Smoke & Lightning, Heavy Metal Thunder [27/?]
Master post.
Title: Smoke And Lightning, Heavy Metal Thunder (27/?)
Authors: bloody_adorable and eviltwin
Fandoms: Supernatural RPS
Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki.
Rating: PG to adult.
Wordcount: 4,597
Summary: AU. Jared's a classic case of rich kid gone wrong, whose only sense of family comes from his motorbike, the guy he rents a garage from to live in and the precinct cops who know his face better than most already. Jensen's a hard-working student whose family are helping push him towards great things. What happens when their two worlds collide, and will Jared's troublesome nature be too much for Jensen to handle?
Disclaimer: None of the following is true in any way, and no profit is made from this work of fiction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Sleeping in was one of the best parts of the weekend. Spending time with Jared in general was always great, but getting all warm and comfortably entangled with each other was the best. Part of Jensen felt bad that he didn't attend church anymore. Another part associated church with his father and, while some twisted little piece of him missed Alan and wished they could sort things out, the association was too much for him. Right now, anyway. He was still hurt from everything that had happened with Alan.
Breath hitching in his throat, Jensen awoke to the feel of kisses pressed to his back and shoulders. He mumbled a partial-protest, partial-encouragement and leaned back into the embrace. Jared's hands were busy underneath the covers, tracing the lines of muscle at Jensen's stomach, along his hips, and lower still.
"Mm, stop," Jensen finally said, his voice thick with sleep.
"Why?" Jared spoke hoarsely into his ear.
"Because," he laughed, pushing back against him. "I really have to take a leak, man."
Jared chuckled, his hands still exploring. "Well, you're already hard," he said. "Why don't we use it?"
"Because, I have to pee," Jensen said, louder this time. "Let me up."
Jared sighed and rolled onto his back, giving up. "Alright," he reluctantly agreed. "We should get going anyway."
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Jensen turned just enough to look at Jared. "For what?"
Jared tucked one of his arms behind his head, his other hand resting against his bare chest. "See if Eric can work on you some more?" he suggested. "Your bruises are looking pretty good."
Jensen looked down at his tattooed arm. It was true; he was healing fast. Oddly enough, the only bruise that seemed to be holding on with a vengeance was a faint handprint shaped around his left wrist, where one of Doug's boys had held him down. "Yeah," he agreed. "Okay. Dinner's on me. Thai?"
Jared smiled brighter. They would eat a late breakfast, so an early dinner would work out well. "I'd eat Thai food off of you," he teased.
Jensen rolled his eyes and chuckled softly. "Shut up," he returned. "You know what I mean."
Jensen hissed through his teeth, but tried not to pull away from Eric. The man was very good at his work, but he wasn't responsible for a mistake when his canvas kept jerking away from him. He had been a little stunned when he'd first laid eyes on Jensen, even though the bruises were fading.
"Jesus Christ, kid," he'd breathed. He took Jensen's chin in his hand and turned his head from side to side. "Who the hell fucked you up?"
Jensen had tried to smile, shrugging his shoulders. "Just some guys at school," he answered. "I'm okay."
"I hope you got a few shots in to those bastards, too."
"A few," he'd lied. He'd barely gotten one, but why go into that now?
Eric had examined his arm where there had been a bad bruise, and declared that they could work around the contusion for now. Each time he hurt Jensen, though, he apologized. "Sorry, kid," he said yet again. "You don't need no more hurt, and here I am being paid to hurt you."
"It's okay," he returned with a gentle smile. "Just a sensitive spot is all."
"I know a better sensitive spot," Jared grinned.
Eric peered over at Jared, pointing a latex-gloved finger at him. "Keep it in your pants, Padalecki," he warned.
"Jesus Christ, I'd better," Jared laughed. "Or else you might tattoo it."
Eric nodded, setting to work again on Jensen's sleeve. "I could at least make it look bigger," he replied, not missing a beat.
"Oh, ouch," Jared scowled with a hearty laugh. "Jensen doesn't have a problem with it. Well, sometimes, when he--"
"Jared," Eric warned. "No one's ever died in here before. Don't be the first."
Jared laughed and put his feet up. He stretched out, gazing up at some of the designs on the wall. He'd been thinking about getting another tattoo, maybe around his calf or something. He wasn't sure yet. He wondered how he could convince Jensen to get his nippled pierced next. That would be amazingly hot and it--
He must've lost himself in thinking because he suddenly realized the buzzing in the room had stopped and Eric was standing.
"Alright, we can stop there for a few minutes," the man said. "I gotta visit the used beer department." He stepped over the cords on the floor and headed to the bathroom.
Sprawled out on the cot, Jensen sighed and tried to relax. He glanced at the underside of his arm where Eric had been working. The bruises weren't bad there, just yellowing, and the bright blues of the ink underneath the surface looked much more cheerful than the scars of the beating.
"How you holding up?" Jared asked.
Jensen turned to look at him, setting his free hand to his bare belly, where his shirt was pooled. "Okay," he agreed. "Did you find a place for dinner?"
Jared tossed aside the Yellow Pages that he'd been perusing. "Yeah, we'll find a place. There's one I know of, really fantastic, about fifteen minutes away, depending on traffic."
"Okay."
With a rather evil grin, Jared moved in closer, wheeling his chair nearer so that he could give Jensen a kiss that lingered probably a little too long for Eric's taste. "You look fucking brilliant with that tat," he said. He heard Jensen mumble a disbelieving thank you, but his attention was already diverted, eyes downcast so that he looked at Jensen's chest. He reached out, brushed his fingertips over one of the dark pink nipples. "You should get rings next." He started to lean down, mouth open, to Jensen's chest.
Jensen squirmed underneath Jared's touch. He backed away as much as he could and used both hands to push at him. "Stop," he said. "Not here."
"Why not?" Jared grinned. "You were okay with it in the theater."
"No one could see us in the theater!"
Suddenly, Jared's chair was wheeled backwards, hard, and he bumped up against the desk that held ink and needles, and other supplies. Smiling, Jared looked up to find Eric there beside him. "Hi," he said innocently.
"It's hard enough working around those bruises, Padalecki," Eric reprimanded. "I don't need to work around his hard-on, too."
Mortified, Jensen could feel his ears growing hot, his face turning bright red. If he could have, he would have crawled underneath the paper towels Eric had set out. He heard Jared's laughter, but he didn't see the two men mock wrestling, wrapped up in his own embarassed little world.
The bike needed gas. Jared pulled into a station and set the kickstand. Jensen's arm burned where Eric had worked on him, but he already knew the rewards of such pain. He got off the bike and stretched. "I gotta use the bathroom," he said. He headed around the side of the building while Jared started to fuel up the bike.
On his way out of the restroom, Jensen heard his cell phone chirp at him. He stopped walking, reached into his jeans pocket and fished out his cell. He didn't think to look at the caller ID, and flipped it open to pick up the call. It was a bad connection, staticky and crackling.
"Hello?"
"--nsen? Th--our--fa."
Scowling, Jensen took a few steps away from the building, thinking maybe that would help. "Hello?" he said again.
"Hello."
That word came through clearly, and Jensen felt a rush of adrenaline hit his veins. "Dad?"
"Of course."
He didn't know why Alan was calling him, and for a moment, he was scared again, just like he had been when he was living at home. The feeling quickly passed though, leaving him to wonder if he should just hang up. "What's wrong?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
"I've been thinking, JR," Alan said, his words slurring as he spoke. "I have to tell you something."
"Are you drunk, Dad?" He looked down at his watch. It was barely six in the evening. It wasn't unusual for Alan to get drunk, but it was a little early for him.
"I am slightly inebriated, yes," Alan agreed. "But that's not the point."
Even though Jensen could readily envision his father's heavy lidded eyes glaring over at him, each eye blinking independently of the other, he tried to sound annoyed. "Alright, so what?" he asked.
There was a hiss of static, a few popping noises and only the tail-end of Alan's words reached Jensen's ears.
"What?"
After another crackle from the bad connection, Alan's voice became audible again. "I said I'm sorry."
Jensen had never heard those words come from his father. Furrowing his brow, he could feel his head start to pound. "Sorry?" he repeated. "For what?"
"I can't do this anymore, Jensen."
He didn't like it. "Can't do what?" he asked. "Dad, what are you talking about?"
There was a pause, one that Jensen was sure was filled with a frown and a disappointed, drunken headshake. "I can't pretend that I'm okay with this," he explained.
Shaking his own head, Jensen refused to accept that as an answer. He knew what his Dad wasn't okay with, why was that anything new? "You know I'm willing to work on anything here, Dad. Tell me what to do."
Alan chuckled just barely loud enough for Jensen to hear. "Anything? Only not the one thing I asked of you."
"We can get over that, Dad. Please..."
"I can't," he returned. "I don't think I am willing."
There was the truth. Alan didn't want to fight for his son, to work out any differences they had. He had a son that he didn't care to admit was his and that hurt more than Jensen thought it would have. He used to think he didn't care, but now he knew that wasn't true. "Dad," he spoke.
"I certainly can't stop you from seeing your mother, or your sister and brother," Alan continued, ignoring Jensen's pleading tone. "I would prefer, however, that you do not show up at the house. And I, of course, will not take your calls or your company."
He was drunk. He was fucking drunk and he didn't mean any of it. But no matter how many times Jensen told himself that, he knew it wasn't true. "Dad." His eyes burned.
"I'm sorry, Jensen," he said again. "This is how it has to be."
"Dad, please."
“Goodbye, Jensen."
And the phone cut out. Jensen tried to breathe, but found that it hurt him to do so. No matter what differences he and his father had, he had always thought that, while a rift would always remain between them, they could at least repair some of the damage Jensen had inflicted upon the family. His eyes burned with tears that he didn't want to let fall. He ran his tongue over his teeth and cleared his throat, doing his best to compose himself before heading back over to Jared. Pinching at the bridge of his nose and wiping at his eyes, he rid himself of any evidence of tears and then pocketed his cell phone.
Jared turned when he heard Jensen's footsteps. He could tell something was wrong, but he didn't push the subject more than to ask if everything was alright.
"Yeah," Jensen answered, nodding his head. "Let's go."
Dancing hadn't been what interested him that night. Instead, Jensen found comfort at the bar, downing one shot after another, kicking back as many beers as he could. He liked the bite of the alcohol, how it made his head swim, his thoughts cloudy.
Not cloudy enough, though. He could still recall his father's words, could still tell how they had affected him. He could still feel and he didn't like it.
Looking around the bar, Jensen's gaze finally landed upon Jared. He was a fair distance away, talking to two women. They clearly thought they had a chance with him, and Jensen felt jealousy surge through him. Of course they thought they had a chance with him. Maybe they did, he decided. After all, Jared had hinted that he'd played both sides before.
Gritting his teeth, Jensen turned away from Jared and the women. He closed his eyes, listening to the pounding bass in the club. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again, gaze falling to the shot glass before him. Raising the shot to his mouth, Jensen was just about to drink it down when someone's hand reached out and stopped him. He looked over to find Jared beside him.
"You're going to regret that in the morning," Jared warned.
Jensen pulled out of his grasp, still looking at him. "Yeah, well, I won't now," he said, his temper on a much shorter fuse than usual.
Jared watched him down the shot, grunting and shaking his head against the bite and burn of alcohol in his throat and chest. "You want to talk about it?"
"You know what I want?" Jensen said, turning to him. "I want to fucking dance." He stepped closer to Jared, nose to nose. "And I want to fucking dance with you."
Jared didn't like Jensen when he was angry and drunk, but he wasn't going to get anything out of him by pushing and shoving. He'd learned that much about the young man. Nodding his head, Jared agreed to a dance. As he moved out to the floor, he signalled to the bartender, waving his hand near his throat, silently telling the barkeep that Jensen was cut off for the night.
Though they both kept their shirts on this time, there was the same amount of bumping hips, grinding motions, arched backs and exploring hands. Jensen put his back up against Jared's chest, reaching back to pull Jared's mouth down to his throat. Jared let him, a watchful eye upon Jensen's movements. He noticed that Jensen moved harder than he did before, his actions angry and intoxicated. He danced with his eyes closed, arms swinging, feet keeping time with the music, shutting out everyone and everything.
Not seeing where he was going, Jensen bumped hard into another patron at the club. He opened his eyes and looked over at the man, already angry for being interrupted. "Watch where you're going, asshole," he spat.
The man, at least three inches taller than Jensen, glared down at him. "Why don't you watch your fuckin' fagass, first?" he snarled back.
Jensen stared at the man for only a second more before he hauled himself at him. He was the first to swing, the first to land a decent punch, but the guy was up and charging at Jensen in a heartbeat. Jared quickly put himself between them, pushing the patron back to where he had been. When the crowd joined in, both sides restraining the fighting men, Jared looked back over to Jensen.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.
"Kicking his ass!" Jensen nearly yelled. "You taught me."
Jared shook his head at him. "I taught you to defend yourself, not be a class A jerk." He turned to the enraged patron and pulled out a couple of bills from his wallet. He said something to the man, probably an apology for Jensen's behavior, stuffed the bills in his hand and turned back to Jensen. "Come on," he snarled. "We're out of here."
The ride back had been a chilly one. Jensen had worked up a good sweat dancing and seething with anger. When they got back to the garage, he ransacked Jared's things to find a sweatshirt to pull over the faded Spinal Tap T-shirt he had previously swiped.
He snagged a beer from the refrigerator, ignoring Jared's concerned look. He flipped the twist-off cap across the room and headed back up the ladder again.
Jared had only showed him once that they could get out onto the roof of the garage. Jensen had declared a fear of heights and admitted that even the second floor of the loft was almost too much. He had rarely, if ever, ventured out on the roof. Until now. A beer rested between his knees, the hooded sweatshirt pulled tight over his frame, the sleeves too long and covering most of his fiingers. He heard the footsteps behind him, but didn't turn around to see who it was. He knew it was Jared, and he knew he would probably have to tell him what had happened. He didn't want to. He just wanted to be left alone for a little while.
"I thought you didn't like coming out here," Jared grunted as he sat down behind Jensen.
Jensen looked up at the stars. "I just wanted to tonight."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "Just felt like being alone."
"What's up?"
"Stars."
Jared smirked and put his arms around Jensen. "You know what I mean, wiseass."
Jensen leaned back against him. He wanted to collapse completely into Jared's arms, but he was still mulling everything over. "Nothing," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "I'm just hanging out."
Jared smiled and planted a kiss to the side of Jensen's head. "Liar," he said. "Come on. The way you've been acting tonight, something's wrong."
Jensen shook his head.
"I was going to let you come to me, but that's clearly not going to happen," he continued. "So come on. Out with it."
"Know what we should do?" he asked, avoiding the topic of conversation. "We should take a road trip down route sixty-six sometime. Wouldn't that be great?" His speech was awkward, slightly slurred, but at least he was still coherent.
"Jensen."
"Someday, you should open a bar, too," he continued.
"I didn't come out here to talk about operating a bar someday," he chided. "I came out to see what's wrong."
"But you'd be great at running one," Jensen said. "People just, they flock to you, no matter where you are."
"Jen, come on."
"I don't know if it'd be better in the city or out in the middle of nowhere though," he replied. "What do you think?"
Sighing, Jared pushed Jensen back up to sit up on his own. He got up from his place on the garage roof and headed back inside. "Come talk to me, when you can stop being an asshole."
Jensen's forced smile faded and he sighed. Why couldn't Jared have just left him alone, and let him work through this? Now he had Dad and Jared pissed off at him. It wasn't that he didn't trust Jared. He just had wanted to drown his sorrows for a little while and forget who he was, where he was. He lay out flat on the roof, one arm flung over his eyes as he tried to put away his hurt feelings for now. Sitting up, he finished off the last of his beer and finally made his way back into the garage, teetering slightly. Jared was laying in bed, wearing drawstring sweatpants and looking over a manual for the Ducati.
The lights in the garage seemed overly bright. He squinted for a minute until his eyes adjusted. He felt a wave of drunken exhaustion hit him, and he wanted nothing more than to declare this day over. "He disowned me," he finally spoke.
At those three words, Jared looked over to Jensen, sudden concern and sympathy shining in his eyes. "What?"
Jensen shrugged, hoping that his eyes felt hot only because he was tired, not because he was on the verge of tears. "He disowned me."
"He... Can he do that?"
Laughing, Jensen nodded his head. "He can do whatever he wants. He's Alan fucking Ackles."
Only one tear slid down Jensen's face before Jared was on his feet and moving towards him. He pulled Jensen into his arms with probably a bit too much force and held him tightly. His jaw clenched, his anger now directed towards the man that had hurt Jensen. He closed his eyes for a moment when he heard Jensen sniffle back his tears. Pulling back enough to look into Jensen's eyes, Jared set his palm to the side of the young man's head. "Come to bed," he said. "We'll forget about all of this for a little while."
While he didn't particularly feel like doing anything other than crying and sleeping, Jensen agreed. He wanted to do anything to make him forget the phone conversation he'd had with Alan. Jared didn't take over like he'd thought he would though. Instead, he helped Jensen out of his clothes, all but his boxer briefs and maneuvered him into bed. He bundled Jensen up in his arms and the blankets of the bed and curled around him, pressing his chest to Jensen's back. He flicked off the light and in just a few minutes, Jensen's eyes grew heavy, his limbs felt like they were made of lead, but at the same time lighter than air. He felt himself start to give in to the exhaustion that had been trying to take over for quite awhile.
"Jay?"
"Hm?"
"Who was your first?"
He didn't know where the sudden curiosity had come from, but he wanted to squash it. "Jen, shut up," he reprimanded gently.
Against protest from every fiber of his being, Jensen moved. He turned around to face Jared, draping one of his arms over the man's waist. "Come on," he asked again. "Tell me?"
"Why?"
"Because I want to know."
Jared shook his head and smiled. "You don't need to know."
"Was it Trevor?"
He closed his eyes for a moment. "No," he answered.
"Who, then?"
"Jensen, I'm not going to play--"
Abruptly, Jensen silenced him with a kiss, warm and wet. He kept his eyes open to watch him, touched his tongue to Jared's. When he eased back, he stayed close enough to let their lips brush up against each other's. "Tell me," he said softly. "Please?"
Jared eyed him for a moment, unsure if he should go through with it. It didn't matter, because it was before he'd met Jensen, he knew, but a part of him, no matter how much he loved and trusted Jensen, told him to keep some secrets to himself. Finally, he sighed and gave in. "Alright," he said. "I was fourteen. His name was Jamie. I was with him and his girlfriend."
Even at fourteen, Jared had been a player in a game that Jensen had never been part of before. It didn't really surprise Jensen, of course. He wasn't jealous; he loved Jared no matter what. He just wished he could have met him all those years ago. "He was your first?"
Jared nodded. "Yeah."
"For everything?"
He nodded again. "For everything."
"He sounds nice."
"He was," he agreed.
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know," he replied.
Apparently satisfied, Jensen turned to lay back down in the bed next to Jared as he had been before. He felt Jared's arms curl around him, chest to his back, and the warmth sank into his bones again. His eyes grew heavy once more and he started to drift off.
"Jay?"
"What, Jen?"
"You're my first."
Jared leaned in slightly and pressed a kiss to the back of Jensen's head. He was struck by the sudden swell of love he felt in his heart at those few words. "I know," he said into his hair.
Monday morning arrived with cold sunshine and chirping birds. It also arrived with a shake to Jared's shoulder. "Jay."
He awoke quickly, taking a deep breath and turning over to find Jeffrey beside him. "Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse, heavy with sleep.
"You should check on Jensen in a little while," Jeffrey returned. "He's not feeling so hot."
Jared swiped his hands over his face, beard stubble scratching at his palms. "Beer before liquor makes you sicker," he almost chanted. He nodded to Jeffrey and patted the man's shoulder. "Thanks, I'll get him to school."
Jeffrey smiled. "I'm not sure he's going anywhere today."
"That bad?"
He nodded. "That bad." He straighened and headed to the ladder. "I'm out of here early, Jay. Hopefully, I can get home early."
"Later," Jared said with a floppy, sleepy wave of his hand.
Jared took a few minutes to completely wake himself up. They had finally gotten to bed around 3 AM, or thereabouts, and four hours of sleep wasn't nearly enough. As he lay in bed, still warm and comfortable, he started to feel himself slip back into unconsciousness. Forcing his eyes open wide, Jared made himself rise up out of the bed and get dressed. He managed to add a double-layered Teeshirt along with his sweatpants and padded barefoot into the house. He didn't hear the sound of the shower, or the strange song of someone brushing their teeth. Usually Jensen was making a good amount of noise by now.
Heading into the bathroom, Jared stopped in the doorway and leaned against the jamb. The room smelled of sickness. Jensen was on the floor, curled up near the toilet so that he could throw up at a moment's notice. Jared had been there, done that. It wasn't fun. Pushing away from the jamb, Jared knelt down beside Jensen and touched his shoulder.
Jensen awoke abruptly, as if he'd been shaken violently. His gaze immediately landed on Jared, eyes bloodshot and accented with dark rings underneath the bottom row of long lashes. "Jay," he said, looking around the room. He seemed confused, as though he hadn't put himself in the bathroom. "What time is it?"
"Time to get you into bed," he returned. "You mixed your liquors, son. That's a big no-no."
"No, I have school," he told him. "Today's Monday, isn't it?"
Jared nodded. "Today's Monday," he agreed. "But you're not going to make it. You're a wreck." He took hold of Jensen's arms, planning on pulling him up to his feet, but Jensen instantly tried to work out of his grasp.
"Don't," he said. "I just want to lay here."
"You can't lay here," Jared argued.
"Why not?"
"What if someone has to take a piss?"
"Work around me," Jensen offered.
Jared sighed and hauled Jensen to his feet with remarkable difficulty. "Come on," he encouraged, slinging Jensen's arm around his shoulders. Jensen groaned the whole time, so sure that his stomach was going to revolt against him. Instead of heading back out to the garage, Jared maneuvered Jensen into Jeffrey's bedroom. He set him down on the mattress and forced him to lay down. He pulled the covers up to his chin and found the trash bin in the room. He set it beside the bed and told Jensen that it was there in case he felt sick. But Jensen's eyes had been closed since he'd sat down on Jeffrey's bed. He was asleep again in seconds.
Jared watched him, remembering the time he had done the same thing, and Jeffrey made him go to school anyway. He'd been just sixteen years old, and it was a hard lesson learned. A voice in the back of his head told him to wake Jensen and force him off to school. Lesson learned. Another voice told him that he had only gotten drunk because of what Alan had said to him, and there was no reason to add insult to injury. Best to just let him sleep it off.
--TBC--
Title: Smoke And Lightning, Heavy Metal Thunder (27/?)
Authors: bloody_adorable and eviltwin
Fandoms: Supernatural RPS
Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki.
Rating: PG to adult.
Wordcount: 4,597
Summary: AU. Jared's a classic case of rich kid gone wrong, whose only sense of family comes from his motorbike, the guy he rents a garage from to live in and the precinct cops who know his face better than most already. Jensen's a hard-working student whose family are helping push him towards great things. What happens when their two worlds collide, and will Jared's troublesome nature be too much for Jensen to handle?
Disclaimer: None of the following is true in any way, and no profit is made from this work of fiction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Sleeping in was one of the best parts of the weekend. Spending time with Jared in general was always great, but getting all warm and comfortably entangled with each other was the best. Part of Jensen felt bad that he didn't attend church anymore. Another part associated church with his father and, while some twisted little piece of him missed Alan and wished they could sort things out, the association was too much for him. Right now, anyway. He was still hurt from everything that had happened with Alan.
Breath hitching in his throat, Jensen awoke to the feel of kisses pressed to his back and shoulders. He mumbled a partial-protest, partial-encouragement and leaned back into the embrace. Jared's hands were busy underneath the covers, tracing the lines of muscle at Jensen's stomach, along his hips, and lower still.
"Mm, stop," Jensen finally said, his voice thick with sleep.
"Why?" Jared spoke hoarsely into his ear.
"Because," he laughed, pushing back against him. "I really have to take a leak, man."
Jared chuckled, his hands still exploring. "Well, you're already hard," he said. "Why don't we use it?"
"Because, I have to pee," Jensen said, louder this time. "Let me up."
Jared sighed and rolled onto his back, giving up. "Alright," he reluctantly agreed. "We should get going anyway."
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Jensen turned just enough to look at Jared. "For what?"
Jared tucked one of his arms behind his head, his other hand resting against his bare chest. "See if Eric can work on you some more?" he suggested. "Your bruises are looking pretty good."
Jensen looked down at his tattooed arm. It was true; he was healing fast. Oddly enough, the only bruise that seemed to be holding on with a vengeance was a faint handprint shaped around his left wrist, where one of Doug's boys had held him down. "Yeah," he agreed. "Okay. Dinner's on me. Thai?"
Jared smiled brighter. They would eat a late breakfast, so an early dinner would work out well. "I'd eat Thai food off of you," he teased.
Jensen rolled his eyes and chuckled softly. "Shut up," he returned. "You know what I mean."
Jensen hissed through his teeth, but tried not to pull away from Eric. The man was very good at his work, but he wasn't responsible for a mistake when his canvas kept jerking away from him. He had been a little stunned when he'd first laid eyes on Jensen, even though the bruises were fading.
"Jesus Christ, kid," he'd breathed. He took Jensen's chin in his hand and turned his head from side to side. "Who the hell fucked you up?"
Jensen had tried to smile, shrugging his shoulders. "Just some guys at school," he answered. "I'm okay."
"I hope you got a few shots in to those bastards, too."
"A few," he'd lied. He'd barely gotten one, but why go into that now?
Eric had examined his arm where there had been a bad bruise, and declared that they could work around the contusion for now. Each time he hurt Jensen, though, he apologized. "Sorry, kid," he said yet again. "You don't need no more hurt, and here I am being paid to hurt you."
"It's okay," he returned with a gentle smile. "Just a sensitive spot is all."
"I know a better sensitive spot," Jared grinned.
Eric peered over at Jared, pointing a latex-gloved finger at him. "Keep it in your pants, Padalecki," he warned.
"Jesus Christ, I'd better," Jared laughed. "Or else you might tattoo it."
Eric nodded, setting to work again on Jensen's sleeve. "I could at least make it look bigger," he replied, not missing a beat.
"Oh, ouch," Jared scowled with a hearty laugh. "Jensen doesn't have a problem with it. Well, sometimes, when he--"
"Jared," Eric warned. "No one's ever died in here before. Don't be the first."
Jared laughed and put his feet up. He stretched out, gazing up at some of the designs on the wall. He'd been thinking about getting another tattoo, maybe around his calf or something. He wasn't sure yet. He wondered how he could convince Jensen to get his nippled pierced next. That would be amazingly hot and it--
He must've lost himself in thinking because he suddenly realized the buzzing in the room had stopped and Eric was standing.
"Alright, we can stop there for a few minutes," the man said. "I gotta visit the used beer department." He stepped over the cords on the floor and headed to the bathroom.
Sprawled out on the cot, Jensen sighed and tried to relax. He glanced at the underside of his arm where Eric had been working. The bruises weren't bad there, just yellowing, and the bright blues of the ink underneath the surface looked much more cheerful than the scars of the beating.
"How you holding up?" Jared asked.
Jensen turned to look at him, setting his free hand to his bare belly, where his shirt was pooled. "Okay," he agreed. "Did you find a place for dinner?"
Jared tossed aside the Yellow Pages that he'd been perusing. "Yeah, we'll find a place. There's one I know of, really fantastic, about fifteen minutes away, depending on traffic."
"Okay."
With a rather evil grin, Jared moved in closer, wheeling his chair nearer so that he could give Jensen a kiss that lingered probably a little too long for Eric's taste. "You look fucking brilliant with that tat," he said. He heard Jensen mumble a disbelieving thank you, but his attention was already diverted, eyes downcast so that he looked at Jensen's chest. He reached out, brushed his fingertips over one of the dark pink nipples. "You should get rings next." He started to lean down, mouth open, to Jensen's chest.
Jensen squirmed underneath Jared's touch. He backed away as much as he could and used both hands to push at him. "Stop," he said. "Not here."
"Why not?" Jared grinned. "You were okay with it in the theater."
"No one could see us in the theater!"
Suddenly, Jared's chair was wheeled backwards, hard, and he bumped up against the desk that held ink and needles, and other supplies. Smiling, Jared looked up to find Eric there beside him. "Hi," he said innocently.
"It's hard enough working around those bruises, Padalecki," Eric reprimanded. "I don't need to work around his hard-on, too."
Mortified, Jensen could feel his ears growing hot, his face turning bright red. If he could have, he would have crawled underneath the paper towels Eric had set out. He heard Jared's laughter, but he didn't see the two men mock wrestling, wrapped up in his own embarassed little world.
The bike needed gas. Jared pulled into a station and set the kickstand. Jensen's arm burned where Eric had worked on him, but he already knew the rewards of such pain. He got off the bike and stretched. "I gotta use the bathroom," he said. He headed around the side of the building while Jared started to fuel up the bike.
On his way out of the restroom, Jensen heard his cell phone chirp at him. He stopped walking, reached into his jeans pocket and fished out his cell. He didn't think to look at the caller ID, and flipped it open to pick up the call. It was a bad connection, staticky and crackling.
"Hello?"
"--nsen? Th--our--fa."
Scowling, Jensen took a few steps away from the building, thinking maybe that would help. "Hello?" he said again.
"Hello."
That word came through clearly, and Jensen felt a rush of adrenaline hit his veins. "Dad?"
"Of course."
He didn't know why Alan was calling him, and for a moment, he was scared again, just like he had been when he was living at home. The feeling quickly passed though, leaving him to wonder if he should just hang up. "What's wrong?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
"I've been thinking, JR," Alan said, his words slurring as he spoke. "I have to tell you something."
"Are you drunk, Dad?" He looked down at his watch. It was barely six in the evening. It wasn't unusual for Alan to get drunk, but it was a little early for him.
"I am slightly inebriated, yes," Alan agreed. "But that's not the point."
Even though Jensen could readily envision his father's heavy lidded eyes glaring over at him, each eye blinking independently of the other, he tried to sound annoyed. "Alright, so what?" he asked.
There was a hiss of static, a few popping noises and only the tail-end of Alan's words reached Jensen's ears.
"What?"
After another crackle from the bad connection, Alan's voice became audible again. "I said I'm sorry."
Jensen had never heard those words come from his father. Furrowing his brow, he could feel his head start to pound. "Sorry?" he repeated. "For what?"
"I can't do this anymore, Jensen."
He didn't like it. "Can't do what?" he asked. "Dad, what are you talking about?"
There was a pause, one that Jensen was sure was filled with a frown and a disappointed, drunken headshake. "I can't pretend that I'm okay with this," he explained.
Shaking his own head, Jensen refused to accept that as an answer. He knew what his Dad wasn't okay with, why was that anything new? "You know I'm willing to work on anything here, Dad. Tell me what to do."
Alan chuckled just barely loud enough for Jensen to hear. "Anything? Only not the one thing I asked of you."
"We can get over that, Dad. Please..."
"I can't," he returned. "I don't think I am willing."
There was the truth. Alan didn't want to fight for his son, to work out any differences they had. He had a son that he didn't care to admit was his and that hurt more than Jensen thought it would have. He used to think he didn't care, but now he knew that wasn't true. "Dad," he spoke.
"I certainly can't stop you from seeing your mother, or your sister and brother," Alan continued, ignoring Jensen's pleading tone. "I would prefer, however, that you do not show up at the house. And I, of course, will not take your calls or your company."
He was drunk. He was fucking drunk and he didn't mean any of it. But no matter how many times Jensen told himself that, he knew it wasn't true. "Dad." His eyes burned.
"I'm sorry, Jensen," he said again. "This is how it has to be."
"Dad, please."
“Goodbye, Jensen."
And the phone cut out. Jensen tried to breathe, but found that it hurt him to do so. No matter what differences he and his father had, he had always thought that, while a rift would always remain between them, they could at least repair some of the damage Jensen had inflicted upon the family. His eyes burned with tears that he didn't want to let fall. He ran his tongue over his teeth and cleared his throat, doing his best to compose himself before heading back over to Jared. Pinching at the bridge of his nose and wiping at his eyes, he rid himself of any evidence of tears and then pocketed his cell phone.
Jared turned when he heard Jensen's footsteps. He could tell something was wrong, but he didn't push the subject more than to ask if everything was alright.
"Yeah," Jensen answered, nodding his head. "Let's go."
Dancing hadn't been what interested him that night. Instead, Jensen found comfort at the bar, downing one shot after another, kicking back as many beers as he could. He liked the bite of the alcohol, how it made his head swim, his thoughts cloudy.
Not cloudy enough, though. He could still recall his father's words, could still tell how they had affected him. He could still feel and he didn't like it.
Looking around the bar, Jensen's gaze finally landed upon Jared. He was a fair distance away, talking to two women. They clearly thought they had a chance with him, and Jensen felt jealousy surge through him. Of course they thought they had a chance with him. Maybe they did, he decided. After all, Jared had hinted that he'd played both sides before.
Gritting his teeth, Jensen turned away from Jared and the women. He closed his eyes, listening to the pounding bass in the club. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again, gaze falling to the shot glass before him. Raising the shot to his mouth, Jensen was just about to drink it down when someone's hand reached out and stopped him. He looked over to find Jared beside him.
"You're going to regret that in the morning," Jared warned.
Jensen pulled out of his grasp, still looking at him. "Yeah, well, I won't now," he said, his temper on a much shorter fuse than usual.
Jared watched him down the shot, grunting and shaking his head against the bite and burn of alcohol in his throat and chest. "You want to talk about it?"
"You know what I want?" Jensen said, turning to him. "I want to fucking dance." He stepped closer to Jared, nose to nose. "And I want to fucking dance with you."
Jared didn't like Jensen when he was angry and drunk, but he wasn't going to get anything out of him by pushing and shoving. He'd learned that much about the young man. Nodding his head, Jared agreed to a dance. As he moved out to the floor, he signalled to the bartender, waving his hand near his throat, silently telling the barkeep that Jensen was cut off for the night.
Though they both kept their shirts on this time, there was the same amount of bumping hips, grinding motions, arched backs and exploring hands. Jensen put his back up against Jared's chest, reaching back to pull Jared's mouth down to his throat. Jared let him, a watchful eye upon Jensen's movements. He noticed that Jensen moved harder than he did before, his actions angry and intoxicated. He danced with his eyes closed, arms swinging, feet keeping time with the music, shutting out everyone and everything.
Not seeing where he was going, Jensen bumped hard into another patron at the club. He opened his eyes and looked over at the man, already angry for being interrupted. "Watch where you're going, asshole," he spat.
The man, at least three inches taller than Jensen, glared down at him. "Why don't you watch your fuckin' fagass, first?" he snarled back.
Jensen stared at the man for only a second more before he hauled himself at him. He was the first to swing, the first to land a decent punch, but the guy was up and charging at Jensen in a heartbeat. Jared quickly put himself between them, pushing the patron back to where he had been. When the crowd joined in, both sides restraining the fighting men, Jared looked back over to Jensen.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.
"Kicking his ass!" Jensen nearly yelled. "You taught me."
Jared shook his head at him. "I taught you to defend yourself, not be a class A jerk." He turned to the enraged patron and pulled out a couple of bills from his wallet. He said something to the man, probably an apology for Jensen's behavior, stuffed the bills in his hand and turned back to Jensen. "Come on," he snarled. "We're out of here."
The ride back had been a chilly one. Jensen had worked up a good sweat dancing and seething with anger. When they got back to the garage, he ransacked Jared's things to find a sweatshirt to pull over the faded Spinal Tap T-shirt he had previously swiped.
He snagged a beer from the refrigerator, ignoring Jared's concerned look. He flipped the twist-off cap across the room and headed back up the ladder again.
Jared had only showed him once that they could get out onto the roof of the garage. Jensen had declared a fear of heights and admitted that even the second floor of the loft was almost too much. He had rarely, if ever, ventured out on the roof. Until now. A beer rested between his knees, the hooded sweatshirt pulled tight over his frame, the sleeves too long and covering most of his fiingers. He heard the footsteps behind him, but didn't turn around to see who it was. He knew it was Jared, and he knew he would probably have to tell him what had happened. He didn't want to. He just wanted to be left alone for a little while.
"I thought you didn't like coming out here," Jared grunted as he sat down behind Jensen.
Jensen looked up at the stars. "I just wanted to tonight."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "Just felt like being alone."
"What's up?"
"Stars."
Jared smirked and put his arms around Jensen. "You know what I mean, wiseass."
Jensen leaned back against him. He wanted to collapse completely into Jared's arms, but he was still mulling everything over. "Nothing," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "I'm just hanging out."
Jared smiled and planted a kiss to the side of Jensen's head. "Liar," he said. "Come on. The way you've been acting tonight, something's wrong."
Jensen shook his head.
"I was going to let you come to me, but that's clearly not going to happen," he continued. "So come on. Out with it."
"Know what we should do?" he asked, avoiding the topic of conversation. "We should take a road trip down route sixty-six sometime. Wouldn't that be great?" His speech was awkward, slightly slurred, but at least he was still coherent.
"Jensen."
"Someday, you should open a bar, too," he continued.
"I didn't come out here to talk about operating a bar someday," he chided. "I came out to see what's wrong."
"But you'd be great at running one," Jensen said. "People just, they flock to you, no matter where you are."
"Jen, come on."
"I don't know if it'd be better in the city or out in the middle of nowhere though," he replied. "What do you think?"
Sighing, Jared pushed Jensen back up to sit up on his own. He got up from his place on the garage roof and headed back inside. "Come talk to me, when you can stop being an asshole."
Jensen's forced smile faded and he sighed. Why couldn't Jared have just left him alone, and let him work through this? Now he had Dad and Jared pissed off at him. It wasn't that he didn't trust Jared. He just had wanted to drown his sorrows for a little while and forget who he was, where he was. He lay out flat on the roof, one arm flung over his eyes as he tried to put away his hurt feelings for now. Sitting up, he finished off the last of his beer and finally made his way back into the garage, teetering slightly. Jared was laying in bed, wearing drawstring sweatpants and looking over a manual for the Ducati.
The lights in the garage seemed overly bright. He squinted for a minute until his eyes adjusted. He felt a wave of drunken exhaustion hit him, and he wanted nothing more than to declare this day over. "He disowned me," he finally spoke.
At those three words, Jared looked over to Jensen, sudden concern and sympathy shining in his eyes. "What?"
Jensen shrugged, hoping that his eyes felt hot only because he was tired, not because he was on the verge of tears. "He disowned me."
"He... Can he do that?"
Laughing, Jensen nodded his head. "He can do whatever he wants. He's Alan fucking Ackles."
Only one tear slid down Jensen's face before Jared was on his feet and moving towards him. He pulled Jensen into his arms with probably a bit too much force and held him tightly. His jaw clenched, his anger now directed towards the man that had hurt Jensen. He closed his eyes for a moment when he heard Jensen sniffle back his tears. Pulling back enough to look into Jensen's eyes, Jared set his palm to the side of the young man's head. "Come to bed," he said. "We'll forget about all of this for a little while."
While he didn't particularly feel like doing anything other than crying and sleeping, Jensen agreed. He wanted to do anything to make him forget the phone conversation he'd had with Alan. Jared didn't take over like he'd thought he would though. Instead, he helped Jensen out of his clothes, all but his boxer briefs and maneuvered him into bed. He bundled Jensen up in his arms and the blankets of the bed and curled around him, pressing his chest to Jensen's back. He flicked off the light and in just a few minutes, Jensen's eyes grew heavy, his limbs felt like they were made of lead, but at the same time lighter than air. He felt himself start to give in to the exhaustion that had been trying to take over for quite awhile.
"Jay?"
"Hm?"
"Who was your first?"
He didn't know where the sudden curiosity had come from, but he wanted to squash it. "Jen, shut up," he reprimanded gently.
Against protest from every fiber of his being, Jensen moved. He turned around to face Jared, draping one of his arms over the man's waist. "Come on," he asked again. "Tell me?"
"Why?"
"Because I want to know."
Jared shook his head and smiled. "You don't need to know."
"Was it Trevor?"
He closed his eyes for a moment. "No," he answered.
"Who, then?"
"Jensen, I'm not going to play--"
Abruptly, Jensen silenced him with a kiss, warm and wet. He kept his eyes open to watch him, touched his tongue to Jared's. When he eased back, he stayed close enough to let their lips brush up against each other's. "Tell me," he said softly. "Please?"
Jared eyed him for a moment, unsure if he should go through with it. It didn't matter, because it was before he'd met Jensen, he knew, but a part of him, no matter how much he loved and trusted Jensen, told him to keep some secrets to himself. Finally, he sighed and gave in. "Alright," he said. "I was fourteen. His name was Jamie. I was with him and his girlfriend."
Even at fourteen, Jared had been a player in a game that Jensen had never been part of before. It didn't really surprise Jensen, of course. He wasn't jealous; he loved Jared no matter what. He just wished he could have met him all those years ago. "He was your first?"
Jared nodded. "Yeah."
"For everything?"
He nodded again. "For everything."
"He sounds nice."
"He was," he agreed.
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know," he replied.
Apparently satisfied, Jensen turned to lay back down in the bed next to Jared as he had been before. He felt Jared's arms curl around him, chest to his back, and the warmth sank into his bones again. His eyes grew heavy once more and he started to drift off.
"Jay?"
"What, Jen?"
"You're my first."
Jared leaned in slightly and pressed a kiss to the back of Jensen's head. He was struck by the sudden swell of love he felt in his heart at those few words. "I know," he said into his hair.
Monday morning arrived with cold sunshine and chirping birds. It also arrived with a shake to Jared's shoulder. "Jay."
He awoke quickly, taking a deep breath and turning over to find Jeffrey beside him. "Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse, heavy with sleep.
"You should check on Jensen in a little while," Jeffrey returned. "He's not feeling so hot."
Jared swiped his hands over his face, beard stubble scratching at his palms. "Beer before liquor makes you sicker," he almost chanted. He nodded to Jeffrey and patted the man's shoulder. "Thanks, I'll get him to school."
Jeffrey smiled. "I'm not sure he's going anywhere today."
"That bad?"
He nodded. "That bad." He straighened and headed to the ladder. "I'm out of here early, Jay. Hopefully, I can get home early."
"Later," Jared said with a floppy, sleepy wave of his hand.
Jared took a few minutes to completely wake himself up. They had finally gotten to bed around 3 AM, or thereabouts, and four hours of sleep wasn't nearly enough. As he lay in bed, still warm and comfortable, he started to feel himself slip back into unconsciousness. Forcing his eyes open wide, Jared made himself rise up out of the bed and get dressed. He managed to add a double-layered Teeshirt along with his sweatpants and padded barefoot into the house. He didn't hear the sound of the shower, or the strange song of someone brushing their teeth. Usually Jensen was making a good amount of noise by now.
Heading into the bathroom, Jared stopped in the doorway and leaned against the jamb. The room smelled of sickness. Jensen was on the floor, curled up near the toilet so that he could throw up at a moment's notice. Jared had been there, done that. It wasn't fun. Pushing away from the jamb, Jared knelt down beside Jensen and touched his shoulder.
Jensen awoke abruptly, as if he'd been shaken violently. His gaze immediately landed on Jared, eyes bloodshot and accented with dark rings underneath the bottom row of long lashes. "Jay," he said, looking around the room. He seemed confused, as though he hadn't put himself in the bathroom. "What time is it?"
"Time to get you into bed," he returned. "You mixed your liquors, son. That's a big no-no."
"No, I have school," he told him. "Today's Monday, isn't it?"
Jared nodded. "Today's Monday," he agreed. "But you're not going to make it. You're a wreck." He took hold of Jensen's arms, planning on pulling him up to his feet, but Jensen instantly tried to work out of his grasp.
"Don't," he said. "I just want to lay here."
"You can't lay here," Jared argued.
"Why not?"
"What if someone has to take a piss?"
"Work around me," Jensen offered.
Jared sighed and hauled Jensen to his feet with remarkable difficulty. "Come on," he encouraged, slinging Jensen's arm around his shoulders. Jensen groaned the whole time, so sure that his stomach was going to revolt against him. Instead of heading back out to the garage, Jared maneuvered Jensen into Jeffrey's bedroom. He set him down on the mattress and forced him to lay down. He pulled the covers up to his chin and found the trash bin in the room. He set it beside the bed and told Jensen that it was there in case he felt sick. But Jensen's eyes had been closed since he'd sat down on Jeffrey's bed. He was asleep again in seconds.
Jared watched him, remembering the time he had done the same thing, and Jeffrey made him go to school anyway. He'd been just sixteen years old, and it was a hard lesson learned. A voice in the back of his head told him to wake Jensen and force him off to school. Lesson learned. Another voice told him that he had only gotten drunk because of what Alan had said to him, and there was no reason to add insult to injury. Best to just let him sleep it off.
--TBC--