can’t stop laughing, and it’s contagious; Jen finds himself joining in. There’s a pause and Jensen sags against Jared, unable to move. His bones are molten, liquefied; if they cut him open they’d find a gelatin skeleton. This strikes him as utterly hysterical. He laughs until he cries. Jared’s saying, “What? What?” and poking him in the ribs, which just makes him laugh harder.
Finally the avalanche of laughter trickles to a stop. Jared’s sprawled out loose-limbed like a puppy, all over his side of the booth; Jen’s leaning all his weight on him like a pillow. Mike and Tom are making out with a teenaged intensity Jen envies. They come up for air and Tom blinks at them, all mussed and flushed, eyes half-shut in the low light, lips pouty from kissing. He looks edible, a candy-cane replica of a person. Jen frowns, thinking. Something’s not right here. It takes him forever to figure out what it could be.
“Dude, either that weed was laced or you dosed me with something, I am totally tripping.”
Mike and Tom crack up. After what seems like an eternity they finally manage to choke out, “Yeah, enjoy the ride, boys!”
Tom’s smile is sly, teeth gleaming in the low light like Chiclets. “We’re on a roll.”
“Well, shit.” Jared’s drawl is thicker and more Texan than ever. “I know I should be pissed at y’all for doing this, but I’m way too happy to give a fuck.”
Jen says, “What he said. The only reason I’m not kicking your ass right now is that I’m too melted.”
This is the funniest thing ever spoken - all four of them die laughing. Even the laughter feels so extraordinarily good, the sweet tension of muscles is like a little orgasm or a sneeze. It’s like the first time I smoked pot, Jen realizes. Most people don’t even get high their first time, but he was the exception. God, it was so great. He remembers making out with Alicia for hours, how each kiss felt better than the one before, in an endless haze of slow time. He wants to do that again.
* * * *
“God, Dean’s jacket smells amazing.” Jared buries his face in Jen’s chest.
Jen shakes his head. “Not his jacket,” he says solemnly, “mine.”
Jared raises his head and looks at him for what feels like an eternity. His hazel gaze goes on forever, like a hall of amber mirrors, pupils dilated but steady.
“We’re not really related. You know that, right?”
What’s he playing at?
“You’re my brother.”
“No. I’m not.”
What does he want me to say? Somewhere in Jen’s brain, a thought is fighting to emerge. Finally he finds it:
“Okay, so you’re like a brother to me.”
Jared (Sam) smiles, slow and blinding, and says, “Ah, but ‘like’ does not equal ‘is’.”
Jensen (Dean) bursts out laughing.
“Wise words, Sensei! They teach you that in college?” (he didn’t go to college)
“Dean.” Suddenly he’s completely serious. “Sam wants you to.”
“Wants me to do what?”
“This,” and Jared/Sam leans over and kisses Jensen/Dean, and he’s seeing stars flowering behind his eyelids and his cells know that it’s all right, everything makes sense and it’s probably the X talking but suddenly he wants to take back every moment in his whole life that wasn’t spent doing this.
The tip of Jared’s tongue traces a line up Jen’s soft palate, and Jensen’s hips arch up to chase the motion, making him whimper into Jared’s mouth despite himself. That hot tongue is heavy and thick inside his mouth, filling him with a wet, breathless rush. He sucks it until it’s Jared’s turn to moan. Jen’s half-hard, throbbing in his pants like a teenager at the first mention of sex, and he’s torn between wanting to go somewhere more private (balls tightening at the mere thought of it), and the heavy, honey-laziness that makes everything so perfect, he couldn’t possibly move. Jared’s lips are too perfect, just the right size and shape, like they were designed to fit Jen’s, and he tastes…
“You taste smart.”
Mike, next to them on the booth (suspiciously flushed and Tom nowhere to be seen) howls with laughter at that. They hear a thump from under the table and Tom’s head appears, his hand rubbing it. “Ow,” he complains. Jen chuckles despite himself.
Jared’s looking at him, smiling slightly, and Jen feels it in his blood, how much he wants this. It fills him with sudden fear, and Jared seems to read it on his face; he leans forward and whispers in Jen's ear, “Worry about it tomorrow.” His huge hand is so warm on Jen’s back beneath his shirt, and Jen gives in, closes his eyes and lets it be.
His entire body is humming, skin singing like a tuning fork, resonating to Jared’s hands - everywhere they go, a slow trail of muted ecstasy follows, sparkling and golden, and echoes out across him like ripples on the surface of a pond, rolling back over and over and bouncing off each other. Here there is no want, no need, only pure pleasure - need implies a lack, and everything he could ask for is right here, awkwardly, perfectly wrapped in this gangly frame. No peaks of orgasm, no cessation of joy or pain of separation, only bliss everlastingly plateaued. He doesn’t need to strive for the white-hot, barely bearable shocks of le petit mort because he’s already achieved a long slow burn of pleasure, as if he were a candle, steady melting bliss.
Something is buzzing between them, trapped like a fly in the cracks of the seat cushion; it’s Jared’s phone vibrating away like a nun’s best friend, and after three thrilling rings it’s extracted and answered. Jared hangs up just before busting out laughing.
“OK, which one of you assholes was it?”
“I don’t know what you could possibly be referring to,” Mike, blurring elaborately.
“Someone obviously put my number on the bathroom wall.”
“Dude, good job!” Hi-fiving ensues.
“Whatever, Rosendork, now I’m going to have to change my number!”
“So? You could make it a better number, like maybe one spelling ‘BLOW-ME?”
Jensen is just still. The whirlwind goes on around him and he sits self-contained in the eye like a buoy. He feels hot and sweet pouring up his chest, a dry column of hot air like a chimney, sweeping from the banked coal in his gut. He is content in this moment and somehow that's enough.